by Fidelma C.
Lee Crane shut the door of his condo behind
him, dropped his duffle at his feet, leaned wearily back against said door,
closed his eyes and began to laugh weakly.
It had been one hell of a cruise. Oh, not the usual stuff that Seaview
had come to expect thrown at her – no sea monsters or alien life forms or even
man-eating plants this time. He’d almost
have preferred to deal with them.
No, just one precocious, ‘with-attitude’ sixteen-year-old child prodigy
and her somewhat distracted but, when reminded of her parental role,
over-protective mother.
Lee pushed himself upright and grabbed his
sea-bag, walking directly to his bedroom and stashing it neatly on the ottoman
at the end of the bed. He would unpack later.
Years of naval discipline saw him hanging his coat in the closet and
placing his cover on its designated shelf.
He threw open the window to let in some welcome air, doing the same in
the living room. Despite having a
cleaning company service the place once a week, he felt it needed airing. Pulling at his tie and undoing the top
buttons of his khaki shirt, he snagged a long neck beer from the refrigerator
and retreated onto the deck. Slouching
into one of the beautifully carved wooden Adirondack chairs Chip had persuaded
him to buy he gazed contentedly at the view of the ocean that never failed to
soothe him.
It was one of the perks of working at NIMR –
this condo on the Institute grounds, both master bedroom and living area facing
the ocean he loved. If he couldn’t be on
his boat, this was one of the few other places he felt truly happy. He sighed as he took a long draught of the
ice-cold beer. Jamie wouldn’t approve. He’d prefer Lee to eat a decent meal, forego
beer and caffeine and crash for at least eight hours straight. But not even the thought of the CMO’s blatant
disapproval could wipe the grin from Lee’s handsome face. Wiggling to get comfortable, he settled
cosily into the cushioned softness and allowed his mind to drift.
It had all started tamely enough. Seaview had been on one of her routine
charting missions in the mid Atlantic when the call had come in for Nelson from
the State Department.
****
“Harry, the British government are requesting
our assistance with a rather unusual assignment.”
Nelson sighed.
However, it wasn’t unknown for the ‘rather unusual’ comment to precede
requests for Seaview’s unique services.
“OK, Arthur, who, why, where and when?”
Electing to take the video conference call in
the observation nose of the giant submarine, he beckoned his senior officers to
join him from the control room before sealing off the area.
“Are we secure, Harry?”
“Totally, Arthur,” came the wry response as
Nelson lit a cigarette. Chip dropped
into a chair while Lee perched himself on the edge of the table. “Crane and Morton are present, as you can
see, but I’ll need them fully briefed, in any case, for whatever task you’re
going to assign us. I assume you have
something you wish for us to undertake.”
“Oh boy, do I, Harry,” the Secretary of State
uttered feelingly. “And you’re probably
not going to thank me for this one.”
Nelson exchanged speaking looks with his senior
officers. “When did I ever, Arthur? But it helps fund the payroll.”
“This is a little – adrift from your usual parameters,
Harry.” Arthur Butler’s tone caused the
hackles to rise with all three men.
Their familiarity with the high profile politician had them trading
anxious glances. The hesitancy in his
voice was uncharacteristic for the charismatic legislator. “We have a… potentially embarrassing
situation for both the United States and Great Britain.
One of our senior foreign diplomats – a
possible contender for an ambassadorial posting – is going through a rough
divorce.” Butler could already see
Nelson’s disbelief. “I know, Harry, I
know! What has this got to do with Seaview? Hear me out.
Please. Her teenage daughter is a
renowned violinist and composer, a veritable wunderkind. You’ve heard of Carina Robson?”
At Nelson’s raised eyebrow, Butler hurried
on. “I can see you have. She’s Petra Sonderman’s daughter. It’s been kept quiet – for several
reasons. Petra is – or rather has been –
on the fast track here in the US, politically.
Her soon to be ex-husband is a British attaché. While her career has been on the rise, his,
unfortunately, is on the wane. He has a
rather regrettable problem – at the gaming tables; frequents a couple of
unorthodox clubs where he has raised some substantial debts. He sees his daughter as the way out of his
financial problems. And if she fulfils
her not inconsiderable potential, he’ll be right. Unfortunately the mother is currently seeking
a divorce and a custody battle is imminent.
Which could prove pretty nasty for both parties and, inevitably, both
countries would be drawn into the fray.
That could be decidedly uncomfortable for both our governments. Which is where you come in, Harry.”
At the winding down of the Secretary’s
explanation, Nelson crushed his half smoked cigarette out in the ashtray,
eyeing both his officers bemused faces before he focused his attention on the
view screen. “Oh? And what, exactly, is it that you want us to
do, Arthur?” He could almost feel the
palpable tension his question engendered from the younger men.
“I know this is way outside your usual remit,
Harry. But we don’t have too many
options right now. Petra’s presence is
vital to some negotiations taking place back here in Washington but she won’t
leave the UK without her daughter. We
need to get them both back stateside as soon as possible and begin damage
control. Each of the parties wants sole
custody. By the way, from what I know,
the kid has an incredible future ahead of her.”
There was a wry note to the politician’s tone and all three listeners
felt a twinge of pity for the girl who was undoubtedly cast as ‘pig in the
middle’ of the warring factions.
“Now, we can’t risk trying to get them out
through the usual channels. The father
has threatened to make a public scene if his soon to be ex-wife tries to take
his daughter – a minor - out of their country of residence. So the usual exits aren’t feasible. He’s not without friends and has already been
courting the Press with a sob story and has a virtual media circus ready to
kick into high gear if Petra and Carina attempt to leave via any of the usual
airports or seaports. Neither of our
governments is in favour of that sort of media hype. Not to mention what it would do to the girl.
The Brits want to deal with Robson privately
but they can’t as long as he’s making threats.
The timing couldn’t be worse with the G9 talks coming up in Geneva next
month. This has got to be handled
discretely and the President thinks your current position in the mid Atlantic
could well be fortunate. We can get the
mother and daughter to the south of England quite easily. No one would have reason to question if Seaview
put into a UK naval base for urgent repairs – should she have a problem. We can smuggle Petra and Carina on board and,
by the time Robson or the Press finds out, you’ll have put to sea and there
won’t be a darn thing he can do about it.
Once they’re safely out of the country, the British will place a gag
order on him and he’ll face jail if he spills anything to the media.”
****
Lee wriggled more comfortably into the cushions, toeing his shoes off as he relaxed further. He ignored the slight rumble from his stomach, instead taking another swig from the bottle. This one was going down way too easily.
****
Crane had been initially distracted from the
personalities by the need for secrecy. Seaview’s
stealthy entrance and egress from the commercial naval base in the south of
England had gone without a hitch. They’d
taken the passengers on board and slipped out of the naval dockyard without the
Press getting wind of their having been there.
Their first clue that there was a possible
problem came when Ms. Sonderman complained to the Chief about their
accommodations. Sharkey had assumed –
erroneously as it turned out – that mother and daughter would be more comfortable
sharing quarters and had assigned them, under the exec’s direction, a
two-person cabin. Ms. Ambassadorial
Candidate had had rather a lot to say about that. Sharkey had hastily given instructions to
have two separate cabins prepared – to much sighing and rolling of the eyes
from the daughter. It quickly became
clear there wasn’t much emotional bonding between mother and child. A child who thought of herself as anything
but!
****
Lee almost laughed aloud as he propped his feet
on the deck rail, enjoying the latent heat from the waning sun that cast
increasingly long orange fingers across the slowly darkening blue of the sky
and the iridescent silver of the water.
Things had gone so quickly from bad to worse that he’d had barely enough
time to assimilate them.
****
Nelson had invited their guests to dinner in
the Nose their first evening at sea – a treat usually reserved for visiting
dignitaries or when Nelson was feeling in a particularly expansive mood. It had been an utter disaster.
Cookie had excelled himself. He’d grumbled all afternoon, his gripes
beginning as soon as Nelson had asked him, via the COB, for the favour and had
escalated to full blown temperament by the time the stewards had scurried to
bring the food forward. Their visit to
the UK port had been concluded so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to lay in any
fresh supplies. How on earth was a
premier chef of his ilk supposed to produce a meal fit for a lady, who dined in
embassies and consulates all over the world, at a moment’s notice? It had made the man grumpy and there was
nothing – well, nothing short of a grumpy XO – that could affect the mood of
the boat so pervasively.
Having gotten wind of it, Morton had gone out
of his way to visit the galley before heading to the Nose and managed to smooth
at least some of Cookie’s ruffled feathers.
They hadn’t stayed smooth for long.
Nelson had asked some of the younger off duty
J.O.’s to join them for dinner – a rare treat indeed – but he’d wanted to bring
down the age profile to something closer to the teenager’s tender years.
****
Lee took another sip of the rapidly
disappearing beer and a snort of laughter emerged, his eyes sparkling at the
memory. Lt. Chris James and Lt. j.g.
Doug Taylor had tried their best to entertain the wannabe prima donna but she
was having none of it.
****
“How come you don’t invite anyone other than
officers to dinner, Admiral?” she challenged, earning a glare and a verbal
reprimand from her mother. “Really,
Mother, don’t you find it elitist and just a tad contrived?” Obviously pleased at her mother’s
embarrassment she pushed further.
“Admiral Nelson, perhaps you could ask the dishy sailor who delivered my
luggage to join us. At least he was more
my age than any of these guys are.” She
cast disparaging glances at Lee, Chip, Jamieson and even Chris and a very
embarrassed Doug – who was all of twenty-four years of age.
His XO mask firmly in place – although Lee had
thought he’d detected a tiny twitch at the corner of Chip’s mouth – Morton had
answered. “I’m sorry, Miss Robson, but
Seaman Riley is on duty tonight.”
Her shrug bespoke ‘whatever’ in the way of
teenagers worldwide. Unfortunately all
the males at the table were bachelors and the nuances of teen boredom were lost
on them.
Nelson attempted conversation – aided by the
senior officers – but to little avail.
The J.O.’s retreated into the welcome discretion of silence. Mother and daughter had little to say to each
other and less to contribute to the conviviality that usually went with dinner
in the Observation Nose.
The first course - Goat’s Cheese on a bed of
baby greens with a raspberry dressing - had been cleared and the entree of Leg
of Lamb - cooked with rosemary and garlic -was about to be served by Cookie,
who was ceremoniously sharpening his carving knife, when a dual gasp of dismay
halted him.
“Yuck!”
“Oh my goodness! Didn’t Washington inform you that my daughter
and I are both vegetarian?”
****
Lee almost choked on the last swallow of beer
as he recalled the appalled look on Cookie’s face. It was matched only by Morton’s – he
knew there was some serious grovelling to be done if any one of the 125 member
crew was to get a decent meal before reaching the US east coast. Lee had almost been able to read the hasty
calculations Chip was mentally totting, wondering how long they’d be able to
run at emergency flank before the reactors packed up.
Setting the empty bottle to one side, too
relaxed to get up and hit the kitchen for another, he hunkered down further
into the cushioned depths and allowed his exhaustion free rein.
Tired as he was, sleep refused to come. Perhaps it was the niggling guilt.
****
That first dinner having proved a disaster,
Nelson hadn’t attempted a repeat. In
fact, muttering excuses about an experiment in his laboratory necessitating his
full attention, he had appeared very little during the ensuing two days. Lee had wished he could use the same
excuse. The ladies retired to their
respective cabins, Cookie’s assistant having diplomatically proposed to
personally deliver omelettes to their quarters – much to Cookie’s chagrin – and
the remaining officers had eaten in subdued mood and didn’t linger.
Thinking a night’s sleep might put things into
a more harmonious perspective, Lee had completed his usual walk through of the
boat and headed for his cabin. Knowing
his steward would have ensured a clean uniform awaited him in his closet for
the morning, he hadn’t hesitated in helping out the watch officer in
Engineering with a stuck valve. As a
result he had a streak of oil on one cheek and his shirtfront and the knees of
his khaki pants were grubby from the access panel he’d crawled into.
The last person he’d thought he would be
unlucky enough to bump into was his next-door neighbour – and best friend. Morton was as immaculate as ever – and raised
a disapproving brow at the sight of his grubby CO.
“What ventilation shaft have you been creeping
around tonight, Lee?” he asked mildly as he followed him into his cabin.
Lee’s exasperated ‘Stow it’ was halted at the
sight that greeted him and he was instantly thankful for Morton’s stalwart
presence. He had absently hit the light
switch as he’d entered – failing to notice the cabin was already lit by the desk
lamp – and the sight of the teenager in robe and slippers curled up in his
large leather desk chair had brought him up short. Chip had almost cannoned into him as he’d
stopped so abruptly and the exec instantly took charge, admonishing Ms. Robson
that she was totally out of line by trespassing in the captain’s quarters.
She’d flicked them both a knowing look that, as
XO of the world’s greatest nuclear submarine, Chip had wished he could
patent. It would strip paint off a
bulkhead at forty paces. Was it
something all female teens came armoured with, or was this one something
special? He’d shuddered to think that
the entire female sex cut their teeth at such a tender age with glares as
potent as that!
Her put down was instant and totally
effective. “Chill, big guy. It’s not like I had designs on him or
something,” she informed Chip, totally ignoring Lee as she pushed herself up
out of his chair and sauntered towards the door. “I figured the captain had to have the best
digs on board and just wanted to see what it looked like. No big deal.
Besides, you’re all way too old for me.”
Dismissively she pushed past them and left them
stupefied behind her. Chip eventually
managed a growl. “Were we really that
obnoxious at sixteen?”
“Can’t speak for you, Morton, but me, I was a
total angel,” Lee smirked, relieved now that the danger was gone.
“Yeah, right!”
Chip snorted. “And ‘angel’ ain’t
quite how I remember it, Junior! But
seriously, Lee, lock your cabin door. We
don’t need the complication of a bored teen with wanderlust. I’ll pass the word through Sharkey to the
crew, she’s dynamite and she’s jailbait.
And she’s potential trouble with a capital T!”
****
If Lee had taken his XO’s words at face value,
forewarned would have been forearmed. A
weak snort of laughter was all he could manage as he tried to decide whether it
was worth the trouble of moving to grab another beer or if he was too content
to stir.
****
The age profile of Seaview’s crew was raised
considerably by the presence of Admiral Harriman Nelson, Lt. Commander Will
Jamieson M.D., Cookie – better known in civilian life as Joseph McKenna – and
COB Francis Sharkey. The former and
latter were bachelors, Doc was a widower, unfortunately childless, and the rest
of the crew were either single or married with young families. Cookie was the only man aboard who had raised
teenagers – fortunately two of them had been daughters.
Seaview’s luck in having that particular area of
expertise wasn’t initially apparent.
Following the catastrophe of the previous evening’s meal, Cookie wasn’t
entirely appeased even when his skipper ate heartily and commented
enthusiastically – after a swift kick in the shins from his XO – on the quality
of the breakfast buffet he’d prepared.
It didn’t go unnoticed that neither Ms. Sonderman nor her daughter
appeared for breakfast at the posted times.
Chip and Lee had taken their last mug of coffee
to the conn and were busy with the handover of the shift from Lt. James,
checking their position against the GPS system and their charts, Chip verifying
that the navigational computers agreed, when a volubly protesting COB entered
via the aft hatch, trying to keep up with a five foot dynamo.
“Sorry, sirs,” he was practically out of
breath. “I’ve been trying to tell Ms.
Robson that there are areas of the boat which are restricted to civilian
personnel. She doesn’t seem to…ah… kinda
appreciate that there are parts of Seaview that are not safe for her to
be in, sirs. Perhaps you could, like,
talk to her. Please. I’ve had to ‘escort’ her from the Reactor
Room, the Missile Room, the Circuitry Room and… the Crew’s Quarters already
this morning.” He was almost wringing
his hands at the last – Francis Sharkey was a COB who looked after his men.
Both Lee and Chip had fought down identical
grins at the aghast chief and had firmly re-enforced the off limit areas to the
barely-straining-to-be-polite teenager.
They’d hardly begun to enunciate their various points before the girl
had - ignoring them completely - drifted off towards the hydrophone station,
having spotted Riley, who’d just taken over on Alpha Watch.
“Hey, how goes it! Missed you at dinner last night. You might have made it less of a yawn than it
was. At least you’re nearer my age than any of these old fogies!” She nudged the rating who cast an embarrassed
glance at his superiors.
Chip stepped in immediately, the epitome of the
stoic exec. “Ms. Robson, Seaman Riley is
on duty right now and as such is unable to respond. When he is off watch there will be time for
you to catch up with him.”
Lee saw an immediate way out of all their
problems. “Mr. Morton, perhaps you could
re-assign Riley to escort Ms. Robson during her visit with us. He can ensure she doesn’t wander
inadvertently into any restricted areas and, both being musically inclined, I’m
sure they’ll have a lot in common.”
The mightily relieved look on Sharkey’s face
was counter-balanced by the dubious one on Morton’s, the trepidacious glance
that Riley gave the command crew and the bright, gleeful one on Carina
Robson’s. None of them had noticed that
Cookie himself had come forward to replace the carafe of coffee that was a
resident feature in the Nose. Thankfully
the one that hit the deck was empty or there would have been one hell of a mess
to clear up.
****
The sound that escaped from Lee’s throat was
part groan / part snicker. Despite the
reservations of Chip and Cookie, things had worked out eventually – perhaps not
exactly in the way he’d anticipated. But
it had ensured the latter half of the journey was a smooth ride for the boat,
her passengers and her senior staff -
well, most of her senior staff.
As he drifted in that easy comfort zone between
wakefulness and sleep, he wondered if Chip would ever forgive him.
****
What Lee Crane knew about teenagers – and
teenage girls in particular – could be written on the head of a pin. Or so he had been blisteringly informed by
his irate XO when Chip eventually cornered the captain in his cabin before they
headed for a late dinner.
Late because Lee had been running maintenance
drills all over the boat in an attempt to stay out of the way of both their
passengers and, more importantly at least from Morton’s point of view, because he
had spent the better part of the last two hours smoothing ruffled feathers on
the part of the chief, the senior ratings, Kowalski and Patterson, plus trying
to extricate Stuart Riley from a situation not of his own making. Not to mention having to deal with
five-foot-nothing of pouting female and her acutely ticked off parent, who
seemed to think her complaints would be taken more seriously if they were
delivered at full volume.
Chip had a headache. He needed coffee – or a swift belt of
something stronger – to fortify him before he had to go another round with
that…that… woman. And it was all the
fault of the man in front of him.
“Nice of you to toss in the ball and then
desert the field just as the play starts to heat up, Lee,” he complained, his
words deliberately inflammatory, refusing to allow himself to be even slightly
mollified by the penitent under-the-lashes glance he received from his
friend, “leaving yours truly to referee
a pitched battle between our VIP passengers and four of our most trusted
crewmembers. Between that and the
admiral posting a ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the door of his laboratory, I’d
suggest you keep a low profile until we make port except that would leave me
having to deal with them. Ms.
Sonderman has a terminal case of verbal diarrhea on the
subject, the girl has sulking and glaring down to a fine art, Sharkey and
Patterson are sporting this ‘wounded’ look, while Ski wants to go for
somebody’s jugular, and Riley…. Well, I
don’t think poor Stu knows which end is up right now.” The last was said with particular
feeling.
“I….”
“Do you even know what happened?” Morton interrupted, for once allowing
personal feelings to override protocol – a measure of his distress. Lee’s head popped up at the tone – he could
count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Chip had fudged the line
between XO and friend on board the boat.
“Did the scuttlebutt permeate to the ballast tasks or wherever you’d
hidden yourself?”
Lee drew himself up to his full height, his
golden eyes flashing. There was only so
much he would take. He saw Chip stiffen
in response – knowing he’d been insubordinate – and his innate sense of
fairness kicked back in. He couldn’t
blame his exec for what obviously amounted to his own monumental screw-up –
even if he wasn’t entirely sure just how he had screwed up. “OK, Chip, let’s back track here. Things have obviously been a little… tense
with our guests today. Why don’t you
fill me in over dinner or we’ll both be in Cookie’s bad books – and after last
night I don’t think he needs any more ammunition.”
Both men shuddered companionably, having
experienced Cookie’s wrath in the past.
The old days of bread and water as punishment at sea had nothing on Seaview’s
premier chef when he was in one of his moods – and it really didn’t take a lot
to set him off. The captain was
constantly in his baleful glare and, although Lee could protest that he’d eaten
such a great breakfast, it wouldn’t be sufficient to excuse his absence at
lunchtime – or for his tardiness tonight.
At least now he’d have Chip to diffuse some of the pressure. He indicated the door, offering Chip to
precede him, an olive branch – if a breach in etiquette.
Morton hesitated, then took a decisive step in
the direction of the small head. “I need
a couple of ibuprofen for this headache.
You always have a stash.”
Lee had to snap his jaws together to keep them
from dropping. He momentarily
contemplated calling Jamie, it being such a rare occasion that Chip would
voluntarily admit to needing a painkiller.
Deciding that would be tantamount to suicide, he wisely kept his
council and followed the XO to the Wardroom.
Twin frowns met them as they entered. Jamieson made no pretence of lying in wait for them and Cookie’s glower would have withered lesser mortals. “Don’t expect this to be half as good as it was two hours ago. Miracles – I don’t do.” He growled as he shoved plates of wonderfully aromatic food in front of them. Guiltily, the two senior officers knew that they had kept Cookie in the Officers’ Mess. Professional that he was, he wouldn’t leave until he knew the command staff had been fed – and they were under no illusions that what was put in front of them had been lying around for hours. Chip had no difficulty tucking in with a heartfelt thanks but it put additional pressure on Crane, who had a meagre appetite at best. He too added his thanks, knowing that he would have to put a hefty dent in the fare to satisfy both Cookie and Jamieson who – if the look on his face was any indication – knew he had skipped lunch.
Conceding to the inevitable, he sighed. “OK, Chip, lay it on me. Jamie, I take it by your presence that you’ve
heard the scuttlebutt and have something to add.”
“Who, me, Skipper?” The medic answered innocently, waving his mug
in the air. “I’m just enjoying a cup of
Cookie’s best coffee.”
Identical snorts came from blond and
brunet. Between bites, Chip filled them
both in. Cookie was cleaning up in the
galley but otherwise they had the place to themselves.
“Your little machinations this morning had
unexpected results, Lee. Oh, it started
off fair enough and Riley showed little Ms. Robson around the boat,
successfully keeping her out of the restricted areas. Ms. Sonderman remained in her cabin working
all morning but made her feelings very obviously known when her daughter
elected to have lunch in the Crew’s Mess with Riley. Then – and I’m repeating Patterson’s version
here – she discovered them mid afternoon in the crew’s lounge playing a duet on
the piano. She didn’t have a problem
with that, per se. If it had been Mozart
or Tchaikovsky, it might have been OK, but apparently Riley was teaching her
classically trained daughter some Rock & Roll. It didn’t go down too well.” Chip took a breath and shoved the remainder
of his dinner aside.
Jamieson’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline
– it was just about unheard of for anything to affect the legendary Morton
stomach - and he caught the slight wince that Crane couldn’t hide at the
manoeuvre. Obviously they hadn’t heard
the worst of it. His warm brown eyes
glinted as he saw Chip rub the middle three fingers of his right hand firmly
against his temple in the characteristic gesture indicative of a throbbing
head. Crane habitually used his index
finger to signify the same but both men were totally oblivious to the revealing
trait – and Jamie wasn’t about to enlighten them to the fact that he had
cottoned on to it.
Lee was beginning to get a sick feeling in his
own stomach and pushed his plate aside, reaching for his coffee cup
instead. Cookie silently appeared and,
with reproachful looks for each man, cleared the dishes away. It wasn’t his job and both officers murmured
their appreciation; usually one of his stewards would handle the clean up.
Chip took a deep breath and a draught of the
strong coffee Cookie kept on tap. “In
your absence I got an earful in the Conn.
I informed Ms. Sonderman that I would have Riley refrain from teaching
her daughter any – to quote her – ‘lewd and common attempts at that dreadful
noise they deign to call modern music’.
If only that had been the worst of it! I had Sharkey ask Riley to cease and desist
with the music lessons. According to Ski
– who heard it from Riley after the fact – she tried to get him to show her how
the torpedo tubes were loaded and when he refused she dragged him into one of
the aft storage areas, plastered him to the bulkhead and kissed him senseless.”
Doc’s timing could have been better. He’d just taken a large mouthful of coffee
when Chip got to the end of his tirade.
His snort of laughter terminated in the re-location of his coffee –
right down the shirtfront of the fastidious XO.
****
Lee wriggled once again; what almost amounted
to a giggle - if commanders of nuclear submarines could admit to giggling –
emerging at the memory. The recollection
of the expression on Chip’s face, as he’d swiped at his shirtfront with a
napkin, was hysterical.
****
Crane had managed, with great difficult, to
refrain from outright laughter. Chip was
already ticked off enough, it would take very little to send him over the edge
and it was unlikely either he or Jamieson would survive, with ears intact, a
scathing diatribe by the XO in full flow.
The appearance of Cookie at their elbow with three slices of Chip’s
favourite lemon meringue pie was timely.
Morton just closed his eyes, inhaled long-sufferingly, and picked up his
spoon. The chef’s re-appearance, minutes
later, with a fresh shirt for the exec was above and beyond the call of
duty.
Morton gratefully changed, casting a menacing
glare at the contrite CMO before breaking into a tiny, reluctant grin. Espying two hopeful smiles on his companions’
faces, he quickly resurrected his XO persona.
“It wasn’t remotely funny!” He
thundered, inwardly relishing their instant dismay. “That was around the boat faster than greased
lightening. The silly little girl now
fancies herself in love with Riley and calmly informed her mother that she’s
making plans to move to California so she can – quote ‘be there for him when he
returns from the hazards of the sea’ unquote.”
Jamieson had to chew on the inside of his cheek
to keep from laughing aloud at the expression of intense disgruntlement on the
blond’s face. Chip caught the sparkle in
his eyes, however, and his own narrowed.
“Laugh all you want, Jamie, but I had to do some fast talking to keep Ms.
Sonderman from pressing charges against Riley.
Seems our little sexpot won’t be sixteen for another two months.”
Jamie sobered immediately, fully understanding
the implications, and Lee sat forward, pie forgotten, a frown marring his
handsome features. He opened his mouth
to speak but Chip held up a hand.
“Chill, Lee, the chief and I got it sorted – eventually.” He rubbed his forehead again as if in
pain. Catching Jamieson’s look, he shook
his head. “It’s only a headache, Jamie,
and I took something already.” At the
physician’ s raised eyebrow, he continued.
“Caused by aggravated earache - those two ladies sure know how to
yell! The mother ranted like a shrew and
the daughter cried buckets about unrequited love and parents who don’t
understand her. Had to take it into the
Nose to keep the watch focused on their stations.”
“Poor kid.”
Three pair of eyes swivelled unanimously in Cookie’s direction. He was wiping down the galley counters and
made no bones about having overheard the senior officers’ conversation. “Oh,
the bit about parents not understanding her is pretty par for the course for
teenagers but that young ‘un is love starved.
Probably ripe to believe herself in love with the first guy who pays her
any kind of attention. And Riley’s a nice kid.
Decent - and good lookin’ too.”
Lee groaned, suddenly understanding his
error.
“She’ll get over it, Skipper. Give it a couple o’ months and she won’t even
remember his name. Been through it four
times now.” The chef comforted, rolling
his eyes drolly.
“Four, Cookie?
I thought you only had two daughters.”
“I do, Mr. Morton, but, if anything, the boys
are worse than the girls! Lovesick
puppies, my pair was. Mooned round the
place for weeks. Then, just when you get
used to hearin’ ‘bout Clara or Maria, they’re blown out and it’s Jenny or
Alicia. Bet your moms would say the same thing.
Sirs.” He added, tactfully.
Jamie chuckled as a tide of red swept up
Morton’s fair cheeks. Lee’s blush was
easier concealed by his olive complexion. “Let’s not go there, shall we?” Crane’s muttering was rhetoric.
“Make for an interesting conversation.” Jamieson mused, to the accompaniment of
almost identical glares, laser blue from one and hard amber from the
other. “Kidding, just kidding!”
Typically, Morton brought the conversation back
on track. “We’ve still got almost twenty
hours before we make port. How do we
keep our passengers out of each other’s hair and keep the wunderkind away from
the crew – half of whom are ready to lynch her on Riley’s behalf.”
“You’ve got two sisters, Chip.” Lee was happy to abdicate this one to his
exec. After all, as Chip had repeatedly
informed him, the XO’s job was to take the pressure off the captain so the
captain could do his job unhindered.
He did feel slightly guilty, foisting this one off on his exec.
At Chip’s instant frown and as his friend opened his mouth to complain, Lee uttered that one little sentence guaranteed to melt the man he considered brother. “You have a heck of a lot more experience with family than I do, buddy.”
****
Sucker!
His conscience nagged him for that one.
It was true, but it had been unfair, and Lee’s eyes opened as he sighed
with what he recognised was remorse.
He’d been craven, cowardly – and he didn’t like the feeling. He’d done something that was total anathema
to his nature – he’d abdicated his responsibilities. Oh, not towards his boat, or his crew, or the
safety of their passengers. But he’d
walked away from a situation on his ‘Grey Lady’. He’d allowed his personal experiences to
override his professional duties. He
should have been the one taking the flak from Petra Sonderman, not Chip. He should have handled the woman and
her daughter – not convinced himself that his expertise was needed elsewhere
and forced Chip to handle things. Even
if he could rationalise that Chip had the greater expertise in the area of
family relationships. He, Lee Crane,
should know and appreciate family – after all he’d been adopted as a barely
seventeen year old into the Morton clan.
But it had been blind panic, he recognised that
now. Knew that Chip would have seen it
for what it was and, knowing him better than anyone, wouldn’t blame him for his
actions. Lee knew his brother too. Knew also that he owed Chip an apology – even
as he acknowledged that one wouldn’t be expected. And accepted that retaliation would be swift.
Uncomfortable enough with his thoughts to need another beer, he rose and headed into the kitchen noticing that the sun had finally succumbed to the lure of the ocean and darkness was encroaching rapidly. He hit the switch for the outside lights before he took another beer from the fridge. He was back in his chair, using a penny to twist off the cap on the long neck when he heard the doorbell. Perhaps if he ignored it, whoever was there would go away.
****
Pie remaining largely un-eaten, much to
Cookie’s disgust; Jamieson had inveigled both of them to hit their racks, only
short of tucking them in! Their
passengers couldn’t cause much trouble overnight and there would be time enough
to deal with the fallout the following day.
Cookie, however, had his own ideas.
Neither Ms. Sonderman nor Ms. Robson had
appeared in the Wardroom for breakfast.
When the mother eventually appeared at around 0900, she was undemanding,
merely seeking coffee. The daughter –
banned from the crew’s mess – wasn’t so accommodating.
“If you wanted breakfast, you should have been
here between the times posted in your cabin.”
Cookie informed her bluntly. At
her wide-eyed reaction, he growled intimidatingly, cogniscent of the fact that
her mother’s antenna had twitched.
“Wanna eat?”
At her nod, he sheparded her into the galley, handed her a bowl and a
couple of eggs, two strips of bacon and some bread to toast. From her expression, she’d never seen the
like. “I gotta start lunch preparations
for 125 men who are working their a… sixes off on this boat. I ain’t got time to pander to folks like you
who think the world revolves around them, missy.” He nodded towards the shelves where pots and
skillets of all shapes and sizes resided.
“Pick your tools.” Catching her
hesitation, the chef sighed. “You ever
done this before?” At the headshake he
received, he shot a disgusted look at the mother sipping her coffee in the wardroom. “What you been teaching this kid?”
Petra Sonderman stiffened, never had she been
spoken to with quite such disdain in all her adult years. “Now see here, Carina has much more important
things to do with her time than learn to cook.
Her timetable is rigidly adhered to at home. She has school, her music lessons, her
practice schedule, concerts and recordings.
Her diary is booked up for months in advance.”
Cookie swelled with indignation at the portrait
she painted. “She’s not a machine, lady.
She’s a sixteen-year-old kid. When does she have time for fun? When’s the last time she had a sleepover with
her girlfriends, went to McD’s, dated a boy her own age?”
The coffee mug hit the table with a decided
smack as the VIP passenger rose to her feet, her colour heightening at the
challenge to her parenting skills. “What
the hell business is it of yours? We’re
on this damn submarine for three days and you think you can tell me how to
bring up my daughter?”
“Maybe someone should. Cos if yesterday is anything to go by, you
need lessons.”
Ignored by the two combatants, Carina’s jaw
dropped. She’d never heard anyone stand
up to her mother the way this man had.
Well, maybe the big blond had put her in her place – politely –
yesterday. But this guy, built more like
a Marine than a cook, was going all out – and in her defence.
“I’ll be speaking with Admiral Nelson about
this. Your rudeness is…is…intolerable!”
“You can talk to who you like, lady. But if you got an ounce of sense you’ll come
down off your high horse and see what this is doing to your kid. She’s a teenager who’s growing up with a
politician and a diary of events instead of a mother. Why do you think what happened yesterday
happened? She latched on to the first
person that was nice to her and what did you do? Threatened to have him up on charges.”
“Mother!
You didn’t?”
“He kissed you!
You’re not even sixteen. He took
advantage of you.”
“I kissed him!”
Carina yelled, plonking the bowl down on the work surface, oblivious to
the fact that the eggs cracked and yolk leaked over her hands. “He didn’t have a lot of choice. And I tried to tell you that yesterday but,
as usual, you didn’t want to listen.”
“I do listen….”
“Yeah, to the media consultants who tell you
that I can be the next Nigel Kennedy or Vanessa Mae. Who tell you that my compositions will rank
beside Mozart in years to come. Don’t
you realise, Mother, they’re spinning you a line. Telling you what you want to
hear. But you don’t listen to me!”
Her burst of frustration spent, she looked to
Cookie for support, tears bright in her eyes.
They’d been too caught up in their battle to notice that Seaview’s captain
had slipped into the wardroom some minutes ago seeking a mug of coffee on his
way to the Conn.
Lee elected not to advertise his presence and
held back. It seemed like he was going
to get a lesson in family dynamics – with or without his exec’s cajoling.
“Of course I listen. But you’re just a child; I know what’s best
for you. I’ve employed experts to advise
us on how to advance your career. It’s
the one thing your father and I agree on.”
The bitterness of the last sentence resounded. “Once we’re home….”
“Home? I don’t have a home any more.” Carina erupted, tears spurting. “You haven’t told me where we’re going to live, where I’m going to go to school. Nothing.” She wailed, scrubbing at her eyes like a small child as she tried to vent her wrath. “My teachers are in London and Europe. Who’s going to take care of me while you’re at work?”
“Oh, baby!
Don’t cry. Please. We’ll work it out.” Petra drew in a ragged breath. It had all happened so fast. “I…I’ve probably not told you about the plans
I’ve made. I didn’t know you worried. We’ll stay with your grandparents in
Washington until we get a place of our own.
There are great teachers there too.
You’ll go to the top private school we can find. We’ll enrol you with the best. I promise.”
Cookie’s snort drew her eyebrows together in a
severe frown. “You have something to
say?”
“Yeah!
Like, what about allowing her a social life? Putting her in a school where she’ll be
happy, rather than where you’ll be sure she’s fulfilling her ‘potential’. What about letting her be a normal kid, date
boys, have her heart broken three times before she graduates high school and
let her cry out her woes on your shoulder.
What about what you’re missing out on as a mother rather than as
a politician. Put her first for
once. Make the most of these years with
her. If you don’t, she’ll be gone at twenty-one
and you won’t have the chance to get her back.”
She spluttered, ready to ream him out, then
took in the sadness that came into his eyes.
Slowly, hesitantly, she moved towards the galley. “You… it happened to you?”
His rigid posture deflated and mother and
daughter inched forward almost simultaneously.
“My eldest.” He cleared his
throat. “She... got caught up with a boy
at seventeen. I wanted her to go to
college. I’d worked my butt off to give
my kids all the advantages I didn’t have.
Their mom raised them. I took
every tour, every duty, that would earn me money to support them. But I wasn’t there.” He came back to the present, the clenching of
his fist telling them that the memory wasn’t a good one.
Petra Sonderman looked at her daughter, her
teenage daughter, and the wary look that was returned caused her to catch her
breath. When had she lost the adulation
of the baby she’d conceived and nurtured?
When had her responsibilities to her job and her country overridden her
maternal duty?
“I only want what’s best for you, baby. I… You
can’t know. You’re not even sixteen….”
“Mother, I know. And it’s not performing. I hate it.
It churns my stomach. I want to
write – I know I can write. I have so
much stuff in my head but I don’t have time to get it down on paper. I want to write a Concerto. It’s crowding me, calling me. I have to write it.”
“Sweetheart, you’re too young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You can’t know….”
“Yes, she can.”
The interruption startled them both.
Cookie had been aware of Crane’s presence for some time. “I knew.
Even before I was Carina’s age, I knew I wanted to go to the Academy. I
wanted to work in subs. I knew it and I
worked towards it. Don’t sell your
daughter short, Ms. Sonderman. She’s a
wonderfully talented individual who deserves your support – in whatever
direction she chooses. And, Carina,
never doubt that your mother loves you and wants what’s best for you. But you have to allow her to be a
mother and appreciate the concerns that she has. You need to be honest with her, tell her how
you feel and then be prepared to compromise.
Both of you do.”
Having said his piece Lee slipped out,
oblivious to Chip having entered the galley from the rear and overhearing his
words. Morton knew how difficult it was for Crane to divulge anything from his
private life – even more so to strangers.
****
Lee took a mouthful of the ice-cold beer,
rubbing his thumb rhythmically through the dew that coated the glass bottle, as
he watched the pale crescent moon rise over the water. There was the slightest of breezes but
otherwise the night was still. The
doorbell had stopped ringing when he didn’t answer but he knew that wouldn’t be
enough to deflect his visitor.
More a sense of motion than an actuality had
him tensing slightly as he realised that he was no longer alone then, without
turning, he allowed himself to relax, sinking back into the chair and sipping
his drink.
“How’d you know I was back? Bribe the guards?”
****
No one was naïve enough to think that their
passengers’ problems had all been resolved but Lee thought perhaps a good start
had been made – at least mother and daughter were communicating at a volume
that didn’t require earplugs. Carina
Robson had surprised everyone and remained in the galley with Cookie, even
helping – or hindering, depending on whose account you believed – with the
preparations for the midday meal. Ms.
Sonderman spent the morning working in her cabin but showed up for lunch and,
when confronted with the chef’s scowl, effusively praised the watery scrambled
egg on barely browned toast her daughter had personally prepared – even if it
would have been more appropriate for breakfast rather than lunch. She manfully swallowed every last bite – as
she enviously watched the officers tuck into deliciously rare roast beef
sandwiches.
Lee had remained at the Conn most of the
afternoon, allowing Morton to attend to his own duties elsewhere. When Sparks handed him the coded message,
barely an hour out of Norfolk, his heart sank.
On top of everything else, this was really going to piss Chip off. Sometimes ONI’s timing really, really, stank.
****
“No bribery required. Standing orders to inform me when you hit
base.”
At Lee’s I-should-have-known-better snort, the
blond worked his way around the deck until he could lean against the rail and
observe his friend in the muted outside lighting. He attempted nonchalance, taking a long drag
from the beer he’d snagged on his way out of the kitchen, as he covertly looked
Crane over for injuries.
“It was a simple courier job. No big deal.”
Lee was irritated – having caught the look – and at the same time warmed
by the concern. If he’d learned anything
on the last cruise it was to accept that sometimes family caused
irritation. Hell, sometimes more than
irritation! At least where Morton was
concerned. But the compensation was the love and caring he also knew was
uppermost in his friend’s heart. He took
another sip of his drink and motioned Chip to a chair. “Timing could have been better though.” He admitted, anticipating Morton’s snicker,
knowing how his exec and friend felt about the Navy’s intelligence department.
“You don’t say?” Chip’s mid-west drawl usually only manifested
itself when he was truly ticked. He
continued to lean against the rail, sipping idly at his beer while he made no
pretence of checking Lee over.
“Hey, I’m fine! OK?” Partly needing to re-assert himself, another
part needing to re-assure the man who was the closest thing to a brother he
had, Lee pushed up from the chair and took up position leaning against the
opposite rail. “You get our passengers
safely offloaded at Norfolk? Any
problems on the way back to Santa Barbara?”
Knowing the questions regarding his boat were expected, he spouted them,
but really didn’t have to ask. He
trusted Chip with his ‘lady’ as he did none other – and dreaded the day when
Morton would be enticed to a command of his own. No one deserved it more but it would
necessitate the break up of their working partnership and he couldn’t envisage
anyone else in the role of exec. Selfish
or what?
“Yes and No.”
Chip grinned, beginning to relax now he’d assured himself that Lee was
uninjured. “State had a car waiting and
our VIP passengers were summarily removed.
But not before Ms. Teenage Sexpot had another snog with Riley – on deck, in full view of the crew and her
mother.”
At Lee’s heartfelt groan, he allowed his mirth
to spill over. “Admiral Nelson had been
fully briefed on the situation and chose to ignore her. Ms. Sonderman tolerated it – just about. The girl is bubbling over about her new life
in the US and Riley – once he got over his embarrassment and the ribbing he
took from the guys – is strutting to his heart’s content, making the most of
his claim to fame. Having a wunderkind -
who’s got several albums to her name already - chasing after you, is heady
stuff for a twenty-one year old!”
“I just hope Cookie’s right – that she won’t
even recall his name in a month’s time.”
“Ah, hate to disillusion you, buddy, but she’s
talking about writing a piece of music in remembrance of her trip on Seaview
– quote ‘Voyage to a new Life’ – unquote.”
He took another sip of his beer.
“At last count, she was vacillating between calling it ‘Cookie’s
Concerto’ and ‘Ode to a Sailor’!”
Lee groaned again, then the absurdity overtook
him and he began to laugh. Chip
chuckled, relief at Lee’s safe return, along with the hilarity of the situation
allowing him finally to relax. Within
seconds they were both whooping with laughter.
“Did you bring anything to eat?”
Crane questioned, once he got himself together.
“What do you think?” Came the scathing response. “That I’d trust you to have anything edible
in your fridge? I brought Chinese take
out. Had it delivered as soon as I got
word you’d reached home.”
A contentedness he’d seldom felt overwhelmed
Lee. He snuggled back happily into the
chair cushions. Home. It felt right. His stomach rumbled. He took a swig from his beer. “Hope you brought Kung Po Chicken….”
“And Mu Shu Pork, Shrimp and Spring Rolls. You think I don’t know you by now,
Crane?” Chip extricated chopsticks from
the drawers, heated the cartons in the microwave, set plates and napkins on the
deck table, knowing his way around Lee’s kitchen as easily as his own. Lee sat back, affectionately watching the
blond’s economical movements as he put out enough food to feed an army.
Chopsticks in hand, ready to dig in, Lee
paused, chuckling again. “Cookie’s
Concerto?”
“God, I hope not,” came the fervent
response. “He’s temperamental
enough! There’d be no living with him if
he had a piece of music named for him.
At least we can slap Riley down if he gets too out of hand.”
“And you’re too fond of your stomach, Morton,
to go up against Cookie.” Lee watched
his friend make serious inroads into his piled plate.
“Not afraid to admit it either, buddy. Food is serious business – for some of
us. Remind me to order additional
supplies for the next cruise, just in case.
It’s a short enough one. Jamie
mightn’t approve but we could probably live on cookies for a couple of weeks!”
****
Finis
As usual a big’ thank you’ goes to Rita for the
use of Lt. Chris James.