A big “thank you” again to Rita Keller for allowing me to adopt Lt.
Chris James once more and to everyone whose encouragement and support has led
to the completion of this story. It’s
been a long one – conceived in Vancouver, Canada, in June, begun while waiting
for a delayed flight in Heathrow Airport in London, England, thankfully
continued in NYC, USA, in October when I’d hit a wall and finished in Ireland
in early December. Thanks to my betas
for their perseverance – I owe them big time on this one!
To the Voyage writers out there, I wish you all a very happy New
Year for 2007 and hope to see lots of stories during the year. Hope you enjoy this one.
FULL
CIRCLE
By Fidelma C.
Angie Newman sighed heavily, kicked back in the swivel chair and
stretched her arms tautly to work out the kinks in her too tense
shoulders. It had been another long,
exhausting day. The first few days after Seaview returned to port usually
were. Her lips curved in a wry
smile. It seemed as if the admiral
operated at double speed whenever he hit the Institute after any one of Seaview’s
cruises. Well, she amended, that was
when the boat didn’t have one of her ‘unusual’ experiences and he – or one of
the command staff – didn’t wind up in
Then, oh
then, all hell just broke loose.
If it was
Nelson himself who ended up in the Institute’s state of the art medical
facility, that was bad enough.
But if it was Chip Morton or – God forbid – Lee Crane, the boat’s exec
and captain respectively, then the admiral was like a hibernating bear with a
toothache who had just been woken from a very sound sleep. In other words – in Angie’s case – it was
time to disappear into the nether regions of the sprawling NIMR facility and
conduct an inspection of the archived documents that she hadn’t looked at for
more than three years. Even that didn’t
guarantee safety from the infamous Nelson temper. And in truth Angie didn’t resort to the
subterfuge very often, certainly not in the past almost six months since she’d
become the Institute’s Deputy Director, a title that still gave her goose bumps
when she read it on the small wooden desk plaque which had been a gift from the
senior ratings, Kowalski and Patterson, who had been so tickled by her
promotion.
Thankfully,
this hadn’t been a particularly difficult mission and the crew had come back
relatively unscathed. Well, there was
that six-inch gash on Lee’s forearm, which had required eleven stitches, plus
the slight concussion Chip had received when someone had accidentally clocked
him with a wrench while he was repairing the malfunctioning navigation panel in
the control room. It wasn’t that unusual
for either of the senior officers to come back injured but it was, for sure, a
result when no one ended up in
Almost all the crew that was; the workaholic senior officers didn’t seem to think that shore leave applied to them.
Crane and Morton were a lost cause! They’d been last off the boat as usual, signing off on cruise reports personally, having overseen the dismissal and logging out of the crew. Then they’d descended on their respective offices. Oh, they always had a legitimate excuse; the need to check their in-trays or to grab forms for the provisions for forthcoming cruises, which translated to an experienced PA - as Angie was - as taking work home. She wasn’t fooled for one moment. They might, if Lt. Cmdr. Jamieson was lucky, concede to an occasional nine holes of golf or a couple of early morning tennis games after their habitual five mile run on the beach (just after the crack of dawn when most sensible people were turning over in their beds in anticipation of the alarm clock rousing them to action). Angie knew nothing like a few stitches or a slight concussion would deter that pair.
They’d appeared in the office at 07.30 this morning, practically glowing with health after their run and in their usual teasing, distracting form. Having been in the office for forty-five minutes – in anticipation of a full day chasing Nelson – she’d had coffee brewing, and they’d helped themselves while kibitzing not so nicely with each other, as brothers do, and she’d enjoyed the snide and sometimes very slightly off-colour remarks they knew she wouldn’t take offence to. Angie was all-seeing, all-hearing and no-mouthing! She knew it was their way of letting off steam. She felt rather privileged that they could be themselves in front of her.
Admiral
Nelson, on the other hand, had hit the office the previous day like a
whirlwind. He was presenting the
signature paper today at a conference on oceanic pollutants at a hotel in
downtown
She hadn’t
minded the work, being almost as passionate about the oceans as the admiral
was; his genius and genuine love for his field had long been an inspiration for
her - and a major factor in her coming to work at the Nelson Institute. She shook herself back into reality as she
began to pack her briefcase for the drive home.
It was Friday night - and the one night in the week that she forced
herself to leave the office at exactly 18.00 hours. Practical to a fault, Angie knew that she
needed balance in her life to perform to her optimum, so she swam in the
Institute’s pool twice a week and had a standing date for volleyball with a
local club, which comprised of some of the other female workers from the
Institute.
It served
two purposes; giving her a necessary workout and an outlet for the physical
energy she usually put into paper pushing, plus it allowed her to become “one
of them” – something that her rarefied status as the admiral’s secretary – and
now Deputy Director of NIMR – didn’t permit very often. Angie knew she had a ‘reputation’ at NIMR. In fact she had systematically built it to
almost mythical status over the past seven years. Everyone at the Institute respected her role,
knowing she would protect the admiral at all costs; that she saw as the
primary function of her position. And
she regularly, without difficulty, re-routed calls from Naval Intelligence,
coolly dismissed alphabet agencies and stood up to Capitol Hill, whether it was
the President himself or his lowest aide who called, seeking Nelson. She could read the admiral’s moods as soon as
she looked at his broad, craggy face. And usually deciphered his intentions for the day within five
minutes of him being in the office.
It was a matter of pride to her, to do her job to the utmost of her
abilities. And sometimes that meant
learning what was going on in the lower ranks – and the administrative staff
had the monopoly on the latest, and juiciest, gossip.
Sometimes it was so skewed she dismissed it totally. But there were times when it had proven its
worth and she’d been able to direct a certain comment, or raise an eyebrow, so
that the person in question got the subtle message that continuing a particular
course of action or talk could lead to a very short tenure at NIMR. In any event, the mainly female staff of the
admin centre knew that Angie ruled the roost and that neither she nor Deborah
Coleman, Chip Morton’s secretary, or Lee’s secretary - the current talk of the
Institute, being male and recently hired - Jason Comerford, would deign to talk
about their respective bosses or contribute to whatever stories ran rampant
around the Institute.
Angie was
astute enough to recognise that when you put two very handsome, single, males
into the equation, surrounded them with a certain mystique, imbued them with
heroic character that leaked out despite the clamp down on details of Seaview’s
missions – the very recalcitrance of the crew adding to the notoriety of the
command staff’s reputation – it was inevitable that they would attract the
attentions of the female staff, and in some instances they were very attractive
ladies, who populated not only the admin centre but the various laboratories
and scientific arms that made up the Nelson Institute of Marine Research.
A slight
niggle of guilt assailed Angie as she chose the files she wanted to work on at
home – it being frowned upon to be on NIMR property at the weekend unless there
was an emergency or the order came from the admiral himself. But she consoled herself that she was getting
out of the work atmosphere for at least a few hours before immersing herself
once again in the files. She had no
family in
Plus she’d
promised Debbie that she’d make time to visit with her and her family on
Saturday evening for a bar-b-que the other secretary had planned. Debbie had even managed to drop into the
conversation that she’d invited her boss, Chip Morton, and his friend and CO,
Lee Crane. (Neither Debbie nor Angie was
completely confident that either man would make an appearance, despite their
assurances to the contrary).
ONI could
be guaranteed to pull Crane for an assignment at the most inappropriate times
and only Nelson’s dire threats had the remotest chance of successfully keeping
his captain from being assigned more and more missions from that particular agency. Lee considered it his duty to help out when
and where he could and if that meant he double-jobbed
on his own time, then he saw it as affecting no one but him. Even his closest friend, Morton, couldn’t get
through to Lee that his missions had far reaching consequences for those who
cared about him and he’d been known to wax long and lyrical on the subject of
his dislike for the agency that frequently left his fellow officer hung out to
dry and either physically or emotionally hurting. It usually ended with Lee allowing Chip to
vent his very vocal frustrations, then Crane would go
perform the mission and let the XO cut loose on him upon his return – if he was
in any condition to withstand the assault.
For that read: if he wasn’t ensconced in
Angie’s
grin widened as she moved into the admiral’s adjoining office and placed the
small stack of messages, ranked according to urgency, on his desk; there being
every reason to assume that Nelson would put in an appearance at some point
over the weekend – the rules didn’t apply to him, after all. Or to the other senior officers come to
that. She knew that Dr. Jamieson would
check in with
She lifted
her hand and traced the very fine white line on her forehead. He’d done a remarkable job with the stitches
– within a couple of months the scar had been negligible. But he’d been rather pushy about making her
stay in
Despite the
grousing they did about the CMO, she sensed a bonding between them, an innate
respect and caring. She’d seen just how
affected Jamieson – the senior officers called him ‘Jamie’ (among other
things), that familiarity indicating their friendship with the medic – had been
when Lee had been shot and seriously injured some months back (**). When Chip had been used – Crane used the term
‘abused’ as Morton wasn’t a trained agent – by ONI, and been hospitalised twice
in close succession (***), Jamieson hadn’t wanted to release the XO as soon as
he had, but he’d realised that the patient’s health necessitated a cutting
loose, for his own sake. So he’d patched
Chip up and entrusted Lee to take care of him.
Lee’s idea of caring, knowing his over-achiever friend as he did, was to
have Angie pick him up from Med Bay, take him home and cook for him, thus
keeping Chip happy and ensuring he didn’t overdo things.
Which brought her to her own feelings for Chip Morton.
No, now was so not the time to go there! She determinately
repressed those thoughts as she moved back into her own office, set the coffee
maker for the first person into the office tomorrow to hit the switch, took her
purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and grabbed her briefcase and car
keys, casting a professional glance over her tidy workspace prior to
departing. She was just about to switch
her phone over to Security, who’d take calls in her absence, when the
instrument trilled beneath her hand.
“Timing is
everything!” She muttered, as she
reluctantly lifted the receiver. “Admiral Nelson’s office.”
“Angie.” The gruff voice was instantly
recognisable. “Sorry to bother you so
late in the evening but I need the information on Project Discovery quite
urgently. I want you to take the files
pertaining to it and bring them to me here as soon as possible.”
The request
not being entirely unusual, Angie sighed gustily – no way was she now going to
make her game. “Of
course, Admiral. Give me five
minutes to close up here and then, depending on rush hour traffic, I should be
with you within half an hour or so.”
“Thank
you.” Nelson hung up rapidly and Angie
took a rare, unprofessional, moment to stick her tongue out at the receiver,
that innocent instrument suddenly responsible for the change in her plans for
the evening. Oh well, it was part and
parcel of her new role, she chided herself briskly. RHIP, as she’d heard so often during her
tenure with NIMR over the past seven years.
She quickly
made her way back to Nelson’s office, depressed the hidden switch on the
portrait of Seaview that took pride of place on the wall behind his
desk, spun the safe’s combination –known only to a very privileged few – and
sorted through the files to identify the ones Nelson had requested. Project Discovery was finally nearing
completion, it had been tried and tested exhaustively, and was about ready for
commercial application – to the Government agencies that would eagerly
appropriate it and thus inadvertently pay for some of NIMR’s forthcoming
research projects.
Securing
the safe once more behind the oil painting, she reached down for the briefcase
that resided alongside the admiral’s desk.
Placing the files inside, she snapped the fasteners and spun the
combination lock, then secured the attaché case to her wrist with the strong
chain link cuff that was designed to withstand way beyond normal pressures (a
design of Nelson’s). She briefly debated
having a staff car drive her to the hotel but, it being after hours – and
Friday to boot – and given that Nelson hadn’t designated high priority, as he’d
already shared the Discovery project at the highest Governmental levels, Angie
decided to take her own car. She could
swing by the hotel to drop off Nelson’s work to the man in person and then call
by the sports complex in the hope of making it into a late game or two.
Hurrying
now, she gathered up her purse and her own briefcase, tossed her jacket over
her arm to conceal the chain on the second briefcase and grabbed her car keys
before diligently securing the office as she left. Emerging into the parking area she took a
moment to sniff the slightly salty sea air and bask in the warm late afternoon
sunlight as she practically jogged to her car, despite the heavy briefcases. She deposited her jacket, purse and briefcase
in the trunk before settling into the driver’s seat of her almost new
sedan. The case chained to her right
wrist was slightly cumbersome as she put the transmission into drive and
steered the car towards the entrance.
Acknowledging the guard with a wave, she drove through the raised
barrier and headed for downtown
****
“Pizza and
beer at my place or d’you want to eat out somewhere?”
At the
mention of food Chip Morton’s stomach began to rumble, reminding him that he’d
missed lunch due to a hastily re-scheduled meeting downtown with the head of a
new technology company whose work he was interested in. He’d intended to grab something quick from
the cafeteria upon his return but had been dragged down to the boat by the
brunet now perched on the edge of his desk, swinging one leg lazily. All his protests had gone unheeded; Lee’s
focus being solely on the intermittent malfunction that dogged their navigation
equipment and which Chip had thought was finally sorted, only to have it rear
its ugly head again this afternoon. He’d
spent most of the time on his back, head and shoulders inside the panel,
tracing circuits and cabling - and listening to Lee rant. Now at – he checked his watch – 19.15, he was
suddenly aware that he was starving.
“Pizza’d be faster – we can call from here and it should arrive shortly
after we do.”
Both men
lived on the Institute grounds in quite luxurious condos NIMR provided for its
senior staff. It was convenient – and relieved
the security conscious admiral’s mind considerably, especially given the
trouble his two top officers had already proven themselves capable of getting
into.
“Pizza’s
good.” Food came way down Crane’s
priority list at the best of times and he amiably agreed with his friend’s
suggestion. “You about
ready to get out of here?”
“I’ve been
ready for the past hour!” Retorted the blond, reaching out to swat Lee’s khaki covered leg
and missing as Crane slid nimbly off the side of the desk and out of reach. “You’re the one who insisted on going over
the patch one more time.”
A swift
frown suddenly marring the smooth olive forehead had Chip groaning – he
shouldn’t have mentioned the patch, which was all he’d managed to cobble
together on NavCom in the allotted timeframe.
Now he would have to listen to Lee all evening going on about it – the
man never settled when there was the slightest thing that failed to function to
its full efficiency on his beloved Seaview.
“I’m sorry
I spoke. Just chill, Lee! It’ll get sorted tomorrow. I have a couple of ideas I want to test out
in the morning. Bear with me a while. We’ll get her up and running again as quickly
as we can.” He had to smile at the glare
Lee initially sent him, which transformed into an almost sheepish grin as he
realised that Chip, as usual, had his measure.
They’d been friends for so long that Chip could read every nuance of
expression or posture in Lee; it never took words to convey his feelings – especially
where Seaview was concerned. It
was one of the traits Morton admired most in his friend and CO. Lee truly had the best interests of the boat
and her crew at the heart of everything he did – everything he was. It made for a wonderful captain – but a
frustrating friend.
“Come on,
buddy, outta here. I’ll call the pizza
place from the car.” Chip adroitly shut
down his PC, shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his cover and briefcase. Lee had just started for his own office when
he heard the phone on his desk ring. He
quickened his pace to the accompaniment of Chip’s theatrical groan and a
muttered “Don’t answer it!” but by the time he reached his desk it had stopped
ringing. With a short expletive, he
collected jacket, cover and briefcase and retraced his steps towards Chip’s
office – to the ringing of Chip’s landline.
Casting his
eyes heavenwards Chip reached for the instrument, mouthing to his friend “Bet
it’s the admiral, checking are we still here!”
At Lee’s sigh, he barked into the mouthpiece, “Morton.”
“Security
here, Mr. Morton. Is Commander Crane
with you, sir?”
“Yes, he
is. Let me pass you over to him.” His grin was ever so slightly evil as he eyed
the comically dismayed expression that momentarily crossed his friend’s face.
“No need,
sir. The message is for whichever of you
we could locate.”
Chip
frowned and saw it instantly echoed on Lee’s face as he followed Chip’s side of
the conversation.
“It’s from
Miss Angie, sir. She’s in downtown
****
They made it to the site of the carjacking by breaking all the speed
limits. Lee had insisted on driving,
taking a pool car rather than his little two-seater convertible, sensing Chip’s
upset and wanting to arrive in one piece.
The scene was immediate in-your-face organised chaos.
A number of police cruisers, an ambulance, (which almost gave both
officers incipient heart attacks), several witnesses and their vehicles, milled
around the busy intersection. A police
roadblock had been erected at some distance and Crane and Morton had to show
their ID cards and security clearances to be allowed through. Their total focus on locating Angie, they
moved directly towards the ambulance, only to find it empty and two rather
disgruntled paramedics disparaging of the call out.
Chip snagged hold of a police officer and enquired brusquely, “Where’s
Ms. Newman, Angie Newman?”
The officer shrugged his shoulder as he returned to the interview he was
conducting. “Over there, somewhere. Couldn’t get her off the phone.”
Lee and Chip headed in the direction he’d indicated, sweeping the scene
with experienced eyes. This section of
the busy four-way crossroads was currently off limits to traffic, which was
being filtered elsewhere by the highway patrol.
At the traffic lights stood a non-descript four-door sedan with
She was a sight to behold, missing one shoe, hose torn and legs badly
scraped, skirt ripped and exposing a lot more leg than she’d usually concede to
show. Her white blouse was streaked
with blood, grass and dirt, pulled from her waistband and gaping at neck and
shoulder, several buttons missing down the front. A stainless steel cuff and the remains of a
short chain dragged down a badly bruised right wrist and she held the cell
phone to her ear with her left hand. The
right side of her face showed a wicked friction burn, which oozed blood, and a
purpling on her left jaw indicated that she’d probably taken a fist in the face.
Shards of glass were visible in her usually neat dark hair, which was now in
severe disarray. She was pacing,
mis-stepping without a shoe, as she spoke and she was obviously pissed and
totally oblivious to the sight she presented.
Her staccato tones could be easily heard from a distance and Crane and
Morton exchanged uneasy glances.
She spotted them as they swiftly approached. “Admiral, Lee and Chip have arrived. I’m getting no satisfaction out of these
local cops, so I’ll sic them onto the captain and exec. What?
OK, sir, I’ll put you on.” She
handed the phone to Lee, gesturing pre-emptorily to Chip. “Admiral Nelson wants
to talk to Lee and he wants you to co-ordinate with the cops. Let me fill you in.”
“Angie! Honey,
slow down a minute.” He caught
her by the elbows, tugging her gently round to face him, to better view her
injuries, as he stripped off his jacket and slung it around her shoulders to
cover her. She shrugged impatiently out
of his grip.
“No time, Chip. These bozos
haven’t a clue. We need some muscle
here. I can’t seem to get through to
them that the Admiral’s work has been stolen.
It’s gone. GONE!” Her voice had been rising steadily but she
now took a deep breath – well, as deep as sore ribs would allow her. She almost hissed the words out, so she
wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s Project
Discovery! All his
notes. Everything!” She ran her hands frenziedly through her
already disordered hair, smearing blood from her scraped palms onto cheeks that
were becoming increasingly pale.
To Chip she looked decidedly fragile and it was obvious no one had taken
care of her injuries. He wondered why
the paramedics hadn’t looked her over. That
became immediately evident when he voiced the suggestion and she turned on him.
“NO! Don’t you understand? His research! All his notes! God!”
Lee joined them, having finished his call with Nelson, but was equally
unsuccessful in persuading her to have someone check her over. “Pull rank!
Do something! Anything! These
idiots aren’t doing anything. Discovery
could be on a plane to the People’s Republic by now! Get them moving. Do something - NOW! That’s why I called NIMR security. Some other idiot called the locals!”
“Angie, sit down. Here, come
on. Sit!” Lee quietly ordered, having propelled her
discretely in the direction of the ambulance; in her agitation she’d failed to
notice his subtle manoeuvring. He pushed
her gently onto the step outside the medical vehicle and hunkered down so he
could assess her injuries, face to face.
“I’ve just gotten off the phone from the admiral. He’s worried about you more than his
research. He’s going to meet us at
“Start from the beginning.” Chip
encouraged softly as he recognised the rapid deflation of her adrenalin rush
once she was seated and among friends, even as she flinched from their gentle
ministrations.
Her gaze switched uncomprehendingly between the two khaki clad officers
for several moments, as they tended to her various cuts and bruises, before she
allowed her shoulders to slump forward and expelled a huge sigh of relief,
tacitly – temporarily – allowing them to take charge. She concentrated on keeping to the facts,
knowing they’d need as concise a report as possible.
“I got a call in the office, around 18.00, from the admiral. He asked me
to bring the file on Project Discovery to the conference venue. It was Admiral Nelson’s voice!” She defended, although neither officer had
queried her. “I was about to leave for
the evening anyway, so I took the folder from his safe, put it in the briefcase
and headed to my car. Oh,
no!”
She started up and had two pair of hands immediately restrain her. “My purse! My briefcase! They were both in the
trunk. I’d taken work home for the
weekend.” She failed to spot the swift,
slightly amused look that passed between the two men. “Oh, hell! What did I bring?” She was mentally wringing her hands trying to
remember what files she’d taken home to work on. Mostly everyday Institute stuff, if she
recalled correctly, but she knew she wasn’t thinking all that clearly. The longer she sat, the more aches seemed to
find places to make themselves felt.
Lee took her bruised right wrist into his hands, gently flexing it to
check how badly it was sprained. She
tried to jerk it out of his grasp, yelping aloud as he probed the delicate
bones. “That doesn’t matter. It’s OK, honey. Your wrist doesn’t appear to
be broken but that cuff has got to come off and you’ll probably need an X-ray. Tell us how they did it.”
She looked from one to the other, seeing calming amber versus snapping
electric blue in their eyes. Both, in
their own way, focused her and she leaned her head wearily back against the
open door of the ambulance, drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes and began to
describe what had happened.
“Admiral Nelson called. Asked me
to bring the Project Discovery file to the hotel where he’s speaking. I took the file from the safe. Put it in the case and chained it to my
wrist. SOP. I was already heading out for the evening so
I figured I’d swing by the hotel on my way.
I know I should have taken a staff car with a driver, but it didn’t seem
that important – Discovery has already had its trials and been accepted by the
powers that be. I just didn’t think it
might be any kind of plot to get hold of it.
It was the Admiral on the phone!
So I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I took a shortcut. And look what happened.” Her tone became self-condemnatory.
“Angie, you are not to blame yourself!”
“Who else, Lee?
I was stupid! I didn’t
think. That’s not what NIMR pays me
for. I’m supposed to be smarter
than that, to see potential risks to the admiral and his work and deflect
them. I goofed tonight, pure and
simple.”
Conceding he was probably on a hiding-to-nothing, Lee attempted the improbable
anyway.
“Angie, this was a
well-organised, superbly executed job.
They’re obviously professionals – and they had targeted you
particularly. It most likely wouldn’t
have mattered if you’d had a guard with you.
They’d probably only have gotten dirtier.” In his attempt to make her feel better, Lee
watched as the significance of his statement hit home and she paled even more –
and cursed himself for his insensitivity.
Angie was like a little sister to him, thus she was precious and even
more so to Chip Morton who harboured definite designs on her – if he was any
judge – and he knew Morton like the back of his hand. “What exactly happened, honey?”
She gestured towards the intersection, sucking in a breath, more in
control now. “I pulled up at the stop
light. Just sat there waiting for it to
change, listening to a CD. Next thing I
know, the two side windows came in on top of me. They popped the locks and opened the
doors. I ducked but one of them hit
me. I’m not sure which one. The one on the passenger side had a big metal
thing; he just cut the chain and took the briefcase.
The other one was huge. He unsnapped the seatbelt, grabbed me around the
waist, picked me up and threw me out of the car. Then they both got in and drove off. It took seconds from start to finish. Just a couple of seconds.”
The two seasoned officers looked at each other. Both recognised a sting operation if ever they’d seen one. Hunkered down close to her, as she came to the end of her tale, both men saw and felt the moment she began to shake. Chip gathered her into his arms, his tone conciliatory.
“Angie, you’ve got to let these guys take care of you. You need to go to….”
“No!” She practically wrenched
herself out of his grasp. “What I need
is to get my car back. Get the
admiral’s research back! I fouled up,
Chip. Don’t you understand?
I failed to follow proper procedure, just to save myself some
time, and I may have handed our enemies – on a plate – the plans to a weapons
defence system so far advanced that it would have taken them years to catch
up. And I just waltzed into their game
plan. Oh, shit, shit, shit!” She finally
buried her head on Chip’s broad shoulder as she simultaneously thumped him
energetically and, much to both men’s relief, finally
allowed the tears to flow.
****
“Excuse me.”
Both officers reacted instantly to the timid voice and had the small
thin man taking a hasty step backwards in face of their affront.
“Umm, I’d just like my cell back.”
He gestured to the phone that Lee still held. “The police have told me I can go and she,
uhh, kinda borrowed it.”
“I’m sorry!” Angie apologised
somewhat distractedly then, looking from Lee to Chip, explained, “I’d left my cell
in my purse. I asked this gentleman if
I could use his to call the Institute. I
guess I…sorta forgot to return it.” She
turned back to her errant knight, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, most sincerely. I really do appreciate it.”
He looked from her to the two uniformed officers flanking her and
shrugged deprecatorily. “Happy to help, Miss.
I gave a statement to the police and they know how to reach me if they
need me. Not that I saw very much
anyway, they were both wearing facemasks – like knit things, you know, the kind
you see in movies?
Anyway, if you need me for anything, Miss, I’d be happy to oblige. The police have my numbers.” With a final slightly leering/admiring
glance, for she had been showing an uncustomary amount of skin – which faded
immediately he saw the steely glare Chip shot him –the BMW owner thankfully
retrieved his cell phone from Lee and rabitted back to his convertible.
“My phone was in the trunk – in my purse. My house keys! My driver’s licence!” Her eyes widened as she recognised the
implications. “They know where I
live. Oh, crap!”
Lee smiled dryly at her brief show of annoyance. It was so typical of the petite
brunette. But he noted that she still
hadn’t stopped shaking. “Angie, we’ll
take care of it. I’ll get someone over
to your place tonight to secure it and we’ll have the locks changed first thing
in the morning. You’ve got to stop
worrying. Now we need to get out of
here. I’m going to call Jamie to meet us
at
She bristled immediately. “I
don’t need to go to
Even as upset and irritated as she was, she recognised the silent,
commiserating glances the two exchanged and knew she wasn’t going to get her
way. “Nelson spoke, eh? And what Nelson wants, Nelson gets. Right?” It was almost a mantra around the Institute.
“Angie….” Chip had only begun when he was interrupted by one of the EMTs
– the one who’d provided the blanket and wipes and who’d obviously overheard
the conversation.
“Those cuts on her legs need attention – they’ve got a lot of grit and
dirt embedded and could easily become infected.
She’s badly sprained that wrist and it needs support, and I suspect
she’s got some rib damage. She could
also have a concussion from the blow to her jaw and she needs those grazes on
her face to be professionally looked at if they’re not going to scar.” He lowered his voice, as if she couldn’t
hear. “She’s also in shock – she really
needs to go to the hospital but she won’t allow us to treat her.”
Taking pity on the kinder of the two MT’s – who’d allowed them time to
reason with Angie and had provided what limited care she would allow – Lee
gestured to Chip to take her to the car while he placated the young, eager
carer; the other being seasoned enough to know when his presence wasn’t
required. “We’re from the Nelson
Institute of Marine Research and have our own medical personnel. Our Chief Medical Officer is an ex-trauma
surgeon. She’ll be well looked
after. But thank you for your
concern. And your
kindness. I’ll be sure to point
out your observations to Dr. Jamieson, Mr. Preston.” Reading his name from the
tag on his shirtfront.
Relieved enough to allow the obviously military types to take charge of
the injured girl, he still insisted that Lee sign a release form. The young man’s eyes
widened in disbelief as he scrutinised the signature. “Commander Lee Crane? But…. You captain the Seaview! That’s Admiral Nelson’s boat. I’ve been to the Nelson Institute so many
times on their tour. It’s a real treat
to meet you, sir.”
Lee smiled gently. “Well, next
time you come by, ask for Angie Newman, she’s the Deputy Director of NIMR. And I know she’d like to say thanks.”
With a swift salute, he left the younger man explaining to his older
colleague just whom they’d been treating.
****
The irresistible force met the immovable object. Both senior officers could only stand back
and admire as they witnessed what would go down in
Opponent One – small, feisty and very determined vs. Opponent Two, tall,
lean and equally determined. The second
combatant had, of course, an advantage – he’d had way more experience in dealing
with recalcitrant patients. Plus he was
sneakier. She played by the rules – he
didn’t. And made no
apologies for it. Both officers
commiserated with the loser but the clash had been worth the price of
admission.
She’d fought him every minute since Chip had carried her in, even
Nelson’s appearance and his insistence on her obeying Jamie’s orders hadn’t
worked. She’d been spitting pure fire by
then and had threatened to walk out if he (Nelson) had sided with the
physician. She’d reluctantly allowed
Jamie to clean up the cuts to her legs and face and support the sprain on her
right wrist – once bolt cutters had removed the cuff – with a soft cast but
she’d almost physically fought him when he’d suggested that she should remain
overnight as she was in some degree of shock.
Used to Jamie’s no-nonsense approach – and his expertise at dealing with
officers who put their own wants before what he perceived as their needs – the
senior officers (valuing their continued good health) had cravenly backed off
and left the protagonists to it, silently admiring Angie’s stance but conceding
Jamie’s victory, long before it became fact.
They’d known he was sneaky – but he rose in their estimation of his
stealth and all three traded somewhat wary glances.
He’d initially tried to persuade her – gently – that she needed
monitoring for shock. That had gone down
like a lead balloon. He’d threatened her
with a powerful sedative. She’d deep
six’d that by knocking the syringe from his hand as he’d approached. She’d hopped off the exam table, wincing as
the various bruises made their presence felt and backed away from him.
Recognising her very real fear, Jamie had changed tactics mid-stream and gently
soothed her into a chair, casting warning glances at the other three. Then he’d coolly informed her that he had no
problem with her returning to her apartment if she agreed to take a small dose
of brandy, which would calm her racing pulse and reduce the potential effects
of shock, allowing her a peaceful night’s sleep.
Not having experienced his particular brand of ‘persuasion’ before Angie
had all too readily agreed, would have done anything to get out of there, and
failed to note the sympathetic looks that were exchanged over her head – or
Jamieson’s slight of hand as he poured her a tot of the quality liquor he kept
for just such ‘emergencies’. She took a
sip and grimaced at the taste but – at his insistence – knocked it back,
shuddering at the unaccustomed raw bite of the alcohol. He suggested that she give it a minute or two
before attempting to leave, offering to have a staff car drive her home. Her nod of agreement had her head dropping
further than she’d thought and she’d jerked it upright, even as she began to
slide bonelessly from the chair.
Confusion was apparent in the green eyes that met his as Jamie grabbed
her under the arms and lifted her slight form back onto the exam table. She struggled weakly in defiance but the
sedation was too strong and she was asleep within seconds of him laying her
down.
“Sneaky, Jamie, very, very sneaky.”
Nelson shook his head at the physician he admired greatly and grinned in
wry amusement. “But I wouldn’t want to
be around when she wakes up.”
“I really hate to do that, Admiral, she’ll have
difficulty ever trusting me again.”
Concern evident in tone and gesture, Jamieson gently smoothed the dark
hair back from Angie’s now placid features.
“But our little lady here has a very real phobia – she wouldn’t even let
me examine her properly. Barely let me
clean out the cuts and grazes. Whether
she likes it or not, she’s in shock. She didn’t stop trembling the entire time
and her pulse is way too fast. There’s
no way I could allow her to leave. Not
in that condition.”
Nelson knew that Jamieson was an extremely conscientious doctor and took
his duties seriously. “I wasn’t
criticising, Jamie.” He assured the
other man. “You did what you had to. But she’s going to be madder than a wet hen
when she discovers what you did.”
“I’d rather that than any of the possible alternatives.”
“She’ll be OK, won’t she?” Chip
stepped closer to the sleeping woman, his gaze unconsciously tender.
Nelson traded an amused glance with the other two. Chip was obviously disconcerted; he’d never
have allowed his feelings to show so blatantly otherwise – except maybe with
Lee – and especially not in front of his superior officer. He’d have been horrified if he’d known that
his emotions were written all over his usually expressionless face.
“She’ll be fine, Chip. A bit sore
and bruised for a few days, some of the lacerations from the glass and asphalt
were deep and dirty but nothing too serious or that required stitches, and
there was no evidence of a concussion. A
good night’s sleep will work wonders.
What I’ve just given her should keep her under for the next twelve hours
or so.” Jamie placated the younger
man. “Now that she’s out, I’ll give her
a quick once over to make sure there’s no other damage that she ‘forgot’ to
mention. Then I’ll have one of the
nurses get her settled. I’ll check on
her in the morning and, more than likely, release her
then. You might make sure that she has
something to wear.” He indicated the
tattered remains of her clothing, Chip’s jacket still around her shoulders as
she’d refused to release it.
“I’ve sent Ski out to her place.
He’ll secure it for tonight and have a locksmith change the locks first
thing in the morning. Maybe Debbie could
stop by and gather some stuff for her, I’ll give her a
call.” Crane volunteered.
“Good idea, Lee. Debbie won’t mind
when she learns of the circumstances.”
Nelson nodded his approval – he was proud of his staff; NIMR banded
together when one of their own was victimised.
“Now, Gentlemen, shall we adjourn to my office? We have a strategy to plan. Jamie, take care of her.”
Jamieson nodded. He knew Nelson
was inordinately fond of his young P.A.
Chip looked like he wanted to say something further but merely followed
his superior officers out, with a final lingering look at the pale sleeping
figure.
“Oh, Angie, he’s got it bad, girl!”
Jamie murmured sympathetically as he rang for a nurse to assist
him. Moving back to the exam table he
gently lifted her wrist to check her pulse.
“Now I wonder what caused that phobia of yours? We’ll have a little chat soon – when you’ve
forgiven me for tonight! I can imagine
you’re going to be spitting feathers at me tomorrow. And I thought I’d seen it all with Lee
Crane!”
****
Nelson moved to the credenza in his office and hit the switch on the
coffee pot Angie had thoughtfully left ready for the morrow. Gesturing his officers to seats in front of
his desk, he crossed to the sidebar and poured each of them a much needed,
generous shot of single malt. Handing
the glasses to the two younger men as he reached back for his own, he studied
them both closely.
He could easily see Lee’s upset – Crane was the quintessential Naval officer and gentleman and it would offend his
sensibilities to have a woman he worked with, and genuinely liked, targeted as
ruthlessly as Angie had been. Chip was
usually more – difficult – to read and Nelson had had occasion to curse his
XO’s stoic demeanour. That had patently
taken a knock just now. Nelson hadn’t
guessed at the depth of his exec’s feelings for his PA. Heck, maybe even Chip hadn’t realised how
much he cared for the petite brunette until tonight. His sympathies rose for the young blond
officer – but he knew the words wouldn’t be appreciated so he rounded the desk,
dropped into his high-backed leather chair and lit a cigarette, silently acknowledging
that it soothed the rage that bubbled inside him at the attack on one of his
people. One of his people that he’d
thought immune to attacks against him.
The sense of responsibility for tonight’s action bit deeply. He wanted whoever was accountable for the
assault on Angie – and he wanted them badly.
“Let me have the story again – from the beginning.” He listened quietly, thoughtfully, as the two
re-iterated the tale as they’d been told it.
He nodded decisively when they finished.
“Obviously a well-orchestrated,
co-ordinated attack. Not a spur of the moment target
of opportunity. Balaclavas, bolt cutters
– they didn’t want to be recognised and they knew Angie would have the attaché
case secured. We’re not dealing with
amateurs. We need a copy of ‘my’ call to
the office. Chip, you’re on that. Request the tape from Records – just as well
we document all incomings. Lee, we’ll
need more personnel. See whom you can
recall from liberty. I know you’ve got
Ski out at Angie’s place. Ideally I’d
like Sharkey, O’Brien, Patterson and maybe young Lt. James.”
Lee was shaking his head already.
“Sorry, Admiral, the chief’s left for the east coast on vacation and
O’Brien is acting as best man at a wedding this weekend. Pat is probably available and I don’t
remember Chris talking of any special plans.
I’ll chase both of them up immediately.”
Nelson suppressed a grin – he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was quite possible that Lee knew of the
liberty plans for all 125 crewmembers! That was just the type of skipper he
was.
“Fine, try for Riley also. Get on
to gate security, Chip.” He instructed,
drawing deeply on the cigarette – he thought better when his hands were
occupied. “Angie was quite likely
followed from the moment she left the grounds.
Perhaps they managed to capture something on the CCTV cameras. We’ll need to review those. I’m assuming the local force have impounded
the car left at the scene. What can we
find out from that? These guys are
likely too professional to have left prints but even the brightest criminals
can slip up. Not that our boys in blue
will want to volunteer any information.
They should have an APB out for Angie’s car too. Let’s see if they’ve got any leads yet. Offer them our laboratory facilities – they’ll
be superior to anything SBPD currently have available.” Nelson wasn’t being elitist – merely
pragmatic. And his ire rose as he
contemplated the slight figure of his PA as he’d last seen her, huddled in
Chip’s way too big jacket on the gurney in
He’d never thought of Angie as a potential target. He’d come to terms long since with the idea
of Seaview being a mark for his enemies, as were his inventions, and
even his crew – although that was harder to bear. But – and maybe he was a dinosaur in this age
of feminine equality – he hadn’t dreamed of anyone targeting his PA, his newly
announced Deputy Director. No question,
Angie had been deserving of the promotion but had he unknowingly endangered her
by elevating her to that position, with its attendant publicity?
Crane watched Nelson carefully, seeing the obvious signs of the admiral’s temper rising. “Admiral, it’s not your fault.” He spoke softly, guessing at the reason, knowing instinctively that Nelson would blame himself. “Angie knew the risk, knew that her heightened profile could make her a target. Knew it and accepted it.”
Nelson saw Chip nod in agreement and paced back to his desk, crushing out the butt of his cigarette. His colour was still high and his blue eyes snapped with ill concealed rage. He pounded one fist into the desk hard enough to hurt his hand. The attendant pain helped him focus. “Goddamn them! Perhaps I’m old fashioned but I can accept the risks we take. It’s what we trained for. But when they attack helpless women….”
His eyes narrowed in surprise and displeasure as he heard Lee chuckle and Chip laugh outright.
“I’m sorry, Admiral, but calling Angie ‘helpless’ is a bit of a stretch. If you could have seen her when we got there. She had commandeered someone’s cell phone and was swatting away both the local police and the EMT’s like they were nuisance flies. If things hadn’t happened as quickly as they did, I’m betting she’d have given those guys a run for their money.” Lee’s amber eyes sparkled. He – like Chip – had seen Angie in action in defence of the admiral. She was a formidable sight for all her diminutive stature – a pocket dynamo, the exec had been known to call her.
Lee could see that his attempts to lighten the atmosphere were working. Nelson’s colour was fading as his temper dissipated. He gave one of his patented ‘harrumphs’ and lit another cigarette, easing himself back down into his chair. He knew he’d been ‘finagled’ out of his temper – again. Seaview’s young captain seemed to have a knack for it. “Thank you, Lee.” He intoned quietly. “Now, I want these people and I want them badly. Chip, any ideas?”
Grateful for something concrete to keep his mind off Angie, Chip was
thinking ahead. “We’ll need to
co-operate with the locals on this one, Admiral. And probably the Feds too, once they discover
that your research is missing. I mean,
Project Discovery isn’t exactly chicken feed.”
“Thank you for that most erudite compliment, Chip.” Nelson extolled drolly, watching as the
younger man flushed at the inappropriateness of his words. The admiral amusedly waved aside his
stammered apology. “I appreciate the
sentiment, lad. And, while the notes are
a loss, there are copies, both here and in my safe at the house. The plus
factor being that the project is already well into the production phase.” He was unsurprised at the jolt that his
comment attracted from the younger pair.
“Yes, we were a little further advanced on the project than I’d
previously admitted to. It was only a
matter of time, once it went into general circulation, before something leaked
or someone attempted to copy it. So, while
this is a blow and earlier than I’d like, it’s not going to adversely affect
the launch of Discovery. Despite what
they’ve procured, it’ll take them some time to get to where we’re currently
at.”
“Even so, Admiral,” Chip persisted, “we’re going to have to deal with
outside agencies this time. With the
number of civilians already involved, it’s inevitably going to make the TV
news.” He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings but, as the pragmatic one of
the trio – Lee would have said ‘anal’ – he felt duty bound to point out the
obvious negatives.
Nelson frowned, but conceded the point.
“So we’re going to need someone to play nice with the media. Let’s get our PR Dept. onto that
immediately.”
“We don’t want the Press getting
anywhere near Angie, sir.” Lee
cautioned. “And you know they’ll be all
over her, given the slightest opportunity.
We can keep them at a distance as long as she’s in
“You’re right, Lee. And I know
you hate dealing with them but you’re acquainted with that girl at the local TV
station, Linda something. She proved
extremely helpful in the past. (*)
Perhaps she might be willing to assist us once again.”
Lee nodded his reluctant compliance.
He was an intensely private man and, while he’d had a brief relationship
with Linda Nugent, they had both decided that they would rather remain friends
than infrequent lovers. It wasn’t
conducive to his undercover assignments to have his picture splashed across the
tabloids – it happened far too often for his liking as it was.
Nelson caught the hesitance in the golden eyes and understood. “Lee, call her. Gain her co-operation and then let Lt. James
handle the follow up. He could do with
the experience. And he’ll be good ‘poster boy’
material for the Institute in your stead.”
He watched the colour wash into the sallow cheekbones, knowing how Crane
hated the designation that had followed him from his entry into the Academy. And, at the smirk Chip sent his friend’s way,
Nelson threw him a mock glare.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Commander.
If we have to loose the big guns, it’s your six I’ll be tossing
onto the pyre this time!” He enjoyed the
frequent banter between his two young officers and grinned wryly at the
speaking look from Lee’s sparkling eyes.
All three appreciated the momentary lightening of the atmosphere before
getting back to the evening’s serious business.
“Actually, I thought I might call on my acquaintance from SBPD,
sir.” Chip offered, his quick brain
having run through the parameters of the situation in his own inimitable style
and coming up with one of his ‘fast action equals damage control’ lists, so
familiar to and appreciated by his superiors.
“The locals are going to play a big part in this and it stands to reason
that we’ll have to deal with them plus the Feds – not to mention ComSubPac and
probably the White House when the loss of Project Discovery becomes known. The wider parameters are monumental,
Admiral.”
Once again Nelson had cause to thank the fates that had put him in the
same timeframe that had witnessed the advent of Crane and Morton into
Chip traded a soft smile with Lee – Nelson’s edict being a little
different than Chip’s proposal – but agreed without demure. Both knew that the admiral had an agenda of
his own, even as he doled out assignments.
Chip left it up to Lee to ask the question.
“Admiral, what are you proposing to do, sir?”
“Me, Lee?
Why, I’m going hunting.”
****
It proved a long, fruitless, night.
Despite their hopes, no clues yielded from the tape of the call to
Nelson’s office. Chip had made contact
with Lt. Connelly who, as one of the senior officers with SBPD, had already
been chosen to spearhead the case by his captain – who was willing to concede
that Connelly’s familiarity with NIMR might trigger a faster resolution to this
one. Captain McNeill was well aware of
the high profile and news-worthiness of this case – not to mention the
difficulties of dealing with the military and the top-secret nature of the
stolen material. He was more than happy
to allow Connelly to take over.
Chip had cleared the SBPD lieutenant for access to the base and he and
his partner were immediately escorted to the
Patrick Connelly had been a tenacious adversary. From the top of his nearly bald head to the
tips of his badly shined shoes he shrieked ‘cop’. He was a bull of a man in a rumpled though
expensive suit, his girth almost matching his height. He was no taller than Nelson but outweighed
him by a good fifty pounds – and all of it pure muscle. For a big man he could move as lightly as a
dancer when the need arose. And, despite
an inauspicious start, Morton knew he could trust this man implicitly and that
Connelly held him in the same regard.
Since the ‘Cassie Affair’, which had been resolved – as Connelly had admitted – more by
luck than detection, they had met occasionally for a beer, keeping up with each
other and a friendship of sorts was born.
Connelly was a street cop, not a desk jockey. He was fifty-six years old and had put in
more than his thirty. He could have
accepted a promotion to captain several years earlier but that would have taken
him off the streets and into a purely administrative role. It wasn’t for him. He was a bloodhound and would stay on the
streets as long as he remained active.
He regarded the taller, younger, khaki clad blond with an unusual
fondness. Unmarried and childless,
Connelly didn’t usually allow people to get close to him. But somehow this man had managed it. And Pat Connelly didn’t quite know how. He’d been very taken with the officer’s
composure and steadfastness when he’d questioned Chip about the attack on Lee
Crane. Initial, inbuilt scepticism in
the seasoned cop had turned to admiration and respect. Bottom line – he just plain liked Chip
Morton.
“Chip, good to see you again.” The cop’s eyes were dark, hooded, knowing, but
his broad face split into a pleasant grin as he clasped the proffered hand
eagerly.
“It’s been a while, Pat.” Blue eyes full of affection met Connelly’s and Chip’s rare
incandescent smile lit up his face. “Thanks
for coming by so quickly.”
With a nod, Morton dismissed the security guard who had escorted the
police officers from the gate. Security
was always tight at the Institute but he’d ordered a Level 2 – the next to
highest alert – when they’d brought Angie back onto the base.
Seeing the deference with which the guard treated the blond, the woman
at Connelly’s side raised an eyebrow.
Connelly performed the introductions.
“Sergeant Alanna O’Regan, SBPD, Lt. Cmdr. Chip Morton
of the Nelson Institute and Executive Officer of the Seaview. I thought your secretary might find it easier
talking to another woman, Chip.”
“Ma’am….”
“For the record, that’s Sergeant, Lt. Cmdr.” She corrected as she openly sized him up.
Morton shook hands with the tall brunette and murmured the customary
platitudes. She was incredibly
beautiful; glossy, almost jet-black hair was caught in a knot at the nape of
her neck flattering her oval face, her complexion was pure peaches and cream
and she had wonderfully dark lashed deep blue eyes. She looked to be somewhere in her early to
mid thirties, tall and slender, dressed in a navy blue pantsuit. And Chip took an instant and inexplicable
dislike to her.
He couldn’t have said why. Lee
would have kidded him about it, for Chip’s reputation as a ladies man was
stellar – and much exaggerated. Perhaps
it was her assertive don’t-mess-with-me stance or the blatant, almost
aggressive, way she was looking him over.
She reminded him of a sleek feline and he could just about see her licking
her lips in appreciation. Morton didn’t
suffer from false modesty. He knew he
was reasonably good looking – not as strikingly handsome as Lee but OK in a
conventional all-American way. He’d had
his share of female attention over the years and like any healthy young man
he’d sown his wild oats. With age had
come discernment and there was just something too obviously and off-puttingly
sexual about this woman’s attitude. If
he’d had to put a word on it he would have said – bold. She looked like she wanted to eat him
whole.
His best XO mask firmly in place, Chip acknowledged her remark with a
short inclining of his head, smoothly turned to Connelly and thanked him for
his thoughtfulness. “But I’m afraid you
won’t be able to talk to Angie until tomorrow.
Doc wanted to keep her in
“She wasn’t badly hurt?”
“Some nasty cuts and bruises and a
badly sprained wrist.
He gestured for them to precede him into the lobby of the Administration
building, which was brightly lit despite the lateness of the hour. Crossing to the elevator he addressed his
comments to Lt. Connelly, subtly and without any hint of being impolite,
managing to exclude the female cop.
Her failure to intimidate him annoyed her intensely and a frown creased
her smooth brow. She wasn’t used to put
downs and his silent brush off had been clear as crystal. But he would pay for that, she resolved
casually.
****
Nelson had a vicious headache, caused by too much coffee and
earache. He’d spent the intervening time
fielding calls from ComSubPac, ComSubLant and various federal and gubernatorial
agencies, all intent on sending personnel to assist. It wasn’t interference he needed but
information. He was on the hunt. But the calls just kept interrupting
him. Jiggs Starke had been the only
bright spot in an otherwise frustrating couple of hours. His old friend had cottoned on immediately,
promising to send out feelers to see what he could come up with on the coconut
wireless. Pity the other agencies didn’t
have his savvy. Starke, as did Nelson,
knew that something as carefully planned as this didn’t happen in a
vacuum. Someone, somewhere had knowledge
of the plans and the perpetrators – and that Intel could be traded or, if
necessary, bought.
As his private line rang once again he sighed and lit yet another
cigarette, his ashtray already overflowing.
He absently thought that he would have to dispose of the evidence soon
or he would catch hell from Jamie. Not
to mention the disapproving looks from Lee and Chip. Recognising the number on the caller display,
he reluctantly lifted the receiver as a knock on the door heralded Chip’s entry
with two civilians.
Waving them in, he exhaled deeply.
“Yes, Mr. President. I appreciate
the call, sir. We’re doing everything in
our power to retrieve the material. Yes,
sir. It is a blow. But we’ll still be at least six months ahead
of the opposition, even if we don’t succeed in getting it back. I’m receiving excellent co-operation,
sir. Everyone has been most
helpful. Thank you, I’ll feel free to
call if there is anything I think you can assist with.” He listened intently, his voice softening as
he replied to an obviously personal comment.
“Thank you, Andrew. She’ll be
fine. She’s in good hands. Our CMO insisted on keeping her overnight,
much against her will, I can assure you.”
He paused and chuckled at the other’s comment. “Yes, it was loud. And I wouldn’t risk calling for a day or two,
if I were you. You’re liable to get an
earful.” Pause. “She is, that. I’ll tell her. And she’ll appreciate it. I appreciate it, sir. We’ll keep you informed.”
Hanging up the receiver, he rose to his feet, crushing out the half
smoked cigarette. “I’m sorry for keeping
you waiting.”
“The President has a tendency to take precedence, Admiral.” Connelly denoted dryly, striding ahead and
enveloping Nelson’s outstretched hand in his giant paw. “It’s nice to see you again but a pity the
circumstances aren’t better. May I
introduce my colleague, Det. Sgt. Alanna O’Regan. Sergeant, Admiral Harriman Nelson.”
“A pleasure, Ma’am.
Lieutenant, it’s nice to see you again. Why don’t we sit down?” Nelson indicated the sofas ranged around a
coffee table across the office, moving towards the venue as a given. “Chip, could you ask Lee to join us? He’s with Chris in the Press office.”
Not one to miss much in his immediate milieu, Nelson spotted the glance
the female detective flicked in Morton’s direction at his instruction. Chip dipped his head in compliance, closing
the door behind him as he left.
She was impressed. He was on
first name terms with the President of the
“O’Regan? Any
relation to our late mayor, Sergeant?”
Nelson queried, as he enquired as to their preference for coffee.
“He was my father, Admiral.” She
offered stiffly, adding nothing further, but her eyes were cold.
“My condolence on your loss.
And that would make the Governor your uncle.” She nodded assent, without commenting. Nelson lit another cigarette. A lady with connections.
Within minutes, while Connelly and Nelson exchanged small talk, the door
opened again and Crane and Morton entered.
If she’d thought the blond was good looking and the russet-haired
admiral was powerful then the brunet was breath taking.
Lee felt himself being evaluated and almost consumed by the deep blue
eyes in the strikingly beautiful face.
But, like Morton, he was used to come-ons from the female sex. And overt did nothing for him. Glancing
sideways at his friend, they exchanged a silent communiqué.
Chip was only too glad that it wasn’t personal. She obviously behaved this way with everyone
she encountered. Her scrutiny of Nelson
hadn’t gone unnoticed. The admiral had
taken the single armchair and Connelly and his colleague had seated themselves
on one of the comfortable brown leather sofas, so Chip and Lee perched
themselves side by side on the other couch.
Coffee offered and declined, they got down to business.
Neither the call nor the CCTV cameras at NIMR’s gatehouse had provided
any clues. An FBI voice identification
expert – an old friend of Nelson’s called immediately – had swiftly opined that
the call was an expertly, professionally, put together amalgam. Nelson’s voice – but taken from random
interviews and taped recordings to mesh into that one seemingly effortless
phone call. The perps’ car had been a
lost cause. Having been examined by
experts; neither a fingerprint nor so much as a hair had been retrieved.
“And I’ve only got more bad news, Admiral.” Connelly added. “Ms. Newman’s car was found by one of our
patrol units. Unfortunately it had been
burned out. Comprehensively. I’m afraid we’ll find little to help us
there. It was too hot for anything other
than a preliminary investigation at the scene so we won’t have anything
concrete for another day or two.
However, I wouldn’t bet on us getting lucky. These guys are pros. We’ll put the word out on the streets. But I’m not very hopeful of a result. This took planning by someone who knew what
they wanted and went after it.” Connelly
cannily contemplated the three faces in front of him. From Chip’s implacable look to Crane’s
non-committal gaze to Nelson’s inscrutable one.
“I’m thinking you have a better chance of coming up with something on
this one than we will. This smacks of a
military mindset.”
He quashed, with a slicing motion of his hand, the instinctive protest
from his colleague. “I’d guess that you
know the purpose of the enemy, if not the face.”
Nelson acknowledged the shrewd wisdom of the man with a short nod. “I –
we – want these people, Lieutenant. And
we are prepared to co-operate fully with you.”
He saw the woman’s eyes darken with what almost equated to disdain – and
he wondered. “Our laboratories and
personnel are open to you. We have
resources and capabilities your department would covet. And we have access to agencies and Intel that
would take you months to tap into. All
we ask in return is to be privy to anything you uncover.”
O’Regan shot an incredulous glance at her superior. She was astounded to see him nod his head thoughtfully
in acquiescence. “Lieutenant….” Her protest was abruptly cut off.
“Sergeant.
I think I’ve got a heads up on you here.
And I suggest we take the admiral up on his very generous offer. His…contacts…are way superior to ours. I think we should take advantage of them.”
Nelson conceded with a graceful nod, his measure of the cop having been
correct. He was…unsure…of the lady
officer, having observed her reaction to both Chip and Lee – and himself, if
the truth were known. All his instincts screamed…trouble. But he couldn’t say why. She had done nothing, said nothing so far, to
give that impression. He just had an
innate distrust of her. And he felt that
Chip shared his feelings – not that you could read anything from Morton’s
demeanour. Lee hadn’t been exposed to
her for long but he could sense an antipathy in his young but astute
captain. Lee’s sixth sense had proven
itself many a time and he wasn’t prepared to ignore it now, nor Chip’s obvious
dislike of the woman – well, obvious if you knew the exec. He grinned wryly – it being one of the few
times he was able to read his usually enigmatic XO.
“Now, I think it’s getting late and we should adjourn for the
night.” Connelly rose adroitly to his
feet. “It’s obvious that we can’t progress
this much further until we can talk to Ms. Newman and hit the streets.”
“I’m not sure Angie will be able to tell you anything more than she’s
already told us.” Lee added. “She gave a very comprehensive statement to
the officers at the scene.”
“Oh, come on, Commander! You’re
surely not suggesting that we don’t interview the suspect?” O’Regan sat forward in her seat, attitude now
overtly aggressive.
“Suspect, Sergeant?” Morton
queried, deceptively quietly.
“Of course she is, Lt. Cmdr.” As
if he were totally dense, she took pleasure in emphasising his rank, as she
listed the negatives. “She was in
possession of the documents. She
violated your protocol. We haven’t got a
lot else to go on. We’ll need to
completely investigate her background, her living arrangements, her bank
accounts, etc.”
“Sergeant…”
“What?” She almost snapped at her
superior, belatedly acknowledging his disapprovingly raised eyebrow and backing
off. “Sorry,
Lieutenant.”
“Don’t you think NIMR would have checked out her credentials?” Connelly chided, not so gently.
Nelson waded in, a hardness invading his voice. “Angie Newman has been my P.A. for the past
seven years and has recently been promoted to the post of Deputy Director of
NIMR, Sergeant. That doesn’t happen without
an extremely high security clearance. And a lot of trust.”
His tone became a warning. “Angie
is the victim here. I will not
countenance anything other than extreme courtesy when you speak with her, is
that clear?”
“Very clear, Admiral.”
Connelly answered quickly, shooting a warning look at his colleague who
seemed likely to argue further. “Let’s
go, Sergeant.”
He shook hands with the three naval officers advising them that they
would be back the following day to talk to Angie.
“When Dr. Jamieson gives you clearance.”
Nelson reminded him.
“I’ve experienced Dr. Jamieson’s tactics, Admiral.” Connelly shot back, uncowed. “And I’m not unsympathetic, but we really do
need to talk to Ms. Newman. She may
remember more than went into her initial statement. To be frank, we have so little to go on here
that anything she can add would be welcome.”
“As long as Dr. Jamieson clears it.”
Nelson wouldn’t back down.
“OK. But, sir, this is a two way
street. You’ll have our full
co-operation but we’ll expect yours in return.”
Connelly remained unfazed.
“Should you receive any further communication or any Intel from your
military colleagues, I want to hear about it.”
“Likewise, Lieutenant.”
****
Lee crossed the office and poured himself a cup of the almost stewed
coffee - just how he liked it. It was
past midnight and he needed the jolt to the system that the caffeine would
provide him. He raised the pot and
silently offered the others. Morton
nodded and Lee did the necessary, handing him the cup.
Nelson was already moving towards the decanter. “Well, that was interesting.”
“Pat will co-operate, sir.”
Morton was confident.
“I agree, Chip. I’m just not
quite sure of the lady’s agenda.”
“I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, Admiral. But I did not like the vibes I got
from her.” Lee’s amber gaze was
troubled.
“I don’t think you’re alone there, Lee.”
Nelson intoned dryly.
“I don’t want her anywhere near Angie.”
Chip’s voice was unduly sharp and a tide of red suffused his fair
complexion as the others regarded him somewhat amusedly. It was highly unusual for the exec to make
his feelings so blatantly known.
“Down, Chip.”
Came drolly from the admiral. “Angie is more than capable of dealing with
Sergeant O’Regan. In fact I think they’d
be very well matched. And, have no fear;
Angie will not be alone in any dealings with the police. Our legal department have already been
briefed and will be present, if necessary, during any and all interviews. And don’t forget Jamie. He’s not likely to allow anyone close
to Angie until he’s happy that she can hold her own.”
“Angie might have something to say about that, sir. After the way he tricked her tonight.” Chip reminded him.
“Ah, but, Chip,” and Nelson sent a full blown grin his captain’s way as
he spoke, “remember we’re talking about our CMO here. The same CMO who has
regularly dealt with one recalcitrant captain who doesn’t take instruction too
well from any member of the medical profession.” He watched as Crane dropped his eyes. Refusing to allow Morton off the hook either,
he continued. “Not to mention XOs who
defy him at every opportunity. You know he attributes his hair loss since
joining Seaview solely to you two!”
He delighted in the sheepish looks that comment fostered. Consulting his watch, he knocked back the
remainder of the tot of whiskey he’d poured.
“We should try to get some sleep for what remains
of the night, Gentlemen. Why don’t we
re-group here at 09.00”.
Intercepting the wistful glance Chip unconsciously cast in the direction
of the medical building, Nelson jerked his head towards the door. “Don’t even think about it, Commander. Jamie hasn’t let you out of his radar yet
after that little concussion you got just before we made port.”
“It was nothing, I’m fine, sir.”
Morton protested, amid snickers from his friend at the overused remark –
more usually attributed to Crane.
“All the same, I wouldn’t push it, if I were you, Chip.” Nelson’s eyes twinkled at Morton’s abashed
look.
“Aye, sir.”
An audible growl emanating from the direction of his stomach had the
blond blushing furiously.
“Sorry, Chip, we never did get that pizza.” Crane chortled, sucking air as his friend
elbowed him nicely in the ribs.
****
Angie’s head was fuzzy and ached – like the worst hangover she’d ever
had in college. Her mouth felt like it
had been stuffed with cotton that had been soaked in spoiled milk. Her stomach roiled as she slowly tried to
turn onto her back, every joint and muscle in her body protesting loudly –
which brought her to a quick halt. The
slightest movement hurt. Even her eyes
wouldn’t co-operate and open fully. She
groaned and raised a hand to her aching head, realising belatedly that both her
palms were stinging badly. What the hell
had happened?
Memory flooded back as she sorted through the various other injuries
that were beginning to make their presence felt. The car jacking. Med Bay. The bed beneath her felt unfamiliar, the mattress rock hard, sheets
and pillow cases crisp and starched.
And what in God’s name was she wearing?
She finally managed to open her eyes enough to make out the cheerful
yellow paint on the opposite wall and the pale wood of the nightstand and the
single armchair that were in her line of vision. Gaining focus wasn’t easy but, after several
blinks, things swam into some semblance of clarity. Someone had substituted her clothes for one
of those disgustingly humiliating shapeless hospital gowns that tied at the
neck and were otherwise open down the back.
Damn that doctor – she should have known better than to trust him. They were all the same – God complexes
obviously handed down with medical degrees.
A slight movement behind her indicated the presence of another person
but, as she slowly turned her head in that direction, her hair was suddenly
grasped in a viciously tight fist and, before she could even attempt to cry
out, she was flipped onto her stomach, her face buried in the starched cloth of
the pillow. Her first realisation was
that her entire body shrieked in protest; her second was that she couldn’t
breathe. She scrabbled furiously for any
leverage but was forced to admit defeat when a heavy weight descended on her
back. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear,
everything was closing in on her.
The third realisation was that she was about to die.
Even as that thought hit, she felt the brutal grasp on her hair ease
fractionally and her head was pulled back just enough that she could suck in
sufficient air to have the incipient blackness receding. Her lungs burned, she was pinned to the
mattress by a solid mass and her head was wrenched back, making it difficult to
take in anything more than shallow breaths.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, both from the terror and the
pain as she felt him – for she was sure it was a he – shift on her. His fist tangled further into her hair as his
other hand moved towards her exposed throat.
She froze completely, forgetting even to breathe as she felt cold metal
prick her skin. He pressed the razor
sharp tip of the knife into the vulnerable flesh, not hard but making it clear
that one little push and her life would cease.
“Don’t cry out, don’t scream. Do
not so much as move a muscle. Understood?”
She could feel his lips at her ear, his voice just above a whisper.
She was too afraid to nod, to speak.
He pressed the tip of the blade a little deeper and a tiny bead of blood
pearled. She bit her lip to keep from
whimpering. “Do you understand, Angie?”
The fact that he knew her name, the very way he spoke it, sent a fresh
wave of terror coursing through her.
“Yes.” She croaked, forcing the
barely breathed word through stiff lips.
Fear had dried up the saliva in her mouth and she couldn’t as much as
swallow.
“Good. We’re going to get along
well, you and I. Very
well.” His voice purred against
her ear, the threat overtly implicit, and she shook.
He eased his weight fractionally off her and she drew in a ragged
breath, only to freeze again as he dragged the knife blade almost caressingly
across her taut neck to the tie that held the hospital gown in place. Her heart almost leaped from her chest when
he swiftly cut through the thin strip of material and a tiny sob forced its way
out of her parched throat. She squeezed
her eyes tightly shut as he slowly drew the sharp tip oh-so-gently down her
slender back from her shoulder blade to her hipbone just above the edge of her
panties, barely grazing the smooth pale skin as she held herself rigid.
“Pink silk for pretty Angie.”
He tightened his hold on her dark hair, lifting her back towards him so
that the gown dipped off one shoulder.
Through her tightly closed lids she could feel him watching her, sense
him salivating at her vulnerability, and sheer terror at what he planned had
her left hand snaking towards the call button that rested alongside the
pillow.
The knife embedded itself in the mattress, just below the small white
button and barely above the tips of her fingers as she silently freaked. She had to struggle to subdue a scream of
terror – it manifested itself as a tiny moan as she curled her seeking fingers
into a tight fist. She had never been
more scared in all her life and her hot tears scalded the cotton pillow.
“Bad girl, Angie.”
His tone was reproving rather than angry; the total lack of emotion
worse than a shout. “And bad girls have
to pay.” He skimmed his fingers lightly,
teasingly, over her spine from her hip back up to her left shoulder, making her
shudder under his touch. His hand
stilled momentarily as if he relished her vain attempt to evade him. “You can’t get away, Angie. There’s no escape. I could take you right now if I wanted. I’ve seen you – around the base, in your so
respectable little suits, the admiral’s very proper little secretary. You weren’t so cool, yesterday, were you,
Baby? You showed a lot of skin then,
Angie. Got me all
excited, Babe.” He moved against
her and she could feel the potency of his arousal against her hip.
Sheer terror caused her to retch and the blade, which had been lazily
circling her shoulder, bit a shade deeper than intended. She cried out inadvertently. “Cool it, Baby. Chill.
Now you know I mean business.
And I’ll be back. But first I’m
going to leave a little message for your admiral. A piece of the puzzle for
him to ponder. I’ll be in touch,
sweet Angie.”
With that he pushed her, face down, back into the pillow and she
thrashed as she fought for her life, convinced that she was going to die and
not caring any more if she enraged him.
His strength easily subdued her, pinning her down again, and she fought
valiantly but the bite of the knife into the soft tissue of her shoulder had
her shrieking, her screams muted by the cotton that filled her mouth. She almost lost consciousness as the tip of
the blade gouged delicately into her shoulder, leaving the promised
communication embedded in her bare flesh.
She was incapable of reacting when he released his grip on her hair and
eased himself off her. She shook from
head to foot but was terrified to move a muscle lest it incite further
violence. Turning her head enough to
gulp in some very necessary air was about as much as she could manage, and even
that came slowly, fearing instant repercussions.
“It’s over – for now, Angie. This
was just the first lesson. Tell Nelson. Up to now it’s been business, darling. No hard feelings.” His voice dropped to an even more sinister
level – if that were possible. “But I’ve
had a taste of you, Angie. And I want
more. You’ll never be safe, love. Not til I’ve taken you. But I’m nothing if not generous. So I’ve left you a little present. Your purse, Baby – it’s at the end of the
bed. Sleep tight now – and dream of me.”
He pinched the nerve in her neck that rendered her instantly
unconscious. Slipping unobserved out the
door, he shook his head at the ease with which he’d penetrated NIMR security.
****
Angie swam back to consciousness gradually. Her head ached worse than ever – both her
temples and the back of her neck pounded zealously. Her mouth felt like field mice had taken up
residence and when she tried to shift onto her side, over and above the
general, and in some cases rather specific, aches in her body, her left
shoulder throbbed unmercifully and incessantly with a raw, new insistence. She gulped and sobs exploded as painful
memory overtook her. The fingers of her
left hand inched once again towards the call button and, encountering no
resistance, shakily depressed it as she eased her aching body to one side,
finally allowing herself to slump. The
immediate attention from the nurse on duty caused her to curl up into the
smallest ball she could and cry out her abject fright into the already soaked
pillow.
****
The last moments of competition were wordless and ruthless. Crane beat Morton out by a scant hair. They both collapsed on the sand at the base
of the deck, breathing torturously.
Crane managed a weak wheeze.
“Twenty bucks tomorrow.”
“In your dreams!”
Morton levered himself onto one elbow, sucking in air at a rate of
knots. “You cheated! You knew I had nothing to eat most of
yesterday. A body such as this needs
constant fuel to maximise its potential!”
Crane’s intended chuckle came out more of a groan as he turned onto his
back and gulped in the necessary air to refill his desperately needy lungs. The morning sun, weak as it was at this early
hour, beat down on him, soothing in its warmth and drying the sweat that
slicked his body. He loved these early
morning runs. Alone they focused him,
but when he managed to run with his friend and brother – as they both tried to
do whenever they were home at the same time – there was a camaraderie and a
competitive spirit that brought back his days at the Academy. Chip had been the track champion all four
years; his huskier frame having a deceptive elegance of gait and a speedy
finish that had thrown more than one competitor for a loop. Lee had excelled in the boxing ring, his win record had still to be beaten almost fourteen
years later.
“You’re not going to convince me that you hit the rack with nothing to
eat last night. I know you too well,
Morton.” That single sentence expended
most of his available energy and he didn’t even bother to open his eyes to see
the reaction from his exec.
“Cereal doesn’t count!” Came the righteous response.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I went to bed hungry.”
“Yeah, right!
And you didn’t hit the stash of candy bars you keep in the refrigerator
either?” Lee was gradually getting his
breathing under control.
“Absolutely not!”
The reply was totally virtuous, managing to include a hint of shock at
his friend’s pseudo accusation. Then a
genuine laugh burst forth. “OK,
Crane! You do know me too well. But that wasn’t real food and I do
need some actual sustenance to keep me going, even if you don’t. Which is why I’ve laid out
breakfast. If it were up to you,
we’d hit the boat on a gallon of coffee.
I know you’re anxious about NavCom but we’ll get it sorted a heck of a
lot faster if my stomach’s not complaining.”
“I should know better by now.
Feed the beast! First rule when
befriending Morton – ensure full stomach so the whining is minimised.” He yelped as Chip attacked his bicep with a
clenched fist – controlling the punch.
“Inside!
NOW! Juice,
fruit, cereal. And the coffee
should be just about done.” Unlike
Crane’s minimalist kitchen facilities, Morton had arranged to have the
essentials – in his view – stocked in advance of the boat docking at home
base. He’d earlier put the sausage meat
into the broiler before their run and had the beaten eggs ready to toss into
the microwave. Within minutes, he’d
thrown together a meal and Lee ate as if it were his last. Sipping his coffee, Chip almost sighed with
satisfaction. Getting Lee to actually
enjoy food was always difficult but he knew that his friend would eat way more
after a challenging run – if it was presented to him without fuss – than he
would at any other time of the day. He
willingly rose to put more bread into the toaster at Lee’s instigation and
gleefully watched his friend scarf it down with the last bites of the scrambled
egg. If Lee ate nothing more for the
day, at least Chip would know that he’d had a decent breakfast.
He couldn’t know how prophetic those words were – for either of them.
****
Lee luxuriated in a long hot shower.
After shampooing and rinsing his hair, he braced his arms against the
tiled walls and allowed the water to cascade down onto his taut muscles. Fresh water being at a premium on the boat,
showers were by necessity restricted so he enjoyed the on-shore pleasure of
easing out the minor aches until the water cooled and he was reluctantly forced
out. The landline was ringing as he
emerged. Hastily wrapping a towel round
his waist, he slung another around his neck to catch the drips from the dark
curls that were his constant torment. He
groped for the bedside phone with one hand while he dried off his face and
batted the towelling material absently over his close-cropped hair. “Crane.”
“Lee, it’s Jamieson.” The serious
note in the doctor’s voice had Crane’s hand stilling as he dried his hair and a
cold premonition assailed him. “I know
it’s early but I guessed you’d be up.”
Will knew his CO’s habits only too well.
“Yeah, Chip and I went for a run.
I’m just out of the shower.
What’s up?” No beating about the
bush, his tone demanded.
Jamieson blew out an exasperated breath.
“I should give you both hell. You’ve got stitches and Chip’s had a
concussion. I didn’t clear either of you
for running!”
“You didn’t tell us we couldn’t.
The stitches are in my arm, not my leg.”
He pointed out - totally reasonably, he thought. “And Chip is on his own. Jamie?”
There was something in Will’s voice that told Lee his blustering was a
diversion tactic – that he was hesitant about the real reason for his call. Lee picked up his watch from the nightstand –
it was just after 06.40, kinda early for Jamie to be up and about, off
boat.
A defeated sigh came through the instrument and, as if there was no
other way he could impart the bad news, Jamieson blurted it out. “Angie was assaulted this morning in
There was self-condemnation in his voice but the very words caused Lee
to block everything else. He drew in a
deep, appalled breath. “Oh, Christ. Is she
OK? I mean, was she…?” He broke off, unable to continue as the
thought had his stomach threatening to surrender the breakfast he had so
recently enjoyed.
“She wasn’t raped. At least, she
says not.” Jamieson sounded
uncharacteristically tentative. “Not
surprisingly, she won’t let me – or anyone else – anywhere near her. The nurse on duty responded to a call from
her room and found her crying her eyes out, saying someone had threatened
her. They rang for me straight
away. She’s totally traumatised, not
making a lot of sense right now, keeps demanding her clothes and that we allow
her to go home.” He drew in a ragged
breath. “Lee, there’s no way I can let
her out of here in the state she’s in.
She says her attacker gave her a message for Admiral Nelson and insists
that we call him. I tried to get hold of
Chip but there’s no reply from either his landline or his cell.”
“He’s probably still in the shower.”
Lee returned as he began to pull clothes from drawers and a fresh
uniform from the closet.
“Get him over here as soon as you can.
Angie just might respond to him.
I’ll keep trying the admiral. Oh
and, Lee, you might want to step up the security level on the base and call
your contact in SBPD. Angie says it was
one of the guys who carjacked her yesterday.”
****
That last titbit had the two officers speeding towards
Lee restrained Chip, as he made for the staircase, ready to eschew the
elevator. “Cool it, buddy. You won’t be any use to her if you arrive in
there straining at the leash. She needs
calm and collected right now, not an overdose of testosterone. Wait for the elevator.”
Morton nodded, realising the common sense of his friend’s words and
knowing that Lee was equally anxious to get to Angie. He took a deep breath and Lee could see the
implacable mask his friend had patented as far back as their Academy days
descend. He’d been one of the privileged
few to be allowed to venture past it.
And now he perceived that his best friend was aching. Since Lee’s call, he’d just wanted to pound
somebody – anybody. The thought of Angie
– sweet, petite little Angie (with the heart of a sumo wrestler and a persona
not far short, if he was to be honest, the exterior packaging belying the
interior) – being assaulted not once but twice within a twenty-four hour period
had his protective instincts going into overdrive.
Lee’s first call – even before alerting Chip to the current situation –
had been to the Institute’s Chief of Security, raising the base’s alert status
to ONE. No one would be cleared – on or
off the property – without one of the three senior officers’ say so. Right now their priority was Angie.
Emerging from the elevator on the designated floor, Lee halted outside
the room number they’d been given, his hand on Chip’s outstretched arm. There was unprecedented activity on the
usually quiet floor at that hour of the morning and he realised that the place
was buzzing with an unaccustomed commotion.
Two guards bearing arms were posted outside the door to Angie’s room and
snapped to attention at the appearance of the senior officers.
“Wait.” Lee cautioned flatly,
drawing his friend to the opposite wall and pinning him there with one hand in
the centre of Chip’s chest. He knew
Morton better than any man alive. They’d
been closer than brothers for most of their adult lives, and maybe even before
that, depending on when you thought adulthood kicked in. Lee’s more extensive experience with ONI gave
him knowledge of victims and the aftermath of their traumas that Chip wouldn’t
have garnered. “Go in there, breathing
fire and brimstone, and you’ll probably scare her half to death. By all accounts she’s already had that this morning. Right now she needs your calmness, your
ability to read the scene, to support her and to show her how you really feel
about her.” He felt Chip’s heartbeat
accelerate beneath his fingertips – it scared him too. He couldn’t quite imagine how Chip was
feeling just this minute. But he knew
the stalwart individual he’d befriended those first days at the Academy. “I’ve known you long enough to know when
you’re serious about someone. You’ve
gone out of your way to play it casual with Angie. You’ve probably wined and dined three
quarters of the female staff of NIMR.
And it’s all been to prove that you’re not attracted to her. Admit it to yourself, if no one else. You more than like her,
bro.”
Morton could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Lee had called him ‘bro’ in just that tone of voice. And each time it warmed his heart that this younger but way more intelligent man could read his very thoughts. He’d fought his attraction to Angie almost since their first meeting. He was well aware of his reputation as a lady-killer amongst the NIMR staff - and beyond – and it was way over-rated. He’d had his share of bedmates – less than had been attributed - but what guy denied the reputation? He had never, ever, promised more than either party was prepared to accept.
Lee Crane knew him too well. Knew
his reputation was wildly exaggerated and that it suited Chip to perpetrate the
myth – taking the pressure off him to commit.
Unfortunately, knowing him as well as he did, that meant Lee could sense
the one time Chip’s heart was finally engaged.
Morton couldn’t hide his growing feelings for the little brunette from
the one man who could read him like a book and there wasn’t another person
alive – except maybe his mom – to whom Chip would have confided the gamut of
emotions raging through him right now.
His hand still pushing against Chip’s chest, Lee absorbed the sigh that
tore through his friend’s body. “Yeah. OK. I like her.
Maybe more than like her.” He caught the triumphant grin that Lee
couldn’t keep hidden and growled. “Now
is so not the time for this, Lee. Come
on, I need to find out what that bastard did to her. And if I ever lay my hands on that sorry son
of a….”
Lee could feel the tension flood through Chip and a similar anger burned
in him also. “I’ll hold your coat. Mind you, if the look on the admiral’s face
is anything to go by, we’ll be standing in line.” He’d just caught a glimpse of Nelson striding
in their direction, ploughing through the increased populace like an old time
steam ship.
“Gentlemen.”
The admiral nodded brusquely, obviously angry and way more than upset at
this turn of events. He indicated the door opposite with a terse motion of his
head. “Shall we? Then I think we need to talk some more with
Lt. Connelly.”
****
Nelson had wanted to use his office for the
interview, thinking Angie would be more comfortable with the familiar
surroundings, but there were too many people so he’d settled on one of the less
formal conference rooms. Angie still looked pale and a little shaky but had
been stubbornly determined to leave
Not that she’d escaped Jamie’s clutches entirely. Will had insisted on keeping an eye on her and was seated across the table, next to the female detective sergeant whose aura of hauteur and disdain didn’t appear to have cooled any overnight. If anything, Nelson found her even colder than she’d been the evening before, the focus of her attention was Angie and the patronising tone she’d used had put his back up instantly. Angie had been through enough. She shouldn’t really be here – Jamie had deemed it too soon – but she had wanted to get it over with and he’d acquiesced, acknowledging the immediacy of the police officers’ need for any leads she could provide.
Connelly had kept O’Regan reasonably well in check, leading the
interview himself and gently drawing the unfolding of events from Angie. She was flanked on either side by Chip and
Lee, both men’s protectiveness evidenced by their solicitousness towards her. Nelson’s lips quirked in amusement – that
hadn’t gone unnoticed by the lady cop.
And she hadn’t liked it either.
In fact, now that he looked closely, he would swear he could see from
Angie’s body language that she was visibly squaring up to the other woman. He’d never doubted his PA’s courage or fortitude
and he’d many a time been grateful to her as a buffer against unwanted callers,
but he’d never admired her composure as much as he did right now. She’d had an incredibly difficult – traumatic
– twenty-four hours. The car jacking and
theft of his research had been bad enough but, and he couldn’t prevent his
fists from clenching, the personal attack on her in Med Bay – on his own
property, damn it – enraged him totally.
He deliberately relaxed his stance as he encountered the long, knowing
look Lee sent his way. OK, it wasn’t his
fault. He could acknowledge that. So why did it still feel like his fault? He had, however unintentionally,
placed Angie into harm’s way. Would he
ever get out of his head the sight of her earlier that morning when they’d walked
into her room at
She’d looked like a small child huddled in the one armchair provided, a
And he hadn’t missed the look in Angie’s eyes when she’d spotted the
tall blond – it was a mix of panic, confusion, and finally intense relief. Jamieson had risen
to his feet – with some difficulty – upon their entry, his own relief at their
arrival evident. All three officers had
stopped just inside the door, standing aside silently to allow the nurses to
pass. Nelson had watched Jamie’s
approach and seen how Angie had silently tracked the doctor’s progress, how
she’d held herself rigidly in the armchair, feet tucked beneath her under the
robe, white knuckled fingers clutching the towelling fabric to her with what
almost amounted to a death grip.
Chip had gone straight to her, crouching down, close but not touching
her, instinctively knowing that she would need to make the first move, to be in
control. He began to speak in a voice so
low that only Angie could hear. At first
she had flinched away but he’d persisted and finally she threw herself into his
arms with a small sob. He’d lifted her,
turned and sat in the chair with her on his lap. She’d curled into him like a small child and
he’d given the three waiting officers a short nod, indicating that they should
leave them alone.
****
Leading the way into the corridor, Nelson moved far enough away so the
guards couldn’t overhear them. “What the
hell happened, Will?”
Before Jamieson could reply, they were interrupted by the trilling of
Lee’s cell phone. He murmured an
apology, checked the caller ID and answered immediately. “Crane.” After listening intently to the short
message, he instructed the caller, “Have them escorted to
Snapping the cell shut, he was about to speak when the doctor
interrupted with a frown, pointing at the offending instrument. “You know they aren’t allowed in here, Lee,
except in certain areas.” Anticipating the captain’s protest, he held up one
hand. “However, given the circumstances,
I’m prepared to overlook it. This time.”
Lee scowled darkly. “With the
base at Level One security, Jamie, I’m afraid Chip and
I will be married to these things for the foreseeable future. That was the Gatehouse. Lt. Connelly and his partner have
arrived. I phoned him as soon as Jamie
called me, Admiral. He wanted to speak
with Angie before this happened and I imagine it’s even more imperative now.”
Catching Jamie’s worried frown, Nelson intervened. “I know you don’t like it, Will. I’m not sure I do either. But they have precious little to go on. They really need to talk to Angie sooner
rather than later. And with this
morning’s events….”
“I don’t think she’s in any fit state to talk to the police,
Admiral. All I know right now is what
she told the nurse who answered her call and that wasn’t much. She awoke to find someone in the room, he threatened her and left a message for you. She won’t talk to me at all.” His tone was a mix of defeat and
self-condemnation.
“So you don’t know for certain if she was….” Nelson coughed delicately,
unable to utter the word.
“Raped? No, she wouldn’t let me
close enough to examine her and I didn’t push it. Tried to calm her down by talking to her –
understandably, she was extremely agitated.
Just before you arrived I thought I might be getting somewhere. I’m hoping Chip can persuade her to let me
take a look at her. After the cocktail I
slipped her last night she’s not going to be pre-disposed to trusting me
anytime soon.”
“Jamie, you did what you thought was right.” Lee interjected gently. At the disbelieving glance Nelson shot in his
direction, the captain had the grace to blush.
“I know, I’ve kicked to high heaven when you’ve
done the same to me. But you were right
this time.” Refusing to concede that
Jamieson had been right the numerous times he’d hoodwinked his CO kept Lee in
some degree of tenuous control.
“I just wonder if she hadn’t been so muzzy because of the sedative would
she have been able to fight him off easier.”
The conscientious medic continued to berate himself.
Nelson hesitated then asked the question that had been on his mind since
arriving at
“Not unless you think she slashed the mattress and magically conjured up
the purse that was in her car when it was hijacked.”
The two senior officers drew in sharp breaths. Nelson knew Angie wasn’t the hysterical type
but he’d had to ask. The police
would. “How the hell did he get in
here? Get onto Institute property with a
Level 2 in place? Lee, get hold of Chief
Mezkat – I want to know all movement on and off base since 20.00 last
evening. Have him check the perimeter
control units – it’s unlikely this guy walked in the front entrance. Although with his chutzpah, anything’s
possible!” Harry began to pace, arms
laced behind his back, wishing he could light up a cigarette – he needed the
clarity of thought nicotine provided him – but he knew Jamie would pounce if he
attempted to withdraw one.
Lee made the call and had just hung up when the ping of the elevator
announced the arrival of Lt. Connelly and his partner. Discharging the escort, Lee caught Nelson’s
eye and both exchanged a grimly amused glance as they noted the Det. Sgt.’s
thorough once over and instant dismissal of their CMO. Both silently acknowledged that Jamieson’s
mild mannered look could be extremely deceiving – admiral and captain having
had vast experience in that regard.
Pat Connelly nodded to the senior officers, held out his hand to the doctor
and greeted him with sincere respect.
“Dr. Jamieson, it’s been a while.
I’m sorry we have to meet again in such circumstances.”
Jamie returned the handshake enthusiastically, one professional to
another. “Lieutenant, it appears to be
our lot in life. Thankfully, things –
while serious – aren’t quite as fraught as they were last time we met.”
“Seems you’re all having a time of
it, just the same.” Connelly commented, his gaze
taking in the armed guards at the nearby doorway. “Oh, allow me to introduce my colleague, Det.
Sgt. Alanna O’Regan. Sgt., Dr. Will
Jamieson, Chief Medical Officer for the Nelson Institute.”
Jamie was about to extend his hand when her abrupt nod of
acknowledgement dissuaded him. He
exchanged a quick glance with his
Her watchful eyes strayed beyond them to the armed guards. “I take it that’s Ms. Newman’s room? Perhaps I should go talk to her, woman to
woman.” She moved to by-pass the men but
Jamieson stepped smoothly into her path.
“Not right now, Sgt. O’Regan.
Commander Morton is with her at the moment. And I’ll decide when Angie is ready to talk
with the police.”
A quiet chuckle broke the immediately escalating tension. “Visit here any length and you’ll get to know
Dr. Jamieson, Sgt.” Connelly quipped.
“He’s very protective of his patients.
I found that out, PDQ! And I’ve
no reason to suspect he’s changed these past few months. So, Doctor, perhaps you can fill us in on this
morning’s events?”
Jamieson re-iterated what he’d already imparted to Nelson and
Crane. Connelly rocked back on his
heels, hands in trouser pockets, the epitome of the laid back cop. Only the sharp look in the dark brown eyes
and the frown that creased his brow bespoke the shrewdness that was such an
integral part of the man. “We’ll need to
dust the purse for prints, of course, but I’m not expecting anything. These guys are too good. However, Doctor, we do need to talk with Ms.
Newman as soon as possible. She’s our
best hope of anything further.”
“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.”
Jamieson’s tone was sympathetic but with an undercurrent of steel – they
both had a job to do. “However, until
I’m satisfied that Angie is in a fit state to talk to you, I’m afraid you’ll
have to wait.”
O’Regan took a step forward as if to challenge the medic but the opening
of the door to Angie’s room had all of them swivelling in that direction. Chip stepped through and instantly took in
the newcomers. His trademark XO façade
masked the irritation he felt at the female officer’s unwelcome presence,
although Jamie’s eyes narrowed at the exec’s unnatural pallor. “Pat.
Detective Sergeant.” He nodded
acknowledgement, ignoring the irritating swift up-and-down of his khaki clad
body that was becoming de rigour from the woman.
“Chip, how’s Angie?” Nelson moved
to the exec’s side, following Crane who’d swiftly clasped his friend’s arm in
support.
“She’s…” Morton had to stop and consider the words he’d planned to use. ‘Fine’ somehow didn’t cut it in this
case. “She’s struggling, Admiral. He threatened her, frightened the sh.. - life out of her, and told her
he’ll be back. From what he said he’s
obviously been around the Institute awhile, watching her. He left a message for you, sir. She wants to see you.”
Nelson nodded and moved to enter the private room. O’Regan stepped forward to accompany him but
Chip solidly blocked her. “Just the admiral and Dr. Jamieson, Sgt.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow – Chip had patently worked some magic on the
petite brunette.
“Now, just a minute, Commander. …”
“Sgt.!”
Connelly barked once and she dropped back deferentially.
“Lee,” Nelson interrupted smoothly, “why don’t you take the Lieutenant
and Sergeant to the
Crane nodded compliance and began to herd the SBPD officers towards the
elevator. Chip moved after his friend,
quietly passing on Angie’s request for the dry cleaning and spare shoes she
kept in the office. Typically for her
in-control persona, she wouldn’t condone facing the police in
Nelson watched Lee’s slightly dragging stance, knowing his captain would
rather remain with the man he considered brother. Had Angie not asked for him specifically,
he’d have accompanied the police officers and allowed Lee and Chip to deal with
his P.A. – scratch that, Deputy Director.
Truth be told, and Harry shuddered at his own cowardice while
acknowledging his discomfort, he’d have preferred to escort the cops than to
have to face the situation beyond the
“Sir, before you go in, I think you need to know that the…message that
was left for you was rather…graphic.”
The unusual hesitancy in the XO’s normally dispassionate tones had the
hairs rising on the back of both the admiral’s and CMO’s neck. Chip continued, obviously still uncomfortable
in the position of messenger. “Jamie,
Angie is still more than pissed at you but she’s prepared to let you accompany
the admiral.”
“God bless your powers of persuasion, Chip!” Jamieson moved off to gather a kit in
preparation for entering Angie’s room.
“Whoa! Hold on, Jamie. She’ll tolerate your presence – but that’s as
far as it goes. And you don’t know what
I had to promise to negotiate that!”
“Chip!
She’s been attacked. Every hour
that passes diminishes the possibility of trace evidence. We only have her word that she
wasn’t…sexually assaulted….”
Morton held up his hand in supplication.
“Jamie, for what it’s worth – and from what Angie’s said – he threatened
her, scared her royally but he didn’t resort to rape – at least not this time.
He’s told her he’ll be back though, which absolutely terrifies her. And he hurt her - physically. Which is why I insisted
that you’re present when she talks to the admiral. Sir, she’s pretty upset but she’s adamant
that she wants to talk to you, give you the message in person. I just think you need to be…prepared.”
Holding open the door Morton allowed the older men to precede him into
the room, noting Nelson’s slight reluctance.
Angie’s eyes were red rimmed from crying and a tremor still occasionally
wracked her but there was an air of determination about her that re-assured
Harry that she would get through this.
Her green eyes met his then inexplicably shied away, passing over Jamie
with a look Nelson perceived as vague distrust and a tiny smile bloomed inside
him despite the circumstances. Oh yeah,
she was definitely ticked. And, with a
sense of shock, he realised that she was embarrassed. She was usually such a feisty, straight-laced
little thing, always prim and proper and so in control that she was totally out
of her depth right now, having him see her at less than her organised
best. And there was shame tucked in
there as well – at having let him down by being deceived into losing his
research material. He had to disabuse
her of that immediately.
Chip having taken up a protective stance on the arm of her chair, Nelson
motioned Jamieson to stay back as he crouched down close to her still
shuddering figure. “Angie, look at
me. Look at me.” She reacted instantly to the command tone she
was used to hearing. “None of this is
your fault. None. The loss of the research is negligible – we
are already so advanced on the project that this won’t make a lot of
difference. It’ll take them years to catch up from what they took.” He watched her closely – she accepted his
words at face value but there was still a doubt in her clouded green eyes. Nelson sighed. “Angie, believe me, there’s nothing you could
have done to prevent it. This was no
arbitrary car jacking. They were
organised and resolute - and totally professional. And based on what happened here this morning,
you already know that. The police have
very little to go on. Anything you can
tell us now will possibly help us apprehend them. I’m more sorry than I
can say that you had to go through all this – especially what occurred this
morning. You’re certain it was the same
man?”
Her voice was husky, initially somewhat hesitant, but unwavering. “I’m sure, Admiral. I didn’t see him but he’s big, very
strong. He didn’t speak yesterday and he
wore a mask but I just know it was him.
He wanted me to know that he was one of the ones from yesterday and left
my purse on the bed – told me it was a gift.”
Her voice shook with the strain.
“He said he’d been watching me for a long time.” She drew in a shuddering breath.
“Angie, he gave you a message for me.
What is it?”
Tears flooded her eyes and she groped for Chip’s hand. He was there; gripping her fingers tightly,
her rock. She glanced back at him,
encouraged by the nod of his head, and both admiral and CMO tensed; dread
seeping simultaneously into their pores at the poignant exchange.
Nelson inhaled deeply, stark terror causing him to swallow convulsively
as he watched Chip gently slip the towelling
He almost gagged. In his wildest
dreams he hadn’t imagined anything like this.
Raising tortured eyes to meet Morton’s angry
laser blue gaze he resurrected some inner semblance of control. Hearing Jamieson’s hiss of breath, he forced
himself to take in the message that had been etched into her flesh. The cuts weren’t terribly deep and were
distinct enough to indicate a crude letter but, having bled profusely and still
seeping, the message was currently indecipherable.
Angie hunched over, trying to minimise her exposure to the three males
present. “Dear God.” Nelson staggered back, sick to his
stomach. Jamieson grabbed his arm and
pushed him onto a straight-backed visitor’s chair. He too was shocked but, as a medical professional,
he’d seen some of the worst of mans’ depravity and this didn’t come close. However his patient was skittish at best and
he knew he’d have to tread carefully with her in light of his trickery the
previous evening. She was still deathly
pale and tremors shook her slight frame.
Even at this distance he could see that her pupils were dilated from
shock – she’d just had too much to cope with in the past twenty-four
hours. And now they were going to ask
even more of her.
“Angie, honey, will you let me clean up those cuts?” Jamie’s voice was gentle, coaxing. He made no attempt to approach her, his
request giving her a modicum of control.
Her head came up and she shakily pushed a strand of dark hair out of her
eyes, seeking Chip’s reaction. His hold
on her never wavered as he spoke to her in a low, soothing voice. She curled tighter into his embracing arms
but made no attempt to cover her injured shoulder. At Chip’s nod, Jamieson exhaled slowly and
placed his medical bag on the over-bed trolley.
“Before I do anything, I’m going to my office to get the digital
camera.” He informed the others. “Angie, I’m going to photograph the wounds
before I clean them up and also afterwards.
Is that OK by you?” Again she
looked to Chip for advice.
“Makes sense, honey.
The police will want to see the message.
Be easier that way.”
“Message…. What is the
message?” They’d all forgotten that she
was the only one who couldn’t see it.
Morton cleared his throat. “It
looks like an alphabetical letter. Could be an O, or a C, maybe a D or an R, even a Q. It’s bled a lot so it’s hard to say until
some of the blood is wiped away. But it
doesn’t look too deep – just needs to be cleaned up a tad.” All Seaview’s officers had undergone
basic first aid as part of their training at the Academy but Chip still looked
to the CMO to corroborate his assertions.
Thankfully, Jamieson concurred. “Chip’s right, Angie.
I doubt any of the cuts will even need stitching. Sit tight and I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything? Some tea, maybe, or juice?”
He saw her gaze sharpen as she looked directly at him for the first
time, could practically see her thought processes at work, and welcomed the
return of the fiery little hellion he’d grown fond of – just as he’d intended. “NO!
You honestly think I’m going to eat or drink anything you’ve got on
offer? Once in this lifetime was enough,
thank you, Doctor!”
“Jamie.” He insisted with a soft
smile. The nickname was reserved for
those closest to him and indicated to the others that Angie had just become
another member of their tight knit clan – the first outside of Seaview. She studied him intently for a moment before
nodding abruptly – tacitly accepting the change in status. With a quick grin, he left to retrieve the
camera.
Chip rubbed her arm gently. “He’s
one of the good guys, Angie. Despite
what you might have heard from Lee.”
He made her laugh but it changed quickly into a sob as the circumstances
came crashing back. “Admiral, I’m so
sorry….”
“Angie, none of this is your fault.”
“I failed to follow procedure….”
“Procedure be damned!” Nelson exploded, beginning to pace, glad of
the excuse to vent his anger. “You did
what you thought was appropriate in the circumstances. If I’d always followed procedure, neither the
Institute nor Seaview would exist.
And if they hadn’t been built and I hadn’t incurred enemies then this
wouldn’t have happened to you. So we can
go round the houses with blame and it won’t get us anywhere.”
Morton grinned, used to the admiral’s loquacious logic, and felt Angie
relax a little beneath his hands.
Jamieson arrived back before they could pursue the subject further and
he proceeded to photograph the wounds on her shoulder before he cleaned them
up. Her innate suspicion wouldn’t allow
her to accept any pain relief and the process was slow and painful. By the time Jamie had finished his gentle
ministrations, Angie was clenching her teeth, green eyes drenched with tears. Nelson’s visage was sombre, Chip’s murderous
and even the usually calm Jamie was finding it hard not to curse the
perpetrators. He’d thought Lee Crane his
worst patient – he was rapidly having to revise his
opinion.
His voice was soft and soothing as he taped a gauze pad in place over
the now clear letter “C” that had been revealed once the seepage of blood had
been wiped away. “Honey, will you let me
give you something for the pain?”
At her instant refusal, he persisted, still gently. “Just something to take the
edge off and calm you down a little.
I promise it won’t knock you out or make you fuzzy. But your pulse is racing and that will only
get worse in a stressful situation like telling your story to the police. Please?
Just a mild painkiller.” He fudged.
No way was he going to call it a tranquiliser!
Nelson cleared his throat and she caught the unspoken command. Reluctantly nodding, she finally, still suspicious, rejected an injection but accepted the pills and
water glass Jamie handed her. Truth to
tell, she was exhausted and ached all over, her palms stung, her shoulder sang
and every bone in her body ached. She
wanted nothing more than to curl up, sleep for a week, and have this all over
when she next woke.
****
Harry was startled back to the present by the realisation that all eyes
were on him. He’d failed to hear a
question Connelly had asked him and was forced to request the lieutenant to
repeat it.
“I know you’ve arranged for the locks on Ms. Newman’s house to be
changed, Admiral, but I still don’t think it’s wise for her to return there
right now, given the threats her assailant made this morning. I’m going to arrange to have her placed in
protective custody and have Sergeant O’Regan accompany her to a safe house….”
“No!”
“She’ll be returning to
Angie’s reaction was immediate, Jamieson’s just slightly slower and
Nelson held up a placating hand.
“Lieutenant, you’ve seen our security breached today. Believe me, that won’t be allowed happen again. Angie can stay at one of our guest cottages
on the base – she’ll have a twenty-four-hour armed guard. I think she will be more comfortable there
and certainly as safe as she would be at any of your facilities.”
“Admiral….”
Jamieson interrupted the Sergeant’s protest with one of his own, shaking
his head decisively. “Sir, the guest
cottages are too isolated. Their
location on the base is such as to ensure privacy for any visiting
dignitaries. Although she won’t
appreciate it, Angie needs to be under observation – at least for the next
twenty-four hours. Shock is unpredictable….”
“I’m fine!” Came
from between gritted teeth.
Jamie rolled his eyes at the familiar refrain. Where did the admiral get these
people? Next thing, she’d be demanding
to return to work – and that was so not going to happen! But he’d also seen the look of panic in her
eyes.
“Angie will stay with me.” Chip’s firm declaration brooked little contention. “No arguments.” He caught her left hand in a comforting grip and felt her tension ease gradually as he kept hold. “Admiral, Lee and I will be unavoidably busy on the boat today. We still have to solve the problem with NavCom. Perhaps Patterson and Riley could take care of her at my place until I can get there?”
Nelson delicately disguised his small snort as a throaty cough, not for
one minute fooling his staff. “That should
solve all the issues pertaining to Angie’s safety. Lieutenant? Doctor?”
While the senior SBPD officer indicated his reluctant agreement, the lady cop was rather more difficult to convince. “Lt. Connelly, you’re ceding jurisdiction to these people? That’s totally against procedure! We need to secure the witness – if she is a witness!”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
Angie grasped the arms of her chair – ignoring her stinging palms – and
sat forward, eyes flashing, in full battle mode.
“Well, we only have your word for this morning’s ‘mystery’
attacker! In fact all
three mystery attackers!”
O’Regan’s deep blue eyes sparked, raking the slighter dark haired woman
scathingly.
Nelson, with supreme gratification, saw his officers draw upright in
defence of their colleague but she was very much a match for the female
detective, green eyes sparking. “You
think I’m some sort of contortionist, Sergeant?
That I cut a notch in my own shoulder?
Or car jacked myself and cost Admiral Nelson his research? I wish it were so! Despite what you’re thinking, lady, I loved
my car – it’s only a little over six months old and, before you ask, it’s fully
paid up and, no, I didn’t need the insurance for any loan payments. I’m very well taken care of by the Institute
and have no outstanding debts. I don’t gamble or play the stock market and my
bank can confirm my credit rating. In
short, I value my job here more than for the money it pays. So go figure!”
There was a resounding silence following Angie’s tirade, broken only by
Nelson’s pseudo-cough. “Angie, nobody’s
suggesting you imagined the attacks.” He
admonished gently, his gaze landing firstly on his PA then more coldly on the
detective.
It was Angie’s turn for an indelicate, unladylike snort and the glares
that passed between the two women would have cut crystal.
With a slightly pleading get-me-out-of-here look in face of the
impending catfight, Connelly overrode his colleague’s misgivings and ignored
her blatant rudeness – that would be dealt with privately.
“Ms. Newman, I want you to know that you are not under suspicion
by the Santa Barbara Police Department and I regret any allusions that may have
given you that impression.” With a
chiding sideways look at O’Regan, who flushed at the intended barb. “But if you
recall anything further, however insignificant it might seem, please don’t wait
– contact me immediately. We have very
little to go on – there’s been nothing acquired from your car so far that could
assist us. We have an arson investigator
going over it as we speak. Very often
criminals think fire will destroy all trace evidence and that’s not always the
case. We may get lucky but it will take
an inordinate amount of time – time we just don’t have if we’re to catch these
guys and recover the admiral’s work before they get to pass it on. Meanwhile, we’ve got techs fingerprinting the
room in your medical facility where you were attacked. If it was the same guy, I’m betting he was
too professional not to have worn gloves.
So we’re pinning a lot on getting anything there. Admiral, anything from your
contacts?”
“Nothing so far.”
Nelson admitted with some degree of irritation. He’d been hoping something would break from
all the feelers he’d put out the previous evening.
“And nothing springs to mind regarding the “message” left with Ms.
Newman?”
Nelson frowned in renewed concentration as Connelly once again perused
the printed out photographs Jamie had provided.
“Nothing.
There’s nothing about the letter “C” that tells me who might be behind
this. I wish I could be more positive
but I’ll start a trawl through my files immediately to….”
“I can help, Admiral.” Angie
volunteered. A chorus of “no’s” had her
wincing and she glared at the NIMR officers in gross indignation.
Jamie took point duty in the face of the craven looks he received from
the others. “Angie, two choices - you
rest at Chip’s or you return to
Sensing a storm brewing, Lee put his hand over Angie’s as she tightened
hers around the chair arm, knuckles whitening even as she flinched from the
pressure to the abrasions on her palms.
“Easy, honey.” He muttered but
her reaction was not the one he’d been expecting as she practically leapt from
her seat.
“Oh, my God!
He had one. The
same as yours. Well, not the same
but…like it.”
Confusion reigned in male expressions as they tried to figure out what
she was talking about. Angie,
momentarily, noticed a calculating look appear in the lady cop’s eyes but,
before she could store the thought away for perusal later on, was dragged back
to the present by the cacophony of questioning from her colleagues.
“Lee’s ring!
He wore an Academy ring on his left hand. He didn’t wear gloves and he held the knife
in his left hand!”
Connelly’s eyes gleamed as Jamieson agreed. “The marks down Angie’s back are on the left,
the message is on her left shoulder and the cuts on the mattress are to the
left of where she lay. All consistent
with the attacker being left handed.”
“Or wanting us to think that way.”
This from the cool female sergeant; forcing Jamieson
to acknowledge her point.
“Angie, can you give us a description of the ring?” Chip, typically and true to form, found focus
on the only lead to emerge so far.
She was initially hesitant, only having remembered the ring when she’d
seen Lee’s hand on her arm. “It was
definitely a class ring. Like your
Academy ones. I’ve seen enough of them to recognise one.” Although Chip and Nelson didn’t wear theirs
daily, both men habitually sported them on dress occasions. Chip’s was the same as Lee’s, both having
graduated from the same class. Nelson’s
was very different, both in the colour of the stone, the mounting and the
inscriptions. Closing her eyes, she
tried to recall what she’d observed through the terror that had pervaded as she
heard Nelson explain how the graduates designed their own year’s class ring. “The stone was green and square rather than
oval like Lee’s. It was yellow gold and
the sides were wider too. I think there
was writing but I don’t remember what it said.”
“Think, Angie!” Nelson urged,
sitting forward. This was their first
genuine, possibly only, lead.
Her head began to ache again and she pressed the fingertips of both
hands against suddenly throbbing temples.
“I can’t! That’s all I remember.”
Before Jamieson could intervene, Connelly did. “Leave it for now, Admiral. We’ll get a police artist to work with Ms.
Newman to build a picture of the ring.
It’s amazing what details can emerge when a drawing begins to take
substance. I’m betting Angie – you don’t
mind if I call you that? – will remember more when she’s sitting comfortably
with a cup of tea and her head’s not aching so badly.”
“Unfortunately, the other branches of the military have similar
traditions.” Nelson hated to throw a
damper on their first real forward step but he had to be honest. “Air Force and Army both have graduation
rings. It might not necessarily have
been Navy, Angie.” He hated to see her
deflate, to see the tears well in her eyes before she turned away to hide
them. Nelson felt like a heel.
Requesting O’Regan to contact SBPD and have an artist dispatched to
NIMR, Connelly called a halt to the interview.
Lee left Angie in Chip’s care while he summoned Patterson and Riley to
escort her to Morton’s condo. Nelson and
Connelly huddled together to discuss future direction of the investigation and
Jamieson rounded the table to give instructions to Angie, which earned him a
withering look from beneath her lowered lashes.
Exchanging a quick grin with Morton - it being too similar to what they
were used to seeing from their CO - he then quietly reiterated the conditions
for her remaining out of
Angie sighed lustily, repeating the instructions she’d already heard
once before. “No caffeine, no
stimulants, no work related issues.
Rest, take it easy, try to get some sleep and take two
ibuprofen every four hours. Put
the antibiotic ointment on the cuts and scrapes at regular intervals….”
Jamie held up two hands placatingly.
“I give in. Take her out of here,
Chip. And, Angie, you are not to set
foot back here until Monday morning – at the earliest! And if you need something stronger than the
ibuprofen, you’re to call me – understood?”
“Angie, I mean it.” Nelson’s
tone, overhearing the conversation, was his most serious. “Please.
Follow Doc’s instructions. And don’t give Pat and Riley a hard time.”
She acquiesced with a reluctant nod.
“All right, Admiral. I’ll be
good.” Chip led her out, handing her
over to Patterson along with the keys to his condo.
“Admiral, I apologise for Sergeant O’Regan’s…enthusiasm. She was out of line and I’ll let her know
it. But she’s a good officer. I think maybe she and Ms. Newman are
diametric opposites and probably won’t get on too well together. Once she organises the artist I’ll assign her
to other duties. Mind you, your Angie
seems to be more than able to hold her own – and it looks like she’s got plenty
of help from your staff if she needs it.”
“I think you’ve called that very well, Lieutenant.” Nelson extolled dryly. “Perhaps Sgt. O’Regan might be better applied
to looking into the breaches in our security – which is obviously a serious
issue and one we will be prioritising ourselves – or liaising with our Incident
Officer, Lt. James, who’s co-ordinating our exposure to the media.”
Connelly smiled drolly, easily interpreting the retired flag officer’s
request as exactly what it was – a suavely couched order.
****
Chip Morton spent much of the next eight hours flat on his back under
the panel that housed Seaview’s navigation controls. When he’d proposed to Lee the previous
evening that he had a couple of ideas as to how to fix the problem, he hadn’t
bargained on the programme being even more stubborn than he was. What had hours ago seemed like a potential
quick fix had turned into something a lot more complicated. Morton was determined that the damn thing
wasn’t getting the better of him and, despite Lee requesting him to call it
quits two hours previously, persevered obstinately. He had finally succeeded in tracing the
problem to an intermittently flashing connection and, having put the necessary
block in place to prevent recurrence and tested the system to his usual onerous
standards, was confident that the problems wouldn’t be repeated.
Wriggling out of the confined space,
now practically blinded by a headache from several hours of squinting in the
close quarters of the access panel courtesy of the meagre illumination provided
by a flashlight and having had nothing but a quickly downed sandwich from the
cafeteria for lunch, he realised that he needed a shower, food and sleep in
that exact order – and pronto. Lee –
unable to help in any practical way – had kept him company, (when he wasn’t
pacing agitatedly as he chafed at the tardiness in fixing his lady) completing
maintenance reports at the table in the boat’s nose and throwing appropriately
encouraging comments to his exec. On the
couple of occasions Morton had emerged, seeking coffee or a brief respite, Lee
had updated him with news of the investigation.
Which wasn’t heartening. Nelson had been pursuing his worldwide covert
contacts with little success. His trawl
through Seaview’s most recent files had proved inconclusive. There’d been a couple of “Cs” to remark upon
– but none that stood out as having a marked grudge against either the admiral
or NIMR.
Angie had been ensconced in Morton’s condo, with Patterson and Riley on guard duty, both officers knowing that the seamen would guard her with their lives, if necessary. Debbie had come up trumps when asked, swinging by Angie’s apartment where Ski was waiting, having arranged for the locks to be changed, and had picked up enough clothes and incidentals to last her friend and colleague for several days. She’d been predictably appalled at what Angie had gone through when she’d learned the specifics but had grinned shrewdly at her boss’s proprietary attitude in insisting that Angie stay with him.
Not that Chip was currently aware of the knowing looks that were being
exchanged by his friends and colleagues.
His protective instincts had kicked in and he’d reacted on impulse. And, while he’d been working on the NavCom
problem, he’d silently berated himself a dozen times for prematurely showing
his hand. OK, Lee knew he was more than
interested in pursuing a relationship with Angie. Probably Nelson did too, after the incident
Lee had engineered a couple of months earlier when Chip had been released from
Thinking about Angie as he worked caused him both anxiety and anticipation.
Anxiety - because he hoped she hadn’t thought him presumptuous in
extending the invitation – scratch that – insisting that she stay with
him. Or, heaven forbid, worry that he
might expect anything more of her. He
knew his reputation as a lady’s man preceded him but he wouldn’t take advantage
of anyone’s vulnerability and when he thought about what Angie had gone
through…. It made his hand clench around
the screwdriver he was holding and, in his frustration, he twisted the tool so
tightly that the head of the screw snapped and he bit off a mild
expletive.
Anticipation - when he thought about her waiting for him at home. With some surprise he realised that he was
looking forward to heading home and finding her there to greet him. A smile he was glad Lee couldn’t see split
his handsome face and he attacked the sheered off screw with renewed
vigour.
“You finally done?”
Crane stacked the last of his papers with obvious relief as he watched
the usually immaculate exec crawl crab-wise out from under the computer
console. He grinned as Morton sat up and
smoothed back his still neat blond hair.
Chip kept his hair military short so there was hardly a strand out of
place. The rest of him was however
predictably disreputable, given how and where he’d spent the afternoon. “If the crew could see you
now, Mr. Morton.”
Both men grinned and Crane extended a hand to pull Chip upright. Wincing, the blond straightened, rubbing at
his protesting spine. “Finally convinced
you’ve corrected the problem?” Crane
ribbed his exec’s over cautious nature – which had kept them both here probably
an hour or so longer than strictly necessary.
“I’ve got a bear for a CO!” The
XO retorted in like manner. “He’s one of
those guys who can’t rest if there’s anything not performing 100% on his
boat. Real slave
driver. Know the type?”
Crane punched him lightly on the arm, acknowledging the point – and the
fact that Chip was giving out all the indications of a ball-busting
headache. “Time to get
out of here, pal. You got a lady
waiting for you at home.”
Knowing that if Seaview hadn’t arrived home later than planned
both he and Lee would probably have had dates arranged on a Saturday night,
Chip insisted that Lee joined them for the take out Chinese he intended to order. “Nuh-huh! I’m not that keen on being a third
wheel.” Crane insisted as they left the
boat.
“You wouldn’t be! Actually, to be
honest, Lee, I think we’d both probably be more comfortable with you
there.” In the almost encompassing
darkness Crane could sense, if not see, the blush that was the bane of the
flaxen-haired Morton’s life, now and since their Academy days. “With all Angie’s been through, I’d hate her
to think I was… well, putting the moves on her.”
Lee rolled his eyes dramatically, confident that he couldn’t be seen as
they approached the car park adjacent to the
Morton shrugged deprecatingly.
“Guess so. But, just to reassure
her, come for dinner. You got no other
plans, so humour me. I’ll even get your
favourite Kung Po Chicken.”
Crane grinned evilly, already anticipating the needling this uncharacteristic
behaviour from his long time friend would engender. “With green salad and your
mom’s special dressing?”
“You drive a hard bargain. Having
chained me to that console for the afternoon, now you expect me to create in
the kitchen! Thought that was the whole
point of take out. Guess I’ve got some nice Californian Chardonnay in the
refrigerator that I know Angie likes, so you bring the beer.”
“Done!
I’m just gonna swing by my office to check my in-box before I leave.”
“You’ve no car here.” Morton
protested; reminding him that in the heat of the call from Jamieson in the
early morning they’d travelled together.
“I really need to check for messages then I’ll get Security to drop me
home. You go ahead.” Crane’s response was almost apologetic and Morton
knew he was thinking of his ONI commitments.
Contacts from Naval Intelligence would usually be made by phone to his
landline or via e-mail to his personal mailbox either at the Institute or at
home.
A faint growl espoused Chip’s feelings where that particular
agency was concerned but he didn’t have a chance to vent his disapproval as
they encountered Chris James on their path to the car park. The young lieutenant had changed from his
duty khaki’s to a natty ensemble of chinos, open neck shirt and blouson jacket,
indicative of a Saturday night on the town.
Morton almost checked his watch, not having realised it was after 2000
hours but he knew Chris wouldn’t have shirked his duty and it must already be
past that hour – no wonder Lee was slightly miffed with him!
“Sirs!”
James would have snapped to attention, even in civvies, if it hadn’t
been for a ‘down’ motion from his skipper.
“You just leaving the boat now, sirs?”
The eagerness of the young lieutenant had similar grins appear on the
faces of the senior officers. They’d
both been just as keen to be kept in the loop when in James’ position. Crane answered, eyes twinkling. “The exec was a little tardy in diagnosing
the problem with NavCom. I’m thinking he
needs a refresher course in basic computer maintenance. Don’t you agree, Lieutenant?” Definite payback.
James’ jaw dropped. Basic and
Morton - in the one sentence when it came to computers? His first tour on Seaview, he’d been
in total awe of the exec’s computer skills.
The machines practically sat up and talked to the man. Now he didn’t quite know where to look
between his two
Morton interrupted smoothly, shaking his head morosely. “Get used to him, Chris. He’s pulling your leg. Spent the afternoon doing paperwork in
between hassling me for trying to ensure his lady’s perfect for his next
inspection. Forgets that there are some
of us who actually have a private live outside a titanium hull. Looks like you’ve got an evening planned?”
Less a question than a slight tease, James felt obliged to respond – and
not a little cocky at the nature of his response. “Actually, as we’re both off duty tonight,
I’m taking Alanna, Det. Sgt. O’Regan, out to dinner and maybe to a club a little
later.”
Buoyed by his success in attracting the very beautiful cop to spend the
evening with him, James didn’t notice the almost indiscernible stiffening in
both his
“Oh, I intend to! Good night,
sirs.” James jauntily departed and the
senior officers watched him go with no slight degree of worry.
“She’s up to something.” Morton
considered himself the more savvy of the two where
human nature was concerned and he narrowed his eyes, looking worriedly after
the almost boyish young lieutenant.
“Maybe we’re reading too much into this.” A born mediator, Crane tried to see both sides
of the coin.
Chip’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “You got the same vibes from her as I did,
Lee. She’s a piranha. She even eyed up the admiral – until she got
a load of you. I thought for sure she
was going to go after you. Not that you
can’t handle yourself….”
“Gee, thanks….”
“Makes me even more worried if she’s
got young Chris in her sights. Boy’s got stars in his
eyes. She’ll feed him a line and he’ll
fall hook, bypass line and go straight to sinker.”
“Maybe….”
Eyes as ice cold blue as he’d ever seen them locked on Crane’s own
concerned amber. “No maybes, Lee. I don’t like this.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about it either. But what do we do? Lock him in his room? He’s over twenty-one, on his own time and
entitled to go out with whomever he pleases.
We’re his commanding officers not his parents. We wouldn’t have welcomed any
interference in our dating habits at his age.
And we owe him the same courtesy.
He’s put in a full day and he’s entitled to his down time.” Fully prepared to defend his JO in the face
of the exec’s disapproval, Lee couldn’t help, privately, but feel the same
concern Chip had voiced. But he upheld
Chris’s right to make his own decisions as to whom he dated and, despite his
apprehension, forced himself to shrug off his antipathy towards the woman to
whom he – and obviously Chip – had taken an immediate but incalculable dislike.
“Agree with you in principle, Lee, but with what’s been going on….” Morton frowned as he watched James’ car stop
for an intense check before exiting the Institute’s security gate.
“I know where you’re coming from, buddy, but unless we confine everyone
to base, which isn’t feasible, then the best we can do is ensure that the
on-base security and perimeter patrols are as tight as we can make them. Other than that and remaining vigilant, I
don’t know what more we can do.”
Reluctantly Morton conceded the point and, having reached the
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Crane returned smartly as, with a grin, he began to jog up the
steps. Seconds later he was thrown onto
his hands and knees, barely refraining from cracking his skull on the concrete
steps.
****
The fireball that had been Chip Morton’s black SUV burned brightly
against the darkness of the night sky.
Dockworkers and Security personnel grabbed extinguishers and valiantly
fought the inferno, but had little success against the fierce
conflagration. The Institute’s fire
tender pulled to a screaming halt and the professionals took over, expertly
uncoiling hoses, their breathing apparatus and turn out kit allowing them to
move closer to the blazing vehicle.
Water erupted under high pressure as they began to expertly douse the
soaring flames.
Morton sat on his backside on the asphalt where he’d been summarily
tossed by the force of the explosion.
Unable to motivate himself to move, his jaw dropping open at the sight
of his beloved SUV ablaze, mesmerized by the dancing flames that held him in
their thrall, he almost failed to notice Lee drop to his knees at his side and
begin to painstakingly run his hands over Chip’s limbs. His almost numb brain finally registered
Crane’s distracted shout for someone to call
His eyes tearing up from his proximity to the blast and his ears still
deafened from the roar as the vehicle had erupted in flames, it took him some
minutes to realise that he was basically uninjured and pull himself out from
under Lee’s restraining hands.
“I’m all right. I’m OK. Let me up.”
Lee forcibly resisted all Chip’s efforts to lever himself to his
feet. “Stay put. Doc’s on the way.”
Those very words were guaranteed to bring a scowl to the blond’s
face. “Don’t need Doc. I’m fine!”
“Not from where I’m sitting, pal.”
Lee had taken in the dilated pupils, the scorched sleeve of Chip’s khaki
jacket, the sluggishly bleeding wound on his left
temple, not to mention the sheet white pallor of his complexion and the fact
that Chip was residing probably thirty feet or more from where he’d left
him.
“I’m all right. Mad as hell and
my ears are ringing, but I’m OK.”
“Humour me and wait til Jamie takes a look at you.” The glower he received caused Lee to duck his
head. Chip had aided and abetted
numerous escapes from
Jamieson quickly went to work on a grousing Chip while Nelson drew Crane
aside to determine what had happened.
“Not sure, sir.
I was going up the steps to the
Overhearing the conversation, Morton managed to extricate himself from
the CMO’s clutches long enough to add some salient details. “The car was booby trapped! I hit the remote central locking – luckily
from a distance – and it just went up.”
He was mad enough that he managed to shrug off Jamieson and get to his
feet, despite the medic’s protest.
“There’s something bizarre going on here, sir.” The blond’s azure eyes engaged the senior
officer’s sapphire ones. “And this is
one determined sucker. With seemingly unlimited access to the base. Either that or I’ve ticked off someone badly
enough for them to torch my car and this had nothing to do with Angie or your
research being stolen. Somehow I don’t
think that’s the case. I don’t believe
in coincidence.”
“Nor do I, Chip. Nor do I.” Nelson sighed heavily, watching intently as
the blaze was swiftly brought under control.
His inner rage built as the fire was extinguished and the night returned
to its usual comforting darkness, albeit the rescue vehicles and ground staff
both littered and lit up the expanse of the car park. Jamieson insisted that Chip’s injuries needed
tending in
Lee walked by his friend’s side - as if afraid to let him out of his
line of vision - and close enough to provide assistance if needed. But Chip was more angry than hurt. His cover was long gone, Lee had retrieved
his briefcase, and his jacket and pants were streaked with dirt and grime, his
left sleeve badly scorched. He
grudgingly submitted to being led into an examining room and stripped of his
jacket and shirt. Nudged into seating
himself on the gurney he tolerated the checks of his vision, hearing,
temperature, blood pressure, lungs and heart rate, all the while concentrating
on the conversation between Lee and the admiral. He winced as Jamie probed the cut on his
forehead, absently hearing the doctor mutter about the need for stitches or if
it could be treated with steri-strips.
“What the hell is going on here, Lee?”
Nelson questioned acerbically.
“We’re at Level One security and yet whoever this is can seemingly get
to us despite our most secure setting.
How can that be?”
“I really can’t explain it, Admiral.
But I’ll see to beefing up the patrols immediately and having Ski join Pat and Reilly guarding Angie – after all, she’s been targeted
twice.” Lee saw Chip’s head pop up at
that, despite Doc’s ministrations. “Chill, buddy. We’ll
make sure she’s OK.”
“I can do that myself, if Doc will cut me loose.” Morton growled,
gritting his teeth as the CMO swabbed at the burn on his arm.
“I’m not gonna keep you, Chip, but just take it easy while I tend to
you.” Jamieson knew the best way to care
for his most difficult patients was to play to their strengths – none of them
relished having their injuries treated so if he could promise to minimise the
down time he had some chance of gaining their nominal co-operation. He had quickly and efficiently evaluated the
exec’s injuries – the head wound had bled copiously but was relatively
minor. Chip was coughing from the smoke
he’d inhaled but his lungs didn’t seem to be congested – though they’d bear
watching and, despite the shock causing the dilation of the pupils, there was
no concussion. That had been of particular
anxiety to Jamie as the XO had suffered a slight concussion only days
previously before Seaview had put into port. Once that concern had been ruled out, Jamie
had decided the other injuries were minor enough not to merit keeping Chip
overnight in Med Bay – not that he reckoned he’d have had much success had he
suggested it.
For a single moment the temptation had been almost too much and he’d
wickedly thought about recommending an overnight stay – just to see the
reaction it would provoke from the normally staid and sensible exec. Staid and sensible until it came to his own health, that was.
Morton was almost as bad as Crane when it came to being sidelined with
illness or injury. Add to the mix that
he had a distinct propensity to have adverse reactions to several of the more
common mediations and painkillers and it made for interesting times for the CMO
– and one decidedly difficult to treat patient.
Having placed some butterfly strips over the cut on Chip’s temple,
anointing the burn with salve and wrapping it in a thick layer of gauze, Jamie
stepped back and allowed Chip to slide off the exam table and don his scorched,
bloody and smoke blackened shirt. “Keep
those wounds dry. I know you’ll want to
shower to get rid of the grime but tape some Saran wrap in place over the arm
and keep your head out of the water – at least until tomorrow.” This last at the disgusted look Morton aimed
his way. “And take these when you get home - they’ll help
you sleep.” He knew there were two
chances – slim and none – that Chip would take the pills but his Hippocratic oath meant he had to offer.
In all likelihood the capsules would find their way into either the
trash or the john.
“Connelly’s outside.” Lee
imparted as Chip tucked in his shirttails.
“Feel up to talking to him?”
“Why not?”
His XO groused, thoroughly ticked.
“Not that I can tell him anything.
He’d be better off talking to Security.
I haven’t laid eyes on my car since I parked it there this morning. Whoever’s responsible for this certainly had
enough time to plant a device, link it to the remote CDL and didn’t care how
close to the explosion I was.”
“Which means, Chip, that whoever did this has accelerated the level of
violence.” Connelly, accompanied by the
Institute’s Deputy Chief of Security – an ex-marine named
Sombre blue eyes connected to amber – the only person to whom Chip was
likely to have given his keys was Lee – or perhaps Ski or Pat. But how many outsiders would have known
that? The unspoken question came to the
forefront of all four officers’ minds.
Could it possibly be an insider?
Eyes clashed, refusal to accept warring with abject disbelief; azure,
sapphire, dark brown and amber sombre as unwelcome thoughts skidded between
unwilling to accept brains.
The SBPD lieutenant, unaware of the silent interaction, continued. “I’ve already requested Brian Harding, the
arson investigator who looked at Angie’s car yesterday, to get himself over here as soon as he can make himself
available. Your vehicle probably won’t
be accessible for any in depth survey until tomorrow when it’s cooled down,
Chip, but I’d like Brian’s preliminary report as soon as. Not that I’m in any doubt as to what he’ll
find. But I’ll have him work with your Chief
here.”
Connelly took stock of the pallor the blond couldn’t hide and the
dressing on his arm, visible beneath the badly scorched shirtsleeve – Morton
having elected to dispense with his ruined jacket. “You OK, son?”
“Peachy!”
Chip grumbled absently as he took in the hive of activity that
surrounded what had been his beautiful SUV.
He’d obviously been too out of it earlier to appreciate the bleakness of
the scene. The arc lights erected by
Security cast the burned out wreckage into stark relief. The tarmac was still soaked from the volumes
of water used to quench the flames and traces of foam still clung to the area
that had housed the petrol tank – the fire fighters deeming it prudent to hedge
their bets. Oil glistened on the
illuminated tarmac where it had spilled from the tank, thankfully prevented
from igniting. He could still smell the
rancid residue of the smoke in the night air and despite his best efforts was
unable to avoid the coughing fit that choked him as the stench invaded his
lungs. Catching sight of Jamie’s frown
and Lee’s instant concern – and fearful that they would try to stick him in Med
Bay overnight – he immediately tried to downplay the chronic ache the acrid
stench had caused in his lungs.
“Don’t go there, Lee.” He
muttered in low tones that he hoped neither Jamieson nor Nelson would pick up
on. He made contact with Lee’s worried
amber eyes and whatever Lee saw in the azure ones was enough to convince his
friend. The mere dip of Lee’s head in
acknowledgment of the entreaty had Chip relaxing his taut shoulders. Lee wasn’t above siding with the CMO if he
thought Chip needed aid. They turned
sharply as a slender, light brown haired man joined their group. He nodded to the officers but addressed
himself exclusively to Connelly.
“Lieutenant.”
”Brian, thanks for coming so quickly.”
Connelly shook the smaller man’s hand.
“Brian is one of
“Your staff are not having much luck with their
vehicles this weekend, Admiral.” Harding
had to raise his voice over the noise of the engines and generators that were
still running. “I’ve only managed a very
preliminary look see but it’s hard not to consider a connection between this
one and last evening’s.”
“It seems highly plausible.”
Nelson agreed, his growl indicating his extreme displeasure.
“I won’t be able to give you a thorough report until sometime
tomorrow.” Harding continued. “Have to wait until the vehicle is cool
enough to examine properly but in the meantime I managed to come up with
this.” He displayed the small clear
plastic bag he’d been holding in his left hand and which contained various
pieces of metal and plastic – some charred and scorched but still recognisable
as having once been a remote car locking device. “The force of the blast caused you to drop
it, Commander, and the case came loose.
Shouldn’t have – these things are made to withstand considerable
pressure. That got me thinking and I
started to look for signs of tampering.
They’re slight but there. The
case was opened previously, very cleverly, and a tiny microchip inserted.” He indicated the minute round metal disc,
visible through the plastic. “That’s a
very high tech miniature transmitter, Gentlemen. When you hit the button, Commander, it sent a
signal to a corresponding unit fixed, I’d guestimate,
somewhere close to the fuel tank on your vehicle. Guaranteed instant bonfire
night. Where were your keys
today?”
Chip’s headache was returning – full force – and the steri-strips Jamie
had attached were itching fiercely. He
barely managed to contain himself from rubbing the affected area, knowing he’d
draw their attention and – unwarranted – concern. He forced himself to concentrate. “On my desk from the time we returned from
“So our ‘intruder’ could have gained access to your office while we were
in the conference room with Angie?”
Connelly queried. “Your secretary
doesn’t work on Saturdays?” It was part statement
/ part question so Morton chose to answer.
“Normally, no.
But when I spoke to her about Angie’s experience she volunteered to go
pack a bag for Angie. She dropped it off
during the afternoon at my condo. She
may have called by the office to check on messages. Debbie’s very dedicated – it wouldn’t be
unusual for her to do that on a Saturday.
But she was planning a bar-b-que this evening and we were all invited so
I’d guess her time was tight. Security
can tell us when she entered and exited and the desk clerk at the
“I’ll ask.” Lee volunteered
quietly and moved away to complete the call.
He was back in minutes. “Debbie
didn’t enter the
“What are the chances of anyone getting to your cabin on Seaview,
Commander?” Harding queried.
Chip huffed a breath. “Until right now, I’d have said slim to none. And we went to Level One security after the attack on Angie this morning.” He looked to his brother officers for confirmation – which was unhesitating in its positive response. “But then again, whoever this is has proven that he has almost unlimited access to the base. I can’t understand that!”
“But not to Seaview, Chip.”
Lee reminded him. “I’d stake my
life on it.”
Chip conceded the point – somewhat reluctantly. It clawed at his gut that access to their
boat could have been compromised. “I’d
like to believe that, Lee. Then it leaves the time that the keys were on my
desk. And there were any number of
people in the building who could possibly have accessed my office while we were
in the conference room. Damn! I should have been more careful.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Chip.”
Nelson advised, knowing his exec would berate himself for his supposed
carelessness. “You couldn’t have known
there was a wider strategy behind the attacks on Angie. In fact, this act is the first – and
hopefully only – indication that there is something else behind the
theft of Project Discovery.”
As if the admiral’s words had sparked a response, one of the duty
communications team approached him with a cordless phone. “Pardon me, Admiral, but Chief Sharkey is on
the line and he says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”
Nelson excused himself and moved away to take the call in relative
privacy. Ears pricked at his exclamation
only a couple of sentences into the conversation. They gathered the gist from the one-way
dialogue, anxiety gathering pace as the admiral’s voice rose and fell. “Francis.
What? Are you OK? Run off the road? You’re sure?
The police say it was no accident.
How long will you be hospitalised?
Yes, yes. (Impatience in his voice) I appreciate that but you are NOT to hinder
your recovery by reporting back here too soon.
Do you understand me, Francis?
That’s an order!” His voice
softened at the last then hardened as the chief obviously spoke again. “Damn!
How in the name of God…. Not your problem, Francis. We’re on it at this end. Have your surgeon send all relevant material
to Dr. Jamieson. And, Francis, if you
need anything….” Nelson listened for several minutes before disconnecting with
a reminder to Sharkey to take his doctor’s advice and not report back until he
was fully recovered.
Practically fizzing with rage, he almost threw the instrument back to
the hapless comm. tech before turning back to his colleagues. “As you’ll have no doubt surmised, Chief
Sharkey was injured late this afternoon close to his home back East. He suffered a broken femur and is currently
hospitalised awaiting surgery. It
appears that he was run off the road deliberately. The incident was witnessed by a traffic unit
but they were unable to apprehend the culprit.
Sharkey’s OK.” He forestalled the
comments he knew would be paramount.
“Mad as hell and hurting, but otherwise all right. It strikes me,
however, that this is one too many co-incidence. And illustrates that our
perpetrator has many arms. What I
don’t understand is – why? They have my
research. If they are interested in
selling it to the highest bidder whey aren’t they concentrating on that? Instead of seemingly
targeting my staff.”
“Unless the theft of the research is
a smokescreen, Admiral. And there’s something more
sinister behind it.” Connelly
interjected quietly. “After all, there
has been no ransom demand for your project.”
“That wouldn’t be entirely beyond the bounds of possibility, Lieutenant.” Nelson shrugged his shoulders, wishing he
could light up a cigarette. “After all,
why should I pay for the return of my own material when I can reconstruct it
from memory? No, they – whoever THEY are
– will be targeting our enemies for the big money. It strikes me as if this – what’s been
happening since the theft of the research – is rather more
personal. The targets have been my
Deputy Director, my XO and my Chief. So far.” His
expression turned decidedly grim. “My
fear is that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Whoever is behind this has accessed our base
under both Level 1 and 2 Security Status and beyond to the opposite side of the
country. Their reach is apparently all
encompassing. That’s what really
has me worried, Gentlemen.”
****
Chip had breathed a sigh of relief as Lee ate a substantial – for him – amount of the Chinese he’d ordered in. It wasn’t unknown for the captain to lose his at best meagre appetite when things in his life were not running entirely smoothly. On this occasion it was Angie who had him worried. She was unnaturally quiet – for her – and had eaten next to nothing, although he knew from Pat and Riley that she’d had no lunch to speak of. She was obviously stiff and sore but refused to take the pain meds Jamie had prescribed for her, insisting that a soak in the bath would soothe most of her aches. So he’d made her some hot tea and she’d retreated with it to the condo’s guest bedroom and bath with an attempt at a smile and a quiet goodnight.
“I think today has affected her probably more than yesterday.” As he had done so many times since their
introduction at
“What she went through in the past 24 hours would traumatize
anyone.” Chip’s voice hardened as he
continued. “But this morning was
personal. And that’s going to take time
to overcome. Most people see Angie as
the oh-so-confident PA / Deputy Director of NIMR, Nelson’s right hand
woman. Few people see her as she really
is – an over-achiever in a family who’d never had anyone attend college. Then when she majored in business
administration – at the behest of her parents when she’d wanted to study marine
biology – they threw a hissy fit when she took a job with first a government
agency then NIMR instead of a more prestigious position, paying better, within
private industry. They basically
disowned her. Luckily she has a lot of
friends in the area and she’s very self-sufficient. Which is why I’m concerned about her
now. This has taken more out of her than
she’ll admit.”
Lee grinned as he swallowed the last of his beer. “Whoa, buddy!
That’s pretty profound. When did
you learn so much about Angie?”
Chip’s fair complexion betrayed him as he realised that in his anger
he’d given away more than he’d intended.
Lee had that knack of getting him to open up where few others
could. “We’ve talked a lot the past
couple of months, I guess.” He shrugged
it off as no big deal.
Seeing his embarrassment, Lee let him off the hook. “Why don’t you hit the rack yourself? You’ve had a pretty traumatic night
too.” Knowing it would tick the blond off, he began to look around, frowning. “Where are the pills Doc gave you?”
“Don’t start, Lee.” His friend
warned, storm clouds brewing in the blue eyes.
“I don’t need them. I’m fine!” He emphasised the last word – it being
Crane’s own favourite phrase when he needed to re-assure / blindside / or
downright escape the clutches of the CMO on any and all health issues, major or
minor.
Lee’s immediate surrender had him grinding his teeth, knowing he’d been
had, but a grin quickly replaced the impending tempest. “Go home, Crane. Go to bed and I’ll see you here for breakfast
at around 0800.” He ushered his friend
out the door, checking that security had stationed a car outside – having sent
Ski and Pat home earlier. He groused,
not quite under his breath. “For sure
there’ll be nothing edible in your kitchen!”
Lee’s grin widened. “I’ll be here
– as soon as I’ve finished my run.” His
expression changed to one of mock sympathy.
“I’d suggest you join me but Jamie would probably kill you if he found
out.” He darted quickly out of the way
of the exec’s swinging arm, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he headed
towards his own condo just a little further down the beach.
Muttering under his breath at smart-ass captains and big mouths, Chip
secured the patio and front doors before allowing his own grin to emerge. He was in the kitchen, debating the wisdom of
keeping or ditching the remainder of the take-away, when his cell phone
rang.
****
The hardest part had been telling Angie he had to leave. He’d seen the flare of panic in her eyes and
had done his best to re-assure her but he really did have to go. He’d briefly debated calling Lee but decided
against it in light of the security team right outside the front door and the
fact that Crane had had a long day too.
He’d acquainted the patrol with his plans and had left as soon as the
motor pool had delivered a car. Driving
barely within the speed limits towards the city he could still see Angie’s
anxious face at his front window. Damn
Chris! His timing really, really sucked!
****
Several hours later he emerged from the car – totally wiped and his
headache back in full force, exacerbated by the pull of the butterfly stitches
on his forehead. Feeling like an old
man, joints aching now from having been tossed on his rear end earlier, he
dragged himself up the steps to his front door, waving acknowledgement to the
security patrol who hailed him, eagerly anticipating the comfort of his
bed. It was past 0200 and he’d been up
over twenty-one hours – on top of little sleep the night before. As he reached for his keys, the door swung
open.
“Angie! What are you doing still
up, honey? You need to rest.”
She shrugged, winced, having momentarily forgotten that she ached all
over – and particularly in her left shoulder.
“Tried, couldn’t sleep.”
“Did you take the pills Jamie left you?”
She cast him a derisive look over her shoulder as she picked her way
back towards the kitchen. “Sure. Just like you did.” She’d heard Lee harangue Chip about taking
the medication Doctor Jamieson had prescribed.
And the rude comments the blond had uttered – thinking her out of
hearing – before he’d tipped the pills into the sink, flushing them down the
drain.
Chip cleared his throat, knowing he’d been rumbled. But his protective nature wouldn’t allow him
to acknowledge that what was sauce for the gander was also sauce for the
goose! “I’m used to hard knocks, you
aren’t.”
The look she threw him would have shrivelled lesser mortals. “Get a life, Morton. Come out of the cave!” When he opened his mouth to protest she held
up a hand. “From where I’m standing, it’s
a toss up as to which of us looks worse.
You’re shattered. And hurting.”
Intuitively she picked up on the cause of the furrow between his fair
eyebrows. “And you’re worried about
Chris.”
Knowing the lady well, he belatedly recognised that he wasn’t going to
get away with treating her like the ‘little woman’ and shielding her from the
latest happenings, so Chip gave in, sighing mightily. “I’ll make some tea.”
“No.” She contradicted, pushing
him towards a chair and moving to the stove where a kettle rested. “You sit, I’ll make tea. I need to have something to do with my
hands.” She busied herself about the
kitchen, despite the smarting it caused in her scraped palms, putting water in
the kettle, pulling mugs from the press and tea bags from the canister. She frowned as she realised he didn’t possess
a teapot but hung the teabags from the mugs and poured water when the kettle
boiled. Placing milk on the table for
herself - knowing he took his black – she sat, taking in the utter exhaustion
he could no longer hide. “What happened
with Chris?”
Dumping the tea bags into the trash before seating himself at the small,
rarely used, kitchen table, he waited until Angie sat down before
answering. “Chris, purportedly, had too
much to drink tonight and got pulled after he’d left his date home.”
“No way!
Not Chris. He has no tolerance
for alcohol. And he avoids it like the
plague.” She thunked
her cup down indignantly.
Chip marvelled silently once again.
It was true – there were no secrets from the secretaries, and less from
the newly appointed DD of NIMR! “From
what I saw of him he wasn’t drunk but he was certainly incapable of
driving. The police surgeon at the
station took a couple of blood samples, one for the SBPD to process and one I
dropped off at the lab for Jamieson.”
Angie forgot her own aches as she leapt to her feet, little mother in
defence of her cubs. “Chris has maybe
one beer on a Friday night if he’s out with the guys. That’s it.
Tops. In
almost two years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him even slightly inebriated.”
“Calm down, Angie. I don’t
understand it either. I know Chris is
too conscientious to drive having drunk alcohol but the traffic cops that
stopped him swore that he was weaving all over the road. And his levels were well over the limit when
he blew into the bag. They had no choice
but to take him in and charge him. And
he didn’t act like a typical drunk either when I saw him but he was
confused. Knowing he’d been out with
Alanna O’Regan I had the sergeant call her.”
Angie snorted derisively at the mention of the female officer but sank
back slowly into her chair and cradled her mug between her cold hands, enjoying
the warmth even as it exacerbated the stinging palms. “I guess she said he drank too much at dinner. What he sees in her….”
Chip frowned into his teacup. “Actually, no. She
confirmed that he’d only had one glass of wine with their meal, followed by
coffee. Of course, she couldn’t attest
to where he’d gone or what he’d drunk after he dropped her home. But Chris swears he was on his way home after
dropping her off when he was stopped.
That he hadn’t been anywhere else.”
“Maybe there was something in the food he was allergic to.” She hypothesised. “Or perhaps someone slipped something into his
coffee – to make it look like he was drunk.”
Morton chuckled, stretching wearily.
“Angie, you’ve been hanging around Lee and the admiral too long.”
“But if he wasn’t drunk….”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t drunk. I
said he didn’t look like he was drunk.” Morton corrected. “He’s been booked on a DUI charge and we
can’t do anything about it until Doc can take a look at the blood sample that’s
locked in the safe in the lab until morning.”
Not that he hadn’t given the young
lieutenant a severe tongue lashing for having to bail him out.
Chris had been suitably chastened, but still weaving on his feet, all
the while insistent that he hadn’t over indulged and looking more ‘fuzzy round
the edges’ than actually drunk. But Chip
had gone cold at the description of James’ actions as the duty sergeant had
listed them off. He’d been lucky to run
into a traffic patrol (not literally) instead of an on-coming car or one of the
barriers that flanked the costal road he’d been travelling on.
Morton had had to practically peel the semi-conscious officer out of the
car when they’d reached his apartment, watched with growing exasperation while
he’d tried to insert his key into the lock, and finally plucked the key from
his wavering fingers and opened the door, supporting the young idiot inside and
dumping him unceremoniously on the bed before taking off his shoes and leaving
him to sleep it off. He’d had some
qualms as to whether Chris would become ill and had left a basin at the side of
the bed - just in case – then, as a back up, called the long suffering
Kowalski, a trained field medic, to come and stay over in the event that Chris
should be drunk enough to choke on his own vomit. One of the things that made Morton an
exceedingly good XO was that he thought outside the box and covered all the
parameters. Waiting until Ski arrived
had taxed his patience and his headache had grown into monumental proportions
by the time he’d arrived home. He was
surprised to now realise that the tea and conversation had done more for his
head than a couple Ibuprofen.
“This has been one weird weekend.”
Angie muttered as she sipped at her tea.
“You can say that again.”
“It’s almost as if someone has it in for the Institute. Targeting people
willy-nilly.” She sighed tiredly,
beginning to finally come down from the emotional highs and lows she’d been
experiencing all day. “Hell, maybe the
theft of the admiral’s research is just a smokescreen for something more
sinister that’s going on here.”
Chip felt a frisson of – something – crawl down his spine at her
words. Unfortunately, at the same time,
a full-blown yawn accompanied by some serious jaw cracking, interrupted his
thoughts. He needed sleep. So did his houseguest. “You may very well be on to something there,
Angie. But it’s going to have to keep
til morning.” He rose to dump the end of
their drinks down the sink and stack the cups in the dishwasher. “Let’s go to bed.”
He turned in time to see her freeze at his last words and cursed himself
for his insensitivity. Her eyes were
darting around the small kitchen as if seeking an avenue for immediate
escape. “Angie, I didn’t mean together,
honey. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t put the moves on you after the
couple of days you’ve had.”
She flushed with embarrassment, knowing she’d over-reacted to his turn
of phrase, and silently urged herself to cop on. How on earth would he, the acknowledged Romeo
of the Nelson Institute, find her even remotely attractive dressed as she was
in the sweat pants and oversized Miami Dolphins T-shirt Debbie had packed for
her to sleep comfortably in – and without a screed of make up? Not to mention the scar on her forehead that
her now limp hair wasn’t hiding or the enormous scab that was forming over the
graze on her cheek. She couldn’t raise
her eyes further than the top button on the polo shirt he’d changed into after
his shower earlier. She’d been deluding
herself all day that he cared something for her, insisting she stay at his
place. Truth hurt, but it was better
than the alternative – pipe dreams.
Chip Morton was a Class One, A-list Gentleman with a capital G. He’d have done the same for anyone in similar
circumstances and she was guilty of reading more into his kind gestures than
was warranted. Oh yeah, she’d taken care
of him once – for all of one afternoon after he’d been released from Med Bay –
when he was hurt following the ONI mission he’d been seconded to. (****) And her caring for him wasn’t even at his
behest but something Lee had set up, thinking his friend needed some down time
and knowing that she would ensure he got it.
He’d kissed her in her car outside Med Bay, got her all flustered but
then been too wiped by the time they got back to his condo to continue anything
more than sporadic conversation between naps.
She’d worried that he needed to be under medical supervision but he’d
insisted he was fine. He’d even eaten a
tiny portion of the meal she’d cooked and thanked her for taking such good care
of him when Lee had arrived and she’d left.
They’d had dinner twice since, when their schedules had allowed, not to
mention a bunch of official work “do’s” they’d been forced to attend, but he
hadn’t put the moves on her any time since.
So what made her think that he was doing it now?
She took a deep breath, rubbing her suddenly aching temples and
acknowledging that she was belatedly re-acting to the implicit threat from the
unknown attacker. And
putting any and all men in his place.
It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair to Chip Morton who had been
nothing but a gentleman and a concerned friend to her. Unfortunately.
“I’m sorry. I...it’s just….”
“Angie, you have nothing to apologise for.” He crossed to stand in front of her, not
getting too close and noting her uncharacteristically shy away from him. “Honey, don’t. Don’t let him do this to you.”
She raised uncomprehending, tear shot eyes to his intense sympathetic
azure gaze and his heart constricted.
His own head ached and he needed sleep but he couldn’t bear to see her
pain. “Come here.”
Scooping her out of the ladder-back kitchen chair, he sat down with her
cradled in his lap. She couldn’t help
the fact that she stiffened and it didn’t go unnoticed. “Sweetheart, don’t you know that I wouldn’t
do anything to hurt you? I’d cut off my
right arm before I’d scare you – in any way.
I want you to feel safe here – and get some sleep. You don’t have to wonder if I’m going to try
anything on.” He cuddled her close in a
non-threatening way and ran his hand up and down her spine in a deliberately soothing
motion. After several minutes her stiff
posture eased. “That’s better. There’s a lock on your bedroom door and if it
makes you feel better, then use it. I
won’t be offended. But I hope you know
that you never have anything to fear from me in that regard.”
She had relaxed sufficiently under his gentle ministrations that the
words that followed came without her knowledge or control. “Maybe I’d like to have.”
He went rigid, his hand stilling in the small of her back, hoping
against hope that he wasn’t misinterpreting her words. “Angie….”
“Kiss me. Please?” Hesitant, unsure, still afraid, she wanted
him – wanted the protectiveness and reassurance of his touch.
Unable to resist her whispered, uncertain plea he bent his head and
tenderly rested his lips on her soft pliant mouth. Her response was hesitant but definite. He deepened the kiss and she opened her mouth
under his, raising her arms to link behind his neck as he shifted her gently to
bring her in closer contact.
Wanting badly to take it deeper, Chip forced himself to reluctantly
retreat, knowing there was only one place this would end – his bedroom. Perhaps Angie thought she was ready for
it. He wasn’t sure and wasn’t prepared
to take the chance. When it happened,
and it inevitably would –given the way he felt about her and the fact that it
seemed to be reciprocated – he wanted no third party involvement. And he could feel the tension in her body, as
closely as it was pressed to his, and the whimper of pain from her aching limbs
as he shifted her to ease the ache in his groin.
“Honey, you’re not ready for this.
Make no mistake,” he whispered as he blew strands of hair back from her
heated cheeks, “I’d like nothing better
than to take you to bed right now. But
it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. We
deserve more. We’re both physically and
mentally drained and, like so many occasions in the past, it just isn’t our
time. But, have no doubts, lady, that
time will come. I’ll make certain of
it. It’s waiting for us. Just not right now.”
Angie burrowed her head into his shoulder, embarrassed but somewhat
relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands. He understood her so well, could read her
yearnings and her vulnerabilities like no one else. With each of their encounters she fell a
little more in love with him.
“Thank you. For
understanding.” It was little more than
a murmur as she eased her way out of the arms she could have stayed cocooned in
forever.
“Always, honey. What you went
through this morning was pretty traumatic.
I’d be a total heel if I was to take advantage of you now.” She was standing in front of him and stroked
his arm in gratitude. The shudder that
went through him left her in no doubt of the desire he was suppressing.
He caught her hand as she went to move away. Intense blue eyes engaged reticent
green. “This isn’t over, Angie. It’s merely a rain check.” There was a promise, that there was no
getting away from, in his voice.
She nodded acknowledgement of the statement – it would be fact, when the
timing was right for them both. Right
now she needed fresh air. Her head and
her heart were pounding in unison. “I need
to go outside. Just for some air. Before I go to…sleep.” She substituted ‘sleep’ for the word that had
begun this intimate interlude.
Chip stood as she slipped into the living room, his concerned gaze
following her as she unlocked the patio doors and stepped onto the deck that
fronted the ocean. He knew she welcomed
the space and deliberately didn’t follow her too soon.
That he did, that some higher deity was engaged in her decision to take
some air at that precise moment in time, saved Lee Crane’s life.
****
“Angie, it’s late.” He intentionally stayed in the lee of the patio
doors, not wanting to crowd her. She was
standing at the furthest end of the deck, arms wrapped around her middle and
her head thrown back on her slender neck, gazing fixedly at the quarter moon
that shed its mysterious light over the ocean and somehow he knew she was
trying to stop the tears from falling.
His every protective instinct told him to go to her, to take her in his
arms and stop the pain. But he knew she
had to work through it on her own, at her own pace and he could do more harm
than good if he tried to accelerate the rate of healing. But she did need rest. And truth to tell, he was beyond
exhaustion. Tomorrow being Sunday, they
would not usually be expected at the Institute but these were not normal times
and he expected to be fully engaged in the mire that had encompassed the
previous almost 36 hours.
“I know. I just wanted some
air. Some clean, sweet air.” She wrinkled her nose as she realised that
the air didn’t seem as clean as it should, given the condo’s proximity to the
Pacific Ocean.
Catching her slightly disgruntled expression, Chip stepped further out
onto the decking and sniffed appreciatively at the bracing post midnight /
early morning coolness. Instead of the
clear ocean scents he was expecting, his nostrils were assailed by a strangely
invasive but conversely almost sour smell, one that he wasn’t used to along
this stretch of private beach – but one that he’d been trained to sniff
out. “That’s gas. Oh, shit!”
Immediately discerning the prevailing winds as coming from the direction
of Lee Crane’s house, he leapt off the deck and flew in that direction, calling
over his shoulder for Angie to alert Med Bay and Security. Without hesitation, he made for the back of
Lee’s condo as the closest point to his, hauling his shirt over his head as he
went. Without even testing the doors,
sure as he was that they’d be locked, he wrapped the polo shirt around his
forearm and thrust it through the glass of the rear door, just above the panel
holding the lock. Quickly knocking the
broken glass aside, he wriggled his fingers free and popped the lock. The stench of gas was even more pervasive
inside the kitchen and Chip found his breath already clogging in his
throat. Ripping the material from his
arm, he shook the clinging shards of glass free and used it to shield his mouth
and nose as best as possible.
Thanking the Gods that Crane’s condo mirrored his own, he was able to
navigate his way to Lee’s bedroom without benefit of light. Wasting no time to see how badly affected his
friend was, he simply gripped Lee under the arms and hauled him up over his
shoulder in the closest he could manage to a fireman’s carry. He was staggering under Crane’s weight and
the effects of the gas by the time he emerged into the clear air, breathing in
great gulps of welcome oxygen as he managed to make it to his own place before
depositing Lee onto the cool wooden decking.
He instinctively sought the pulse at the throat of the lean dark haired
man who’d been his friend since forever and almost sagged in relief as his
unsteady fingers caught the faint beat.
Without thought, he levered himself over Crane’s bare chest, pried open
his mouth and began to breathe into him, mentally counting out the breaths
until, an indeterminate time later, he felt hands push him aside.
“Let us take over, Commander. He
needs pure oxygen.”
Morton sat down heavily where he dropped, just far enough from Crane to
allow the medics to work. It took
several minutes but he finally heard the sweet sound of Lee’s weak, rough
sounding, cough. He sagged with relief
but almost immediately rebounded to his feet as a most unwelcome and horrific
thought entered his mind and he sprinted for Lee’s condo once again.
Vaguely aware of a figure pursuing him, he looked back to see Angie on
his tail. Roaring as loudly as his
punished lungs allowed, he instructed her to call Nelson and Jamieson. She faltered at the total command in his
tone, one she was not used to hearing from him.
As he ploughed ahead he glanced back and, seeing her hesitation, let rip
a blistering oath that had her retreating at a run. Knowing it would only take a spark to ignite
the place, and possibly the surrounding condos, he entered Lee’s home
cautiously, having created a possible back draft by leaving the kitchen door
open. He unerringly made his way to the
tiny pantry off the kitchen that housed the electrical fuse box, stopcock and
gas boilers. Shutting off the gas at the
mains control unit, his lungs on fire, he was coughing wretchedly as he systematically
made his way around the condo, opening all the doors and windows to disperse
the pent up gas. The levels were toxic
and he could feel their effects in his slowed down gait, his agitated heart
rate and the throbbing in his head that threatened to blow his skull clear
off. He had to get out of there –
fast. But more than that, he needed to
get back and see how Lee was faring.
Crane had been exposed to the gas for who knew how long.
Stumbling through the front door he saw what looked like the entire
Institute camped outside his condo.
Unable to make it further without a rest stop, he surged into the
driveway and leant his weary body against – of all things – the highly polished
chrome fender of Lee’s most prized possession after Seaview, his classic
red Shelby convertible. Too weak to do
more than press himself against the vintage car, he tried to gain strength from
the gleaming patina of the paintwork and the glow of the chrome. Her master would be back to claim her – soon. In a moment that was pure Crane, the stoic
ever-pragmatic exec patted the car’s bumper in reassurance, before trying to
haul himself to his feet. Steadying
himself against the frame of the car, he fought off the dizziness and swallowed
down the nausea that assailed him as he gained his balance before endeavouring
to find his way back to his friend. He
hadn’t moved more than three steps before he felt support on his right side and
a familiar voice exhorting him to take it easy – Patterson.
To his own ears, his voice was weak as he managed to unglue his tongue
sufficiently to ask what Pat was doing there.
“Security called me, sir. They
knew Riley and I were here earlier and had standing orders to call us if
anything untoward went down.”
Crane’s orders, Chip knew; his friend and captain would have covered all
the bases. And he needed to get back to
Lee. “Thanks, Pat. I’m fine.”
He wouldn’t admit that he was still light headed and felt like throwing
up, but whatever Patterson saw in his face had him tightening his hold on the
taller exec, all but keeping him upright as he reached the wooden deck where
the captain lay. Blankets now swathed
Lee’s pyjama-bottom clad figure, several medical personnel were treating him
and Chip was grateful to see John, one of Seaview’s regular corpsman,
among them. An oxygen mask was in place
over Crane’s mouth and nose with an IV already running fluids through. Angie practically pounced on him as Pat led
him onto the deck.
“Chip, are you OK? I called the
admiral and Dr. Jamieson – they’re both going to meet us at Med Bay as soon as
Lee is able to be moved.” She sounded
panicked and Chip wanted to re-assure her but his throat was tight and sore and
he was unable to verbalise the words he sought to impart. In fact, he was barely able to stay upright
and, but for Patterson’s assist, he’d have joined his friend on the deck. Trying to clear his throat, he was rewarded
with nothing but a garbled groan – which immediately alerted John, who knew him
only too well. He was summarily eased
into a seated position on the deck and hooked up to an oxygen mask before he
could object. The immediate respite to
his lungs was almost worth the indignity. He’d forgotten he was shirtless until
he felt the cold blades of John’s stethoscope on his overheated skin,
persistent even as Chip tried to brush him off.
“Hold still, sir. You’ve inhaled
a significant amount of gas too and we need to get your oxygen levels up.” The corpsman explained as he took the exec’s
vitals, deftly clipping a portable oxymetre to his middle finger and attempting
to take a reading. Chip’s
non-co-operation earned him a reproachful glare.
“Lee?” He wheezed, through the
tightening in his chest.
“Whoa. Geez, Commander. Your levels are nearly up there with the
captain’s.” Sensing Chip wouldn’t relax
until he affirmed the skipper’s status, he complied. “Captain Crane has been exposed to the gas
for what appears to be a considerable period.
He’s still breathing on his own, which is a good sign, sir. But we need to get you both,” emphasising the
last, “transported ASAP.” With a nod to
the paramedics, John swiftly engineered the removal of the captain. He caught Patterson’s eye and indicated that
he should head Chip towards the waiting ambulance.
Pat nodded his understanding and began shepherding his senior officer in
that direction. Swiftly interpreting his
XO’s look, torn between his best friend and the woman on his patio, he spoke
quietly so only Morton could hear. “Sir,
Riley and I will take care of Miss Angie.
You go with the skipper.” Wisely
he didn’t mention the fact that Chip obviously needed attention too. That would have protracted the proceedings
unnecessarily.
“Lee’s place….” Morton croaked,
but Pat understood his concerns.
“We’ll check it over, lock it up tight and post a guard, sir. Don’t you worry. Riley and I’ll stay right here til you get
back.” He forbore mentioning that he
thought the exec wouldn’t be getting out of the CMO’s clutches any time soon.
That would serve no purpose and Patterson could readily see the anxiety in the
XO’s eyes as he watched the skipper wheeled into the Institute ambulance. “You go ahead, sir, we’ve got everything
covered here.”
Pushing the mask aside as the exasperated paramedic tried to stuff him
into the ambulance, he shot one last order.
“Pat, find out …cause.”
****
“I don’t believe this!” Nelson
muttered to no one in particular as he watched his captain being swiftly
unloaded and John begin his report even as the gurney moved along the tiled
lobby. There was an urgency about the
doctor’s rapid-fire questions and fluid movements that caught at something
within Nelson as he followed them into an examining room. Steel blue eyes dared brown to try and evict
him.
“I haven’t the time.” Jamieson
muttered, knowing he’d have a hard job shifting either Nelson or Morton – and
he couldn’t afford to waste time now. He
really didn’t like the look of Lee Crane, the blue tinge around his lips
indicated that he’d been exposed to the gas for longer than his body could easily
tolerate. A swift glance at Morton had
him worried about his next-to-least favourite patient. The exec’s face was pasty white, his breath
coming in short wheezing gasps and he shook with cold in the climate-controlled
room. A quick word to John had the
corpsman throwing another blanket around the still shirtless XO, seating him
and replacing the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. As Morton rebuffed his attempts, Jamie let
out what could only be described as a bark.
“Not now, Commander! Sit! It’ll be your turn soon enough.” All present knew the words were meant as much
in reassurance as in censure. And they
served their purpose with both anxious men, his practiced eyes told him, as
Morton subsided into the chair and Nelson visibly relaxed.
Not that their young captain was out of the woods yet, by any
means. Will frowned. He really needed a timeframe on how long
Crane had been exposed to the gas – Carbon Monoxide from what John had
told him. He spoke as he worked on the
younger man.
“Chip, I want you to talk as little as you possibly can. But have you any idea how long Lee was
exposed to the gas.”
Levering the mask away from his face enough to talk, Morton conveyed as
much information as he could. “He left
my place…about 2300. I got the
call…about Chris…maybe fifteen / twenty minutes later.”
“What about Chris?” Nelson asked
testily.
“It’ll keep, Admiral.” Jamieson
interrupted his superior impatiently.
“Cut to the chase, Chip. Just
give me a timeframe”
“Got home about 0200. Angie was
still up…made tea. Went out onto…the
deck for some air. Smelled the gas. Broke into Lee’s condo. He was in bed. I don’t know if he crashed…soon as he left…or
stayed up for a while. Best estimate…he
could have been exposed for several hours.”
The lengthy speech proved too much for the exec and he began to cough
raggedly. John immediately replaced the
oxygen mask, increasing the flow and concentration until Chip’s breathing
returned to a semblance of regularity.
Jamie frowned at the breath sounds but couldn’t afford to take his attention
from the captain. Jerking his head at
the corpsman, with whom he worked so well, he silently instructed John to give
the XO a more detailed exam. John
slapped a blood pressure cuff on Chip’s upper arm and began to record
vitals. At Jamieson’s murmured
instruction he also took blood and had it rushed through the lab along with the
sample Will had taken from Crane.
Neither man cared that technicians had been dragged from their beds post
midnight – that was what NIMR paid them handsomely for.
Harriman Nelson wasn’t known for his patience at the best of times – and
these weren’t the best of times.
He watched Jamieson’s every movement as he worked on the man he
considered to be the closest to a son that he would ever have, anxiety gnawing
at his guts and fear eroding discretion.
“Will?”
“In a minute, Admiral!” Concern
had Jamieson snapping, which raised the antenna of both admiral and exec –
Jamie rarely snapped unless he was pushed to the pin of his collar. And if he was, then both senior officers had
more than good reason to worry about the object of his snappishness – their son
/ brother.
Morton could feel the pounding of his heart as an acute pressure against
his chest wall and breathing was still painful, despite the pure oxygen he was inhaling
courtesy of the despised mask. His
headache being somewhere off the Richter scale, he felt dizzy and nauseous in
equal proportions. And not one of these symptoms was he prepared to admit to – for fear
of being summarily evicted from the exam room and away from his brother
officer. He was also cold, having
mislaid his shirt somewhere between Lee’s condo and here. The blankets he’d been given weren’t doing a
very good job of heating him up but, then again, maybe it wasn’t the blankets’
fault. Finding this thought too
confusing to continue, he tuned back in to the activity going on around him.
Nelson was plain scared. He’d
seen his captain through more injuries than he’d ever envisaged, been through
more horrors and terrors than he could comprehend, but this, THIS was
somehow personal. He was beginning to
get the whole deal now – too late! And
it all circled back to him; his research, his P.A., his
COB, his exec, his officer in Chris James – though he had yet to
find out what had happened there – and now his captain. More than just his captain, if he were
totally honest. Crane had ceased being just
his captain a long time ago. Regret
stabbed at him as he railed against the side of his personality that refused to
allow him acknowledge his innermost feelings.
Rarely had he expressed to the people around him, Crane, Morton, Will,
just how much they meant to him. He was
thought to be a genius – feted by Presidents and Royalty, courted by the top
brains in governments all over the world, his opinion sought after in times of
world crises. Yet he couldn’t tell the
ones who meant so much to him just how much he cared about them.
Fists clenching, eyes stinging with an emotion he couldn’t allow to be
seen – even here amongst his most trusted friends – he made a private deal with
God. Let him live. Let him be whole. And I’ll cast my pride aside and tell them
how much they mean to me, how I value them in my life – and not just for their
contributions to the Institute, but for the difference they make to me as a
person; as a father, as a friend, as a teacher and guide, how they’ve
individually enriched my life.
He caught the look Jamieson winged his way and forced himself to relax
his stance – if only to negate one worry for the harried doctor. He knew Will would have tagged his emotional
state straight away. It was almost a
given that he would haunt Sick Bay if Crane was a patient there and that Jamie
would worry almost as much about him as about Lee. Tonight wouldn’t be anything different, but
Jamieson needed to concentrate on Lee – and Chip – so he had to take himself
out of the equation. He could best do
that by being his usual testy, obnoxious, impatient self.
“Doctor?” He infused the word
with every command tone he could dredge up; the ADMIRAL wanted answers and was
NOT about to be denied. In his
peripheral vision he caught sight of Chip’s wince but Jamieson wouldn’t be
hurried. He eventually turned from his
patient, satisfied that he was now stable, and faced the shorter stockier man
with equanimity, only his eyes betraying the sympathy he felt for the slightly
older man who was more than employer to his patient. Will accepted and read the lab report John
brought right then before turning to address his superior.
“Admiral, no surprise, Lee is suffering from Carbon Monoxide
poisoning. Best guess – he was exposed
to it for two hours or more. His blood
count is concentrated with carboxyhemoglobin and we urgently need to get his
levels down if he has any chance of beating this. Lee is exhibiting severe symptoms, exhibited
by his continued unconscious state, which are caused by high levels of
poisoning over a protracted period. We
have to deal with this fast if there are to be no long term effects.” His hesitation at this point caused consternation
in both admiral and exec and he was reluctantly forced to concede his
fears. Will didn’t believe in sugar
coating but he didn’t want to alarm these men unnecessarily either. He cared for them – all three of them – too
much. “We won’t know until – or if – Lee
regains consciousness how the poisoning has affected his system. He may experience confusion, short term
memory loss, changes in personality, extreme disorientation, impaired
reasoning, even behavioural and learning difficulties. People respond differently to the same levels
of poisoning and symptoms can range from mild to severe in persons with the
same level of exposure. We could be
looking at permanent memory loss, various long terms effects including heart or
even brain damage.”
He watched the men he considered his closest friends absorb his
diagnosis – and saw the stunned reactions neither man could hide. “Let’s not borrow trouble just yet. Now there are a couple of tests I need to
do. And I want you two out of here while
I perform them.” His expression
softened, knowing how close the three men were and prepared for their
objection, but held up one hand, forestalling the protests he knew would ensue.
“Lee won’t feel a thing but the procedure is not pleasant and it’s not something
you need to witness.”
Nelson gritted his teeth, saw Chip lift the mask from his already
exhausted face to add his ten cents worth and waved the exec down. “I think we can stand it, Will. We both want to be here for him.”
The simple statement went a long way with the medic, used to dealing
with the three on an ongoing basis, and he shrugged compliance – but with a
cautionary note. “Be warned, Chip, if I
find you’re exhibiting similar toxic levels I’ll be performing this on you.”
If anything the exec’s familiar stoic expression re-affirmed his stance
and Will sighed, unsurprised, as he quietly requested John to bring the ABG kit.
****
He thanked God that Lee was unconscious and
thus unaware as Jamieson hurt to heal.
Jamie had explained the procedure as he’d cleaned the site but it was
still hard to watch as he slid the larger than usual needle into the inside of
Lee’s left wrist seeking the artery.
Nelson moved closer to Morton, mindful of Will’s words to the now paler
than pale exec. He squeezed Chip’s
shoulder in silent support as they watched Jamieson collect the fluid for the
Arterial Blood Gas test. He’d felt
Chip’s start at the low moan that had emerged from Lee as Jamie had punctured
his skin but the physician’s murmured “good, good” had given him hope that Lee
was emerging from his unconscious state – or at least that some awareness was
there.
As Jamie withdrew the needle they saw John
slide in to cover the puncture site with a thick gauze pad. “That will need to be held in place for at
least the next 10 minutes to reduce the risk of bleeding from the artery and to
limit extensive bruising.” Jamison
explained, his sharp eyes noting Morton’s almost deathly pallor. “Chip, I think you need to lie down.”
“I’m OK.”
He deliberately declined to use the word ‘fine’ – Lee’s customary retort
– but it was clear to all that he was anything but OK. And his nausea had increased as he watched
Jamie work on Lee until he thought he was about to throw up. Repeated swallowing had prevented that ignominy
but had increased the heat in his lungs.
Jamieson instantly summoned a nurse who
returned within minutes with a second gurney.
His protests going unheeded, Chip was summarily placed on the table that
was aligned alongside his friend, Jamie’s stethoscope descending on his
chest. “I want deep breaths now, Chip;
in through the nose and out through the mouth.
I know it hurts but I need to get a feel for the pressure the gas is
placing on your lungs. Don’t fight
me. This is serious. You’ve inhaled concentrated doses of the
gas. You weren’t exposed for the length
of time Lee was but you exacerbated the trauma to your lungs by your increased
activity level. Lee was asleep, his
system in suspend mode, if you want to call it that. You were in rescue mode, and inhaled almost
as much into your overworked lungs in the short time you were in his condo as
he did into his sleeping lungs – if that makes sense. Lee was in respite and you were at full tilt
– you didn’t have the prolonged exposure but you got a double dose of the
concentration – not to mention that your lungs were already under pressure from
the explosion and the fumes you inhaled earlier. That’s what your blood test shows.” He brooked no argument as he pushed the exec
into a reclining position on the gurney.
Chip subsided, finally admitting how awful he felt and acknowledging
that he could do nothing further for Lee.
Throwing an arm over his face to block his
eyes as he felt Doc slide an IV needle into the crook of his elbow, he
swallowed the bile that rose into his throat.
He fought back the tears of helplessness that wanted to leak from under
his tightly closed eyelids. They
wouldn’t do Lee any good. And he needed
to be back in control – for Lee. That
was an exec’s job – to protect his CO.
And he couldn’t do his job if he was on a gurney in Med Bay. Exhaustion, confusion, and the primary need
to do his job, forced his eyelids open and his hands to push Jamie out of his
way.
“Need to check on Lee…have to….” To his own
ears his voice sounded weird, thick and slurred, his tongue sticking to the
roof of his mouth.
“Easy, Chip.”
Jamieson’s voice soothed as he re-checked the exec’s vitals for any more
recent anomalies, replaced the oxygen mask, smothered him in warmed blankets to
bring up his low core temperature and attempted to assuage his worry regarding
his friend. Taking into account the
deterioration in Morton’s condition, his concern escalated.
“John, prepare the hyperbaric chamber for two
patients – stat!”
“Will?”
Picking up on the CMO’s concern, the corpsman
raced for the door, leaving it swinging in his wake. Jamison turned to what was now a very
apprehensive admiral and attempted some level of re-assurance.
“Harry, both Lee and Chip are suffering the
varied effects of Carbon Monoxide poisoning.
Lee’s unconscious because he’s been exposed for a protracted period and
now that the adrenalin rush has left, Chip’s experiencing an accelerated
reaction to the noxious gas he’s inhaled under less than ideal conditions. He hasn’t lost consciousness but I’m no less
worried about him than I am about Lee – not to mention that he’s already
suffered one trauma this evening and his lungs are already compromised.” During their conversation he’d steered Nelson
away from the two gurneys, not wanting Morton to overhear his
conversation.
“We’re – or rather they are – in the lucky position of having a hyperbaric chamber available here at
the Institute.” He could see the
admiral’s nodding head already run the possibilities. “The pressure in the chamber will remove the
CO from their bodies faster. We’ve been
administering 100% oxygen therapy since they were brought in and it’s not
having the desired effect quickly enough.
We can’t give them anything more concentrated than that or we risk COPD
- Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.
In my opinion our best option is to use the chamber to pump oxygen into
them under pressure. It reduces the CO
levels faster than conventional treatment and restores the oxygen carrying
capacity of the blood to normal levels quicker.
Twenty minutes in the chamber does the work of four hours of normal
oxygen therapy. Up to three treatments
may be necessary over the course of the next twenty four hours but it further
reduces the risk of cognitive problems and lasting damage to memory and
concentration.”
“Is that
your recommendation for the two of them, Will?”
There was both total trust and sublime hope in the blue eyes that
connected to Jamieson’s.
The doctor sighed; sometimes the weight of
choice was difficult to bear. “I’ll be
honest, Harry. I’d hoped we could avoid
this. But our single other option is
something that’s only currently being researched. And there are no conclusive studies to
support the theory that using both Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide might
reduce the levels of CO in the body.
It’s virtually untried in humans – they call it Normocapnic Hyperpnea –
and I’m not entirely sure it’s warranted taking the risk in this case when we
have a hyperbaric chamber at our disposal.
So, yes, Harry, that’s my recommendation.”
Nelson nodded decisively, his confidence in
this man absolute. “Then let’s get
moving, Will.”
****
For more than the hundredth time, since coming
to the Institute, Will Jamieson found himself thanking God that Harriman Nelson
had spared no expense in equipping the place – especially where the medical
facilities were concerned. NIMR’s
hyperbaric chamber was one of the largest on the west coast and could easily
accommodate several people. Its current
occupants were already showing the positive effects of the pressurised therapy
after just one twenty-minute treatment.
Lee Crane had regained consciousness although he had been too dizzy and
disoriented to be his usual troublesome self and was – so
far – resting quietly and
following instructions. It was currently
Morton who was causing Jamieson grief.
The XO was insistent that he was well enough to leave the chamber,
adamant that his breathing was fine and assuring the sceptical medic that the
burning in his lungs was completely gone.
Jamieson
didn’t believe a word of it and was equally insistent that the stubborn blond
officer complete at least one further session.
Lee, having been exposed to the gas for longer, would be required to
undergo two further cycles. He hadn’t as
yet informed either of the senior officers that they would be transferring no
further than to Med Bay’s third floor for the remainder of the night at least
and, in the captain’s case, for an indeterminate time until he, Will, was
satisfied that there were no lingering after effects of the near lethal
dose. He knew the fallout from dropping
that little bombshell wouldn’t be pleasant.
But one of the reasons he’d lasted longer than any of the other medics
either on board the boat or at the Institute was that he was equally as
stubborn as the trio that made up Seaview’s command staff. It was a source of intense frustration and no
little irritation to him that these particular two could behave more like
fractious, pouting children than the battle seasoned officers they actually
were where their own health issues were concerned.
The only thing currently keeping Morton in the
unit was that Lee Crane was there too and Jamieson wasn’t above using Chip’s
concern for his friend to keep him in line.
It was part of the ‘game’ he’d bought into since taking over as Seaview’s
CMO. Things could get loud at times
given the stubborn personalities involved but their mutual respect for each
other kept them from getting personal and ensured their strong friendship
remained intact. Knowing that Jamieson
had made the difference many times between life and death for both men gave the
doctor a decided advantage – unspoken but acknowledged – and he used the cards
he was dealt with barefaced insouciance whenever necessary. And if that failed, he called in Nelson. But he used that ace in the hole only when it
became unavoidable – he had too much respect for these men to undermine them
without jolly good reason. Grimly, he
faced the possibility that this might be one of those times.
****
“There’s no reason for me to stay!” Currently seated on the exam table, having
completed the required second twenty-minute cycle in the chamber and subjected
himself to having yet more blood drawn, Chip was fuming, almost silently, as
Jamie bade him take deep breaths while he listened to the XO’s lungs. Morton huffed and earned himself a sideways
look from the now more than ticked off medic.
A small throat clearance from the watchful admiral, who had been in
attendance the whole time since his officers were brought into Med Bay, had the
XO subsiding. Unwillingly. But Chip knew better than to take on his boss
– especially at close on 0400. Realising
belatedly that Jamieson must be just as tired as he was, Chip sighed and
capitulated, but not without one last stipulation. “All right, put an extra bed into Lee’s
room.”
Jamieson snorted. “In your dreams. And have you keep each other up all
night? You both” and he emphasised the
last “need to rest. Once Lee’s completed this treatment I want
the two of you horizontal and snoozing for at least eight hours. And I’ll accomplish that any way I have to!”
And he wasn’t averse to enforcing it via his
trusty hypo, as both admiral and exec were well aware.
Chip changed tactics, knowing his bolshie attitude
would now get him nowhere with the stonewalling physician. “Please, Jamie. I’d rest easier if I knew Lee was in the same
room and I know he would too.” He made
no pretence of playing the medic.
“Besides, and I know the admiral will agree with me,” he was blatantly
stroking here “it’ll be easier to post a guard on one room than two. I’m assuming that’s what you’d planned, sir?”
His deference to Nelson was contrived - and
the four star admiral found himself having to subdue the grin that struggled to
surface. Nelson’s responding bark
concealed his laugh as he conceded to the exec’s inimitable logic – and
way-too-innocent expression.
“It would relieve personnel,
Will.” His tone was mild, as he really
didn’t want to tick off the doctor any more than his two officers already
had.
Jamieson sighed, knowing he’d been
outgunned. “Very well. But neither of you dare to have plans to
leave here tomorrow before I evaluate you both thoroughly!”
“What about church, Jamie?” The guileless look Chip sent his way almost
threatened to undo the beleaguered physician and he looked to Nelson
pleadingly.
“Give me permission, Admiral, to put him in
restraints and shoot him so full of sedative that he won’t surface til Tuesday
– at the earliest!”
Nelson chuckled, used to the by-play between
his men. “No can do, Will. Couldn’t be party to compromising your
ethics. And, unfortunately, I’m probably
going to need you to release them before you want to. Whoever this is has obviously decided to
escalate their agenda.” His tone went
austere and both Jamieson and Morton picked up on the unspoken. “I’m likely going to need both Chip and Lee
before they advance what is obviously becoming a pre-planned programme of
attack.”
Before Jamieson could open his mouth to object,
Morton recalled Angie’s words.
“Admiral, Angie said something earlier that
struck a chord with me.” Chip shrugged
off Jamie’s attempts to get him to lie down.
“She commented how the initial attack stole your work but that the
subsequent assaults targeted people around you – hurting you
indirectly.”
A thought occurred through the headache he
still wouldn’t admit to. “Jamie, did you
get a chance to process the blood work on Chris James?”
“Not hardly, Chip.” Jamieson protested. “It’s the middle of the night!”
“I don’t know why, Jamie, but my gut instinct
tells me he wasn’t drunk.” Morton slid
off the table and began pacing, ignoring the doctor’s shooing motions back to
the gurney. “Oh, he acted drunk,
stupid. And don’t ask me why, but I’d bet
my next paycheck that he had exactly what he said he had to drink. I think he was drugged. How – or why – I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it’s part of what’s going
on here this past 24 hours. Jamie, how
soon can you get the work done on the sample of Chris’s blood that I left
here?”
Jamieson moved to the phone. “Give me a couple hours. Until now I hadn’t considered it a priority.”
Exchanging a grim glance with his admiral,
Chip intoned gravely, “Nor did I,
Jamie. Nor did I.”
****
Both Jamieson and Morton got their way. Jamie had the two exactly where he wanted
them – on Med Bay’s third floor – with
both men as co-operative as could be expected, given the individuals
involved. Logic overruling
determination, Chip was currently ensconced in the same room with Lee, the CMO
having given in to the inevitable, knowing both men would settle easier in
close proximity to each other.
Jamieson’s worry – that Morton wouldn’t rest, too busy ensuring his
captain was being taken care of – was allayed by the judicious (sneaky) use of
a mild sedative, the recipient too exhausted and distracted to query the
welcome offer of coffee. Thus it was
that, having bullied and finally threatened Nelson into leaving, Jamieson was
arguing with a wide-awake, if still a little nauseous, Crane while Chip slept
like a baby in the next bed.
“You
don’t settle down, Lee, and you’re looking at the sharp end of a hypo full of
sleep juice.” Jamieson threatened.
“I’ll sleep if you agree to let me out of here
come morning.” His most difficult
patient bartered.
“In your dreams, Captain.” The medic snorted, as was expected of
him. “You’ll sleep, either which
way!”
“Jamie!”
His tone disgusted, Lee sent his physician and friend his best command
glare.
“Doesn’t cut any ice with me, Lee.”
“You heard the admiral, Jamie. He needs us.”
Immune to the “little boy”, under the lashes,
look Lee mastered so brilliantly, Jamieson conducted a further swift
examination, concentrating on the captain’s breath sound, the Oxymeter readings
that thankfully showed Lee’s oxygen levels were once again approaching normal
and checking the thick gauze pad that covered the incision on the inside of his
wrist, noting Crane’s instinctive wince as he probed to ensure there was no
leakage of blood. “The admiral’s ‘needs’
are secondary to yours and Chip’s right now.”
He lectured firmly. “The CO in
your body is well reduced which is why you feel so much better. And thank God for the Hyperbaric
Chamber. We’d be looking at a much
longer treatment schedule without it.
But, and I’m serious here, Commander,” emphasising his rank was
worse than Jamie calling him ‘captain’, “there could be severe after effects
from the Carbon Monoxide poisoning and we need to keep you carefully monitored
for the next few days.”
He could already see Crane rolling his eyes
and his frown deepened. The captain was
NOT taking this seriously enough for his liking. Tone grave, he admonished his worst patient. “I’m not joking, Lee. The level of CO you ingested was pretty toxic
and over a prolonged period. We may not
know what the lingering effects are for several days.” He forestalled the protest from the younger
man with an upheld hand, palm out. “As
the younger generation says, Lee, talk to the hand, cause the face ain’t
listening!”
He grinned at the comical look that overcame
Lee’s increasing exasperation. “Didn’t
think I knew the jargon, heh? Had Riley
in Sickbay this last cruise. Got quite
an earful so I’m all caught up on the latest hot lingo.”
“Geez, Doc, need to keep you busier, if that’s
what you’re coming back with.” Lee
grumbled.
“Don’t think you’re going to distract me,
Mister.” The older man blustered, well
aware of his least favourite patient’s diversion tactics. “No way are you leaving here tomorrow or even
the next day until I’m completely satisfied that you’re not showing any post
contamination symptoms. Appreciate you
don’t like it, Lee, but it’s for your own good.” Knowing he’d mouthed the same words many
times before, with little or no effect, Jamieson was ready for the blast he
knew was forthcoming.
“Newsflash, Jamie – I’m fine. Chip got me out of there before any permanent
damage was done.”
“Newsflash, Lee,” exasperation colouring his
tone, Jamieson lowered the head of the raised bed into a prone position, “I’m the one with the medical degree and I’ll
be the judge of that. Aided and abetted
by my faithful tests. Don’t plan on
getting out of here anytime soon!”
“Jamie….”
“Any chance of piping it down here?” The grumble came from the other bed as Chip
rolled over to blearily confront his friends.
“Some of us are trying to sleep!”
Jamieson snorted again. “God grant me a sedative strong enough to
knock you both out! Go to sleep, the
pair of you!” Grinning reluctantly, he
dimmed the lights as he exited the room, knowing he’d won the immediate battle
while the war was still ahead and – depending on the test results he got back –
it could be bloody.
****
Morton blinked owlishly and shook his head,
trying to stave off the effects of whatever Jamie had slipped him – and he knew
the devious CMO had drugged him somehow.
‘Should have known better than to accept his offer of caffeine,’ he
berated himself. ‘Must have been more
out of it than I thought. Seen him catch
too many people that way. Never thought
I’d be one of them.’
“You awake, Chip?”
The blond turned his still slightly muzzy head
in the direction of his friend’s voice and tried to focus his uncooperative
eyes. “Yeah, more or less, no thanks to
Jamie. How’d you feel?” There was some chance Lee would be honest
without the CMO or admiral present.
His answer was initially a heavy sigh – which
drew a concerned frown from the exec – followed by a grudged admission. “Not terribly hot. But better than when I woke up first. My chest isn’t actually on fire any more and
I’m reasonably sure – well, fairly – that I’m not about to throw up any time
soon.”
Morton’s snort accompanied his groan as he sat
up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He knew better than to try to stand right then, as fuzzy as he still
felt, but he needed to get moving if he was to oust the lingering traces of the
sedation. “Glad to hear that. Not sure I’m up to cleaning that up any time
soon! And I know how you feel. Thought a couple times I was going to have a
revisit from the take-out we had earlier.”
“Oh, gross!
Please don’t mention that!” As
he’d envisaged, Lee reacted with an appropriate facial expression.
Chip levered himself carefully off the side of
the bed. Taking deep breaths he
evaluated the distance between the beds, the bathroom and the door to the
corridor. “Tell me honestly how you feel
right now. Cos we need to get out of
here.”
Lee’s dark eyebrows almost met his
hairline. “Did that gas affect you more
than you’re admitting, buddy?”
Morton met his friend’s eyes steadily – or at
least as steadily as he could. “Hope
not, Lee. Cos if I’m wrong then the next
target in this sick game that’s going on is the admiral. Angie called it earlier, as far as I’m
concerned. The attacks so far have been
directed against Nelson in a variety of guises; first his research, then
his PA, his COB, his exec, his third officer – if
I’m right and Chris wasn’t drunk - and now his captain. See where I’m leading here? There’s a logical conclusion?”
“Someone’s going after Nelson.” Lee cottoned on fast. It didn’t take a Nobel Prize Winner to catch
the drift. “The attacks have been focused
on people close to the admiral. To
date. And there are no guarantees as to
who’s going to be next. Up til now the
attacks appear to be random with no apparent pattern – other than the
connection to the Institute – or at least not one that I can see.”
Cautiously pushing himself away from the bed,
Morton began to pace the room, starting slowly until he was able to walk
steadily around the perimeter. Lee
watched him, could practically see the thoughts whirling around in his friend’s
head, probably only one of a mere handful of people who could read the inscrutable
blond. Chip was quick witted but methodical,
Lee had seen him numerous times work his way through a problem, tease it out in
his head and come up with the logical – usually correct – answer, and in half
the time it took his classmates to reach the same conclusion. If Chip had one flaw it was his hesitance to
speak out – he preferred to remain in the background and let the more
vociferous get the glory. Lee had
hounded him mercilessly in Annapolis until he thought he’d knocked that trait
on its rear end. Obviously not.
“Spit it out, Chip. I need to hear it.”
Morton shrugged deprecatorily. “Just a thought – may be nothing. But it started with Angie – first business
then personal. Followed by Chief
Sharkey, me – Chip, then Chris and then Crane.
Alphabetical in a weird sort of way, or maybe just opportunistic. With these guys, who knows?”
Lee had raised the head of the bed until he
was semi-reclining. “You may have
something there. But where does it go
from here? If you’re right he’s picking
his targets according to his own whim, leaving out Bobby or perhaps he’s
labelled him O’Brien, or maybe it’s because he’s not in Santa Barbara – not
accessible. Then there’s Jamieson,
Kowalski or maybe he’s Ski, the list is endless. All we can speculate at this point is that
Nelson is the ultimate target. And we
have no idea what their timescale is.”
“True, Lee.
But given what they’ve accomplished in just over 36 hours, I’d say the
timeline is important to them somehow – whoever they are. And it’s probably tight. I may be wrong about the alphabet but I’d bet
anything that there’s a particular significance to the timing. It’s just too pat, too…orchestrated,
maybe. I don’t know.” Pacing out his frustration had purged most
of the drug out of his system and he eyed his friend speculatively but not
without concern. “How do you honestly
feel, Lee?”
“Honestly?
A little sore if I take deep breaths and I’m not entirely sure I won’t
puke if I move too fast but if you take it slowly I should be able to keep up.”
“Ready to bust out of here then, bro?” Morton quirked an eyebrow at his friend.
“Moi? Escape from Doc’s clutches? When did you ever know me to refuse?”
“Sure you’re up to it?” Chip couldn’t contain the niggle of concern,
wondering if he was doing the right thing involving Lee so soon after he’d
almost died.
Crane levelled his best command glare coupled
with his well-practiced command tone.
“Yes, Commander Morton, I’m up to it. Whatever it is. But just where are we headed and how are we
going to get there dressed like this?” Indicating
their Med Bay issue p.j.s.
“All part of my plan, Lee. Such as it is.”
****
First objective was to get out of Med Bay
without being seen. Having achieved
that, barely – the increased security
was tight but the guards were intent on looking for people trying to break in
and not out – and thankfully Nelson hadn’t had a chance to
put a guard on their room as yet, their next port of call was the
Administration Building and their respective offices where both kept spare
uniforms. Chip had resurrected his shoes
from the closet in Med Bay and Lee was fortunate to find an older pair of
Oxfords in the back of the press in his office which he’d obviously stored
there some time ago and forgotten about.
They were both conscious of the fact that they had – probably – only two
hours tops before their escape was noted and reported to Jamieson, who would
definitely not be happy with either of them.
More comfortable now that he was dressed but
feeling only marginally better, not that he would admit that to anyone except
maybe Chip, Lee pulled the window blinds and turned on just his desk lamp
before booting up his computer while he waited for Morton to re-appear. Buttoning his cuff over the thick wad of
gauze was cumbersome and he grimaced as he slotted the button home. He didn’t completely buy in to Chip’s
alphabet theory but was prepared to run with it until his meticulous XO either
proved or disproved it. It was as good a
way of marking time as any, he snorted softly.
He sure as hell didn’t have anything better to contribute and he trusted
Chip’s instincts.
Distracted by his worry that Chip and Angie
were right and that this series of attacks was designed solely to hurt Nelson
emotionally and ultimately culminate in injuring or killing him, Lee almost
failed to spot the pop up on screen indicating that he had e-mail waiting. He frowned.
He’d cleared his inbox earlier that – the previous – evening. Who was likely to expect him to check his
mailbox much before Monday morning? NIMR
would page him, ONI would call him directly and friends wouldn’t rely on e-mail
at weekends knowing that he did, occasionally (or when ragged on by Chip), let
his hair down and party or wine and dine his latest female companion. Curiosity had him tapping into the pop up to
bring forth the message.
It appeared on screen but in a format unlike
anything he’d previously seen in his inbox.
The message took over the entire screen with neither sender nor subject
boxes, one word at a time until the short message was readable.
How was your evening, Captain? Entertaining, I hope. In fact – A GAS!
C.
PS. Hope it is you reading
this, Captain. The only one I want dead
is Nelson. However, casualties are an
unfortunate by-product of war.
Regrettable but unavoidable. Ask Nelson.
Lee read
the message with growing horror. Then
blinked to clear his vision as it began to fade from the screen – word by word,
as it had appeared. He thought it was a
lingering effect from the gas at first, that it was affecting his
eyesight. Then was forced to reconsider
when he was again looking at the backdrop he saw every time he booted up his
PC. The message was gone. Obliterated as if it were never there. He’d barely had time to read it once. He quickly called up his inbox but there was
no sign of the message or that it had ever existed. He hit the trash can button - nothing
there. Archived messages – nothing. It was as if the damn thing had never
been. Perhaps Jamieson was right and he
was suffering some side effects from the gas inhalation. Lee’s lips thinned to a grim line as he
instantly rejected that. He had seen
it. It had been there. He hadn’t dreamt it. He wasn’t losing it entirely!
“Sorry I
took so long. Decided to put on a pot of
coffee. Jamie probably wouldn’t approve. Don’t know about you but I need a caffeine
jolt to get me going and no way am I trusting anyone else to make it after
the…” Chip had backed into the room, using his hip to push the door far enough
open to navigate the doorway with coffee pot and mugs in hand. Finally catching a glimpse of Lee’s absorbed
expression in a too pale face, all his worries came crashing back. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Should I call Jamie?” He dumped the pot and cups on Lee’s desk and
moved to his friend. “OK, pal. Let’s get you back to Med Bay. This was a stupid move on my….”
Before he
could berate himself any further, Lee intervened. “I’m fine.
Don’t panic. I just got a message
from whoever’s behind this. Looks like
Angie called it right. They’re after the
admiral. And they don’t care who they
mangle on their way.”
“Show
me.” Chip’s tone was clipped. He’d gotten a momentary fright at the sight
of Lee hunched over the computer, obviously in worse shape than he’d thought,
accompanied by a massive dose of the guilties for involving him. He should have known Lee wasn’t in any shape
for this, his friend had been half dead barely hours ago.
“Easy,
Buddy.” If Morton could read Crane, then
the reciprocal was also true and Lee had a fair idea what was causing the
almost panicked look Chip sported. “I’m
fine.” Knowing that wouldn’t cut the
mustard – as he’d used it too many importunate times to count – Lee felt
obliged to elucidate. “Or at least no
worse. Need you to look at this. Message popped up on my screen then
disappeared as soon as I read it.
Thought for a minute I’d imagined it.”
Morton,
NIMR’s acknowledged computer whiz kid – despite the braniacs in their
respective fields that Nelson employed at the Institute – came around the desk
and punched a couple of buttons on Lee’s PC.
Then punched a couple more. And a
few more. Nudging Lee out of the way he
ran a series of programmes, fingers flying over the keys too fast for Lee to
keep up. Muttering to himself, he
finally gave up with a frustrated expletive.
“Nothing. Whatever you saw is
gone. Can you reconstruct it from
memory?”
Pulling a
pad in front of him, Lee wrote out the message verbatim, his ONI training
kicking in. “You and Angie were spot
on. Whoever this “C” is, is after
Nelson. Wants him dead and doesn’t care
a whole lot who they take out on the way – the objective being to make the
admiral suffer. So he/she/they know him
well enough to know that injuring the people around him will hurt him.”
“Yeah. But they’ve just made a monumental
mistake.” Chip intoned softly.
“How
so?” Lee frowned, not following Morton’s
logic.
“What you
just got was an ‘untraceable’ e-mail. It
appeared, you read it, it disappeared.”
“So?”
“There’s
no such thing as an untraceable e-mail.
Oh, the punters think there is, the mugs who get sucked into sites
purporting to offer ‘anonymous’ mail believe it. But, if you know what you’re looking for –
and where to look and have access – then there’s nothing that ain’t
traceable!” Chip sighed with satisfaction,
his mid-west accent becoming more evident.
He loved a puzzle, his oft-teased pedantic nature coming into its
own. “Give it to me.” Knowing Crane as well as he did, it was
second nature to presume Lee had the message down pat. As his friend tore off the sheet of paper and
passed it across, Chip was finessing the keyboard, coaxing information that Lee
didn’t have the expertise to query. From
the disgruntled expression on the blond’s face, he wasn’t getting anywhere
fast.
Lee
poured coffee from the pot Chip had brought and handed a cup to his engrossed
friend, who absently slurped avidly. Lee
sipped cautiously. Usually he enjoyed
his java as toxic as it came, Cookie’s noxious blend, but right now he wasn’t
sure his stomach wouldn’t revolt if he tested it unduly. Score another to Morton; Chip had no doubt
garnered that he wasn’t up to full strength and had watered down the usual
power-the-reactor brew on or off boat to suit his friend’s compromised stomach. The coffee hit a spot and dragged him back to
almost full capacity, enough to tune in to Chip’s audio.
“If you
got a message from these guys, stands to reason they probably sent one to all
of us. Ah ha!” He motioned Lee around to view the screen
over his shoulder as he keyed in his code and pulled up his own e-mail. As with Lee’s message it appeared on screen
one word at a time.
How was your evening, Commander? Entertaining, I hope. In fact – HOT!
C.
PS. Hope it is you reading
this, Commander. The only one I want
dead is Nelson. However, casualties are
an unfortunate by-product of war.
Regrettable but unavoidable. Ask
Nelson.
And as
with Lee’s message it disappeared similarly.
“Same format? Same typeface?”
Lee
confirmed and watched as Chip’s fingers typed further commands and codes – too
fast for him to follow – and saw Chris James’ e-mail message appear in the same
vein.
How was your evening, Lieutenant? Entertaining, I hope. Unhappily it didn’t end as you’d envisaged. Too bad.
C.
PS. Hope it is you reading
this, Lieutenant. The only one I want
dead is Nelson. However, casualties are
an unfortunate by-product of war.
Regrettable but unavoidable. Ask
Nelson.
And
disappear again. The fingers flying over
the keyboard next brought up Angie’s message – which was subtly different from
those sent to the three officers.
Sorry your evening isn’t progressing as you’d hoped, Angie. Presume you had thoughts of a cosy night at home with Commander Morton. Too bad. There might not be any more opportunities – if he wasn’t far enough away from the gas tank.
C.
PS. Hope it is you reading
this, Angie. The only one I want dead is
Nelson. However, casualties are an
unfortunate by-product of war.
Regrettable but unavoidable. Ask
Nelson.
The
message disappeared, as had the others.
Lee had scooped up a notepad and jotted down the last three
messages. He hesitated as Chip’s fingers
came to rest and his friend stared thoughtfully at the screen.
“Ah,
Chip?” As the azure eyes connected with
his own amber ones and finally focused, Lee’s voice was uncharacteristically
uncertain – as if he didn’t really want
to know the answer to his next question.
“You can, uhh, tap into anyone’s e-mail?”
“Yeah. Well, anyone here at the Institute or any of
my family or anyone I know who has e-mail – once I know their Service
Provider. Oh, need to check
Sharkey’s.” And the fingers began to fly
again.
“The
admiral’s? Mine?” Lee’s voice was soft – but deadly. And Chip sent him a
do-you-really-want-to-know-the-answer-to-that look before registering the
sombre expression on his CO’s face, his own changing in response.
“You
asked the question, Lee. But just
because I can, doesn’t mean I ever would. I’d never invade another person’s privacy
like that – unless it was of the utmost importance.” There was a lot of indignation and a hint of
hurt in the blond’s reply, forcing Lee into a sheepish grin and a squeeze of
his friend’s suddenly stiff shoulder.
“I know,
Chip, I know. Put it down to tiredness
and my extreme awe at the abilities you continue to reveal. Just glad you’re working with us here, pal,
and not against us.” His attempt to
lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere failed at the grim expression that came
over Morton’s fair features.
“Unfortunately,
whoever’s behind this knows more about computers than the average layperson and
enough about NIMR’s security and personnel to be able to come and go seemingly
at will. And at least enough to know how
to target the admiral most effectively by hurting those closest to him. This is one heck of a personal vendetta.”
Picking
up on his XO’s well-reasoned thoughts, Lee continued. “So we need to beef up Nelson’s personal
security until we can apprehend whoever’s behind this. Telling him that is going to be
fun!”
Chip
wasn’t listening, instead concentrating once more on the screen. “That’s odd.”
”What?”
“There’s
no message in the chief’s mailbox.”
“And?”
Morton
shrugged. “Makes me wonder if we were
reaching when we assumed the chief’s accident was part of this. Could be just a co-incidence.” He held up his hand when he saw Lee about to
protest. “I know. We don’t believe in co-incidence. But sometimes they do happen. Now maybe our “C” just hasn’t gotten round to
sending Sharkey’s message yet or perhaps – and hopefully – their range is
confined to the west coast. Just one
less mess to contend with.”
“Hope
so. There’s enough to be going on with
here.” Abstractly running his hand
through his short dark hair, Lee began to pace in the restricted space behind
the desk. Realising the sun had begun to
rise; he raised the window blinds he’d pulled earlier. Checking for the current time, he recalled
that his watch wasn’t in its usual place on his left wrist but on the
nightstand in his condo, which reminded him that they were both technically
AWOL from Med Bay and Jamie – and no doubt Nelson – would be in pursuit in the
not too distant future. “What are you
doing now?” His curiosity was provoked
as Chip’s fingers flew across the keyboard and it beeped obligingly as his
printer began to whir and spit out paper by the ton.
“Just
running a programme to acquaint us with anyone who’s got either a Christian
name or Surname beginning with ‘C’ that we’ve come across in any shape or
fashion during the past twelve months.
Either aboard Seaview or in any of NIMR’s various
interests.” Chip shrugged. “May be a wild goose chase and for sure it’s
a long shot but who knows? Next off, I’m
going to find the source of those mails.”
Lee
watched as Chip’s expression again became focused on the screen in front of
him. “Can you do that?”
Morton
shrugged. “Yeah, I can do it. Nothing’s untraceable – despite what Joe
Public thinks. Question is, can I do it
in time to stop whoever’s orchestrating this.
And before they get to Nelson.”
Lee’s
office door – which had been ajar – now opened fully. “Oh, I think you’ve got a much bigger problem
than that, Commander.” A new voice
sniped, dripping sarcasm.
****
One hour
and forty-seven minutes. Morton winced
as he checked his watch and caught Lee’s similar surreptitious glance at the
clock on the PC screen. Busted! And with re-enforcements. The CMO and the four-star admiral stood
shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, well as shoulder to shoulder as their
disparate heights allowed.
But the expressions
on their faces were identical – major pissed off coupled with, at least on the
admiral’s side, some latent concern.
Jamieson was as mad as the younger men had ever seen him and was so NOT
in the mood to be placated; not that Chip wouldn’t try anyway – he was the one
who’d led his captain into this little escapade. But before he could open his mouth, Lee came
up off the edge of his desk, causing Jamie’s eyes to narrow threateningly at
the slightly off gait motion.
“Jamie,
this is one of those times when I need you to back off. Please.”
Crane’s voice was quietly modulated but there was steely intent imbued
in the controlled tone.
Jamieson’s
expression darkened; he’d made a deal with his CO some time back and respected
the fact that Crane didn’t call on it lightly.
But, damn it! Not NOW! Not when there were unknown and incalculable,
possibly life threatening, after effects of the gas inhalation. Looking at his way-too-young-looking
commanding officer’s unwavering expression, Will found himself – unbelievably –
swayed. It was a trust issue, both men
respecting the hell out of each other.
Lee, while he would always downplay injury or illness and take pleasure
in evading his CMO’s clutches, would inevitably concede defeat when push came
to shove or when decisively cornered.
Unless the greater good interfered.
That was the crux of the conversation he’d had just over a year ago with
Will Jamieson. It was supremely private
between the two (only Morton having any inkling as to what had occurred) – and
hadn’t been spoken of since. And Will
recalled only one occasion when he’d been asked to similarly stand down. (*)
But his
Hippocratic oath forced him to voice his concern in this case.
“I’m
sorry, Captain, but I’m not comfortable with that, given the
circumstances.” His vocal chords were
stiff – it went against the grain to have to overrule his superior.
“Jamie….”
At the use of his rank, Lee’s voice went hard, his hazel eyes harder still but
he was prevented from continuing.
Patience
snapping, Jamieson came down hard and fast.
“Shut your yap, Lee. I am so not
in the frame of mind to put up with your shenanigans right now. I told you the possibly serious, potentially
lethal, side effects of the CO inhalation and you’ve chosen to ignore me. Once again.
Totally.” His gaze swept the room
to encompass Morton. “Well, enough is
enough. If you care so little for your
health that you are prepared to risk it continually, as every treatment I
recommend is completely ignored, then you go for it. But without me. I’ve had it.”
The lack
of emotion in Jamieson’s final words spoke volumes. Lee’s heart sank – and it wasn’t the only
one. Used to the doctor’s rants, usually
at a volume guaranteed to burst sensitive eardrums, this soft-spoken ultimatum
had the three men exchanging nervous glances.
Chip
moved to stand beside Lee, guilt weighing heavy in his gut. If he’d left Lee in Med Bay and pursued this
on his own, maybe…. He knew Jamie
worried about the entire crew but perhaps just a tad more about the two men
alongside him, Nelson and Lee being his most frequent and most troublesome
patients, being the ones who took on all comers without thought or concern for
themselves. It was solely due to Jamie’s
skill and caring that these two were here today, despite all they’d been
through between their service to ONI and Seaview’s missions. They couldn’t afford to lose him – Seaview
couldn’t afford to lose him – and it was down to him to ensure that Jamie
stayed; anything else was unthinkable. He
needed to know that Lee would be taken care of by the only doctor Chip knew
stood a chance of dealing with his high maintenance brother. Even if that meant taking himself out of the
equation. That caused a momentary
twinge – what would happen to Lee if he wasn’t there as his rear guard? But there were 123 other members of Seaview’s
crew who would die to protect their captain.
He was expendable, Jamieson wasn’t.
They couldn’t lose the best CMO they’d ever had because he’d
messed up as an exec. Instead of
protecting his captain he’d risked his life.
Taking a
deep breath, he prepared to eat whatever humble pie was necessary. “Jamie, don’t blame Lee. This was all my idea. He had nothing to do with it.”
“Like I
believe that!” Jamieson snorted with
derision, running a hand through his thinning locks. “For sure I didn’t hear him hollering in
protest at the other end of the building!”
Chip
opened his mouth to renew his case for Lee’s innocence but, before he could get
a word out, Nelson overrode everyone with his characteristic bellow.
“Enough! All of you!
We are all suffering from sleep deprivation. It’s past 0630 Sunday morning and none of us
got much shuteye the past two nights.
Will, I appreciate where you’re coming from and not for one moment do I
condone their actions, nor will I sanction your resignation on foot of that –
but, and it’s a big all consuming but – I need to find out what they’ve
uncovered before you stick them back in Med Bay.”
Forestalling
the protests about to come from all three, he perfected his four-star roar,
silence radiating in its wake.
“And,
Gentlemen, that is exactly where you are both headed – sans protests! Eventually.
Will, it’s pretty clear that they have come up with something pertinent
to our current travails and I need to hear it – pronto. It’s also rather obvious that they are both
capable of being here and performing what I can only surmise is their own
particular brand of crime solving. If we
have any chance of beating this...this lunatic, then I’ve got to hear what they
have to say. After that, if either of
them wants to remain with the Institute, they’re all yours. For as long as you like!”
Nelson’s
inimitable logic, coupled with those four stars, soothed ragged tempers and
frazzled nerves. “And you need to bring
them up to date with what you found in Lt. James’ blood test, so why don’t we
all take a load off, sit down and talk rationally. Chip, is that coffee even semi-drinkable?”
****
He
grimaced at the first taste – it wasn’t nearly strong enough to wake up his
sleep deprived brain cells. Glancing
around the room he took in the three frowning faces. Morton, seated behind Lee’s desk and absently
sending commands to the PC via quick fingers, cast quick worried looks towards
the still grim doctor. Jamieson had
insisted on checking out Lee before acquiescing to Nelson and his most
reluctant patient was scowling as he submitted to having his lungs checked
again.
“Enough,
Jamie.” He pulled away irritably from
Will’s stethoscope and re-buttoned his shirt.
“We both know I’m not one hundred percent and there’s nothing more we
can do right now but wait it out and see what develops. In the meantime, I have work to do here and you
need to let me get on with it.”
Seeing
the storm clouds gathering on both stubborn faces, Nelson interceded. “Will, he’s right. Now we can move this to Med Bay if you
want. But I don’t see the difference in
allowing this conversation take place here or there. Lee, move your butt from that sofa and I’ll
personally secure the restraints when you return to the Infirmary. Now, Chip, what have you found?”
As Morton
filled the others in on their discovery of the vanishing e-mails, the printer
began to spit out a veritable stream of paper.
Lee passed across his hand written versions of the mails as Chip
explained the phenomenon. “It’s
incredibly simple and daringly innovative.
In a nutshell, the sender – who wishes to remain anonymous – subscribes
to a website which guarantees anonymity.
That website hosts lists of senders and receivers – but neither party
actually comes in contact with the other when mails are sent or received. As soon as the message is read, it disappears
from the screen and thus cannot be directly responded to. The recipient then has to send a response via
the website. But the website just passes
across the mails and doesn’t hold onto them in their database. In most cases both parties are listed by the
site holders who purely act as intermediaries.
Neither party comes into direct contact and there’s no evidence that
they have ever corresponded and the key, as far as it concerns us, is that the
recipient isn’t necessarily aware that it’s on the host server. Unless or until it chooses to be a participant.”
Jamieson
knew he was way out of his league here – he could input data and create files
on his PC, use e-mail competently, but beyond that he was lost. “Why would anyone want to send messages that
way?”
“To
prevent their identity becoming known.
If I receive mail, I generally know the source. If I get spam I can initiate a firewall to
prevent it getting through. These ‘host
providers’ have ways of circumventing known firewalls and getting their
clients’ messages through.” All three
saw a faraway look invade the exec’s azure eyes and knew he was already
thinking of new security measures to protect the integrity of their IT
division. A throat clearance from Nelson
had him jolting back to the present, a faint flush rising on his fair
complexion. Indulgent glances from both
Nelson and Crane told him he’d been rumbled and he shrugged his shoulders
somewhat sheepishly. They knew his love
of all things computer driven – the greater the puzzle the better he liked
it. And he was responsible for a number
of forward thinking and innovative changes NIMR had made to their
technology.
“Another
day’s work, Chip.” Nelson grinned
companionably, recognising that their XO had just garnered a new project for
his down time. It was no wonder either
of the senior officers had girlfriends that lasted longer than a couple of
dates – they were both confirmed workaholics!
“Yes,
sir. But what the general public doesn’t
know is that what they consider – and are sucked into believing – is
untraceable, actually leaves what surmounts to a ‘fingerprint’ on their
computer.”
Nelson
leaned forward animatedly – finally they were getting somewhere. “So what you’re saying is, you can track the
person who sent the messages?”
Morton
held up a hand in caution at the overt excitement all three officers displayed.
“Whoa, a minute. We’re lucky that there were four messages
that we know of, so we have several avenues to pursue. And yes, I’m pretty confident that we can
track them back to the host provider and then I should be able to hack into
their database and find out the sender’s identity. Problem is, the ‘fingerprint’ is left on the
sender’s PC not the receiver’s.”
Nelson’s
heart, which had begun to pound at the thought of a fast resolution to this,
sank. Lightened once again at the exec’s
blasé shrug. “Nothing complex to
retrieve but just a shade time consuming.”
His
companions were forced to grin at the exec’s nonchalance – Chip having lost
most of them four sentences earlier.
“But if what Lee and I believe, that you are the ultimate target,
Admiral, then there’s a message awaiting you which we need to access.”
“What’s
your reasoning, Gentlemen? I haven’t
been a mark, thus far.” No sooner spoken
that it clicked into place. “You think
whoever is behind this is targeting the people around me for some reason? Why?
To hurt the Institute? Hurt me?”
“That’s
what we’re surmising, Admiral.” Lee
answered from his perch on the edge of the leather sofa, hands clasped loosely
between his knees, his casual stance belying the tension in his tired eyes. “The attacks to date have all been geared
towards the people closest to you. And
we’ve all – except for the chief – received messages pertinent to what’s
occurred during the past 30+ hours.”
“So you
need to check my e-mail?”
“If our
premise is correct, sir, then you’ll be able to verify it. If you’ve received a message.” Morton answered. “Our guess is that it’s there waiting for you
to retrieve it, Admiral.”
“Can I do
it from here? Or do I need to go to my
personal terminal?”
“From
here is fine, sir.” Morton’s fingers
again flew across the keyboard. A very
slight throat clearance from Crane, coupled with a cautiously exchanged glance,
had him reining in his enthusiasm and the slight flush that rose over his cheekbones
bespoke a story that Nelson was excluded from.
But he wasn’t a Nobel winning scientist for nothing.
“Do I
take it that my presence here is moot, Mr. Morton?” His tone was dry enough to scorch desert
plains as he watched the blush and the sheepish expression that encompassed his
XO’s fair complexion.
Morton
stammered as he tried to reassure his boss.
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Technically I could. But I absolutely wouldn’t, sir.” Ingrained truth coming to the fore, he felt
compelled to add, “Unless of course,
sir, that it was a life or death situation and you were unable to see fit to
opening your own mails.”
Stifling
a grin, Harry shook his head at the little known but widely appreciated talents
of the man he’d poached from the Navy to become Seaview’s first and thus
far only exec. There were times he
lamented the fact that Morton didn’t have a boat of his own to command but he
subjugated those moments by reconciling himself that Chip was where he wanted
to be – side by side with Lee and in the role he was best suited for and that
he, Nelson, had a command team second to none in any man’s Navy. But his conscience pained him – occasionally
– recognising that Morton was denied the command and promotion that would have
been due him, had he stayed in the Navy.
For now he crossed to Lee’s desk and seated himself in the chair Chip
vacated.
Logging
into his e-mail, he cast a sidelong glance at the exec, who was studiously
looking elsewhere as he entered his password.
“I take it you could bypass this anyway?”
“Aye,
sir.” Morton’s lips twitched slightly at
the droll tones. His gaze sharpened as
the anticipated message appeared on the screen – each word forming individually
as with the previous mails.
Having an interesting weekend, Admiral? Wondering who’s next? Or when it’s going to be your turn?
C.
PS. You have a loyal staff, Admiral. But innocent casualties are an unfortunate
by-product of war. Regrettable but
unavoidable. That is what
you said, isn’t it, Nelson?
And as
with the previous mails, the message faded the same way. Nelson raised stunned eyes to the three
sombre persons who were reading over his shoulder. He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled
loudly. Standing, he paced to the
window, hands clasped together behind his back in a pose familiar to the three
other men. “Ironic how one’s words can
return to haunt one.”
Jamieson
exchanged uneasy glances with the younger officers. “I take it you’ve used that same phrase
before, Admiral?”
Nelson’s
craggy face was grim as he turned back to the room. “What commander of my age who’s been through
several wars hasn’t, Will? And while
it’s unfortunately true it sounds rather – tasteless – put like that.” And he gestured towards the computer screen.
“Admiral,
it sounds like a death threat.” Lee
voiced what they were all thinking.
“Everything that’s happened so far has been designed to hurt the people
around you. Now they’ve made their
intent clear – they’re coming after you.
Chip, we need to….”
“Captain,
you need to park your six back on that couch or, I swear, I’ll have you
returned to Med Bay so fast your head won’t know your tail is following.” Jamieson threatened. Lee retreated; knowing he’d pushed Jamie’s
buttons enough for the threat to become likely reality. Morton re-took his seat behind Lee’s desk and
once again started to type commands via the keyboard.
“Lee’s
right, Will. This approach – outlining
their intent – is tantamount to an overt threat. And, by the sounds of it, they intend to act
fast. They haven’t exactly pulled their
punches so far.”
“So we
need to beef up your personal security, sir.”
Lee knew that wouldn’t sit well with the independent admiral and wasn’t
surprised to see him bristle at the restriction. “If we’re correct, it won’t be for long. Chip’s on the case.” Injecting a semi-teasing / placatory tone.
“Problem
is, what I’m doing is re-tracing baby steps.”
The distracted exec muttered.
“And it’s time consuming – several hours at best guess – and these guys
move fast.” Tapping a last key he
watched with obvious satisfaction as things began to happen on the screen. Finally tearing his eyes away, he reached for
the bundle of papers in the printer tray.
“Here’s where I need help. This
is a list of all the people we’ve come in contact with either on Seaview
or here at the Institute over the past 12 months whose Christian, Surname or
case file name begins with the letter ‘C’.
Even before the signature on the e-mails we were agreed that the letter
bore a significance.”
As each
face reflected the reminder of the letter carved into Angie’s shoulder, he
hurried on. “What I propose is that we
go through the names and give each one either a high or low priority, as to
whether they could be behind this. It’s
a lot of work.” He warned. “Obviously there will be some we can quickly
dismiss. But for the others, we’re going
to have to check current locations, assess motivation and use our gut-feel
instinct. Then we make a short list and
check each one of them out thoroughly. I
think I can short circuit some of the grunt work with a programme I’ve been
tinkering with.” Nelson and Crane
grinned despite the seriousness of the situation. You could always count on Chip for a
solution. He was the most steadfast
person either man had ever known – the best guard for your back. “It’s still going to be tedious work.”
“Perhaps
we can draft in some additional help.”
Nelson held up one hand at the doctor’s instinctive protest. “Hear me out, Will. Our best personnel have been attacked and
therefore have a vested interest in catching this guy. Sidelining them will only increase their
frustration – and you’ve told me before that that only retards their
recovery time. Stick Lee – or Chip –
back in Med Bay and deny him the opportunity to help and what does that
create? A patient bent on escape. But I’ll bow to you on this one and, if you
think it’s a detriment to their health in any way” and the admiral
emphasised the latter, “then they’re out of here.”
Crane and
Morton didn’t dare trade glances, for fear their smirks at the admiral’s
masterful play of the conscientious CMO would scupper any chance of them
remaining in the fray. They could see
the hesitation in Jamie’s eyes before he spoke.
“Sedentary
duties only, Admiral?”
“Absolutely.”
The
younger officers risked a quick look; correctly interpreting each others silent
shrug of conscience. OK, mostly
sedentary. What other course would be
open to them if they had to save the admiral?
Jamie couldn’t / wouldn’t expect any less of them. Satisfied that they could live up to
Jamieson’s limitations, they nodded compliance.
The
doctor didn’t seem noticeably mollified.
He knew these men too well. But
he also knew the bargaining chip that was give-and-take. And he’d give now to trade off later – if it
proved necessary. In fact the entire
story, as it evolved, made it harder to endure knowing he hadn’t yet had time
to impart the results of Lt. James’ tests.
As to those additional bodies Nelson had mentioned drafting….
“Admiral,
I hope you’re not thinking of asking either Angie or Chris James for
assistance, or dragging Chief Sharkey from the east coast.” Deciphering the ‘look’ on Nelson’s face for
exactly that, he puffed up immediately.
“No way, no how. None of them are
fit for this right now.”
“Which
reminds me,” Lee interjected, “you haven’t given us the script on Chris
James.” He couldn’t believe that he’d
forgotten the results of the blood work on his junior officer were still
pending. Morton lifted his head also;
appalled that he hadn’t remembered the young lieutenant’s impending DUI charge.
Jamieson
winced at his lack of forethought – knowing how these men cared for their
crew. “Sorry, Skipper, should have told
you first off. Chris’s blood work showed
no more than a trace of alcohol; completely consistent with what he said he’d
had to drink. What’s a lot more worrying
– and embraces the theory you’re working off here – is that there was a small
concentration of Benzodiazepine showing.
In layman’s terms, that’s a member of a class of drug that can depress
the central nervous system. You’d know
it better as a component in medication such as Valium or Xanax – or Rohypnol.”
It was
clear that Nelson was already privy to this news as he didn’t react as sharply
as Crane and Morton whose heads snapped up at the doctor’s revelation.
“Rohypnol? That’s the date rape drug? Chris…?”
Morton almost gagged. Correctly
reading his horrified expression, Jamieson was already shaking his head.
“No! What showed up in his blood was a trace
amount of a substance that constitutes a part of what comprises Rohypnol.” Acknowledging that his friends were now as
lost as he’d been when Chip was trying to explain the intricacies of the e-mail
situation, he broke down his explanation into comprehensible terms. “Benzodiazepines work with any other drug
already in the body, whether they occur in natural or ingested forms, such as
endorphins which are naturally secreted – as Chris might have encountered being
out with a very beautiful woman – or any alcohol he’d taken. He says he only had a glass of wine – and the
alcohol content in his blood verifies that.
When the
police lab processes their own test, that’s what they’ll find so he’ll be clear
on the DWI. However, that’s not the
entire picture. Someone slipped him
something during the course of his evening out with Ms. O’Regan. And they didn’t have any clue – or any care –
as to how his body would react to the drug.
Benzodiazepines typically increase the effect that one drug – such as
alcohol – has on the other. So it
appeared, when Chris was pulled over, that he’d been drinking excessively. What’s really worrying is that the drug
limited Chris’s perceptions so that he really was as incapable of driving as if
he was drunk. And he could have easily
killed himself or any other poor slob who was unlucky enough to share the same
patch of road. An accident waiting to
happen.”
“Lucky it
didn’t,” was Crane’s grim retort.
“Whoever
slipped the drug into his drink couldn’t count that it wouldn’t,” came Morton’s
savage growl.
“And
knowing Chris as we do, that would have devastated him,” was Nelson’s bleak
summation.
“Unfortunately,
the tablets are cheap to purchase and relatively easy to come across. And, as with the CO you both inhaled, there
are possible side effects which Chris may experience.” Jamieson shrugged. “The amount that showed up in his blood when
I tested it several hours later was negligible – enough to cause immediate
problems but hopefully not lasting ones.
However, we’ll need to monitor him for the next 24 hours. Kowalski is already bringing him in to Med
Bay for me to take further blood samples and give him a thorough going over.”
“Which
leads us right back to someone who knows us intimately.” Lee levered himself off the sofa, despite
Doc’s disapproving glare, and picked up the batch Chip had lifted from the
printer. “And means we need to wade
through this lot while Chip looks into hacking the e-mail process.”
“Actually,
Jamie, it would suit on several levels if Angie and Chris – once you’re done
with him – were here to help.” Seeing
the frown beginning to gather on Jamieson’s face, Nelson hurried on. “They’ll be checking through the papers and
doing some computer work, that’s all.
And if they’re here, then we can draft in Ski, Pat and Riley. The way these guys seem to operate, it’ll be
safer if we’re all under one roof.” He
got that last in nicely, completely deflating any argument the doctor had.
Jamieson
threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m
too tired to argue with you, Admiral.
But – a word of warning. I am
going to hold you personally responsible for their good
behaviour. Any deviation from what we’ve
agreed and you won’t find your next physical at all a pleasant experience! Now, I’m going to Med Bay to check out Lt.
James. I’ll have Ski escort him across
here when I’m finished. I will also have
breakfast sent in and you will eat it.”
With a particularly hard look at his captain, he executed a perfect Navy
about face and left the office, refusing to give in to the impulse to slam the
door behind him.
Somehow
none of the three in the room were left unaware of the CMO’s displeasure. Crane verbalised it for all of them – not
without a touch of wry humour in his tone.
“Guess for your sake, sir, neither of us better have a relapse.”
****
Chip Morton
was a methodical man; his teachers over the years had called him
disciplined. Others called him pedantic
and some unkind people labelled him anal.
Harriman Nelson had had many occasions to be thankful for the man’s many
sterling qualities - one of the most notable being what he preferred to term
‘tenacity’. And that Sunday morning he
had more reason than ever to thank God for that finely honed trait in his
exec. Despite his obvious exhaustion and
headache plus what was turning into a hacking cough - not to mention the burn
on his arm which he’d observed Chip rub on occasion when he’d thought no one
was looking - coupled with what probably amounted to some severe enough
bruising from hitting the tarmac when his car had exploded, the XO diligently pursued
the task of tracking the sender of the deliberately inflammatory e-mails.
And he
wasn’t the only member of the walking wounded who deserved credit. Nelson considered himself privileged to work
with some of the finest colleagues a man could have. Lee Crane, patently not at the top of his
game, never-the-less soldiered on in true warrior style, plugging away at the
lists of possible villains, short listing and following up on locations
etc. Angie, still pale and bruised but
determined not to be left out if she could contribute. Chris James, shaken by
the revelation that he’d been drugged without his knowledge but adamant that he
wanted to assist where and however he could.
And Kowalski, Patterson and Riley – as short of sleep as any of them and
still ploughing through the mire of a year’s worth of contacts. Harry sighed – a tad dejectedly for him. What made one year a significant cut off
point? Why not two, or ten? God knows he’d made enough enemies in his
lifetime who would still wish him harm.
At the same time, there was a certain logic in his officers’
thinking. Sitting at his desk, having
propped the door to Angie’s office open, he unlocked his middle desk drawer and
pulled out the previous year’s diary.
Wouldn’t hurt to go through it and see if anything noteworthy jumped out
at him – or any significant “Cs”. He was
desperately seeking a trigger.
****
Towards
mid-morning, Nelson was still looking while Angie had taken a much needed
time-out to prepare fresh coffee, James had gone to get a breath of air – still
feeling the residual effects of the drug – and two of the ratings had taken
themselves off on a mission to source sustenance for lunch, leaving a fully
armed Patterson in charge of security matters.
Jamieson had been by to check on the CO and XO’s wellbeing. Unsatisfied, but unable to find any clearly
evident reason to haul them back to Med Bay, he’d left again with dire warnings
of what would happen if they didn’t get some rest soon. Harry paced impatiently. ‘Soon’ didn’t look like
it was going to happen in the very near future.
He’d be in the doghouse once again with his CMO – seemed like he was
going to have to get used to it.
A loud
“YES!” brought him out of his reverie and directed his – and Angie’s and Pat’s
– attention towards Lee’s office. The
exec had insisted that his best chance of tracing the e-mail sender lay in
tracking it from the PC the messages had been retrieved from – Lee’s. Crane had been quite content to share his
workspace and ceded his desk to the exec, working from the couch with Chip’s
laptop on his knees. Except now that he
began to think on it he suspected that he’d been manoeuvred by his friend into
resting – or perhaps it was an attempt to deflect the ‘wrath of Jamieson’ as
they’d long ago christened their CMO’s full volume rant-and-rave. Either one of them would do whatever was
necessary to deflect that – especially when it was directed at the
other. Lee seemed to feature prominently
on the doctor’s radar just now and Crane knew that Chip would see it – if
indeed he would even admit to it – as just looking out for his captain, all
part of an XO’s duties.
Chip’s
uncharacteristic yell – almost a triumphant crow – had brought Lee bounding to
his side, the admiral and Angie running into the office while Patterson stood
practically at attention in the doorway, his sidearm gripped in both
hands.
Seeing
the excitement in the azure eyes, Nelson motioned to the rating to stand
down. “Chip?”
“We’ve
got the sender, Admiral. Or at least the
sender’s computer ID,” Morton corrected himself as he edged his chair almost
unconsciously closer to the desk. With
Lee leaning over his shoulder, he caught his captain up with some of his
exhilaration – although it was plain from Crane’s expression that he wasn’t entirely
sure what he was looking at.
Nelson
knew he could usually read Lee Crane pretty accurately. Chip Morton was another thing entirely, it
taking something way out of the norm to dislodge the inscrutable mask the exec
was renowned for. Whatever was on the PC
screen succeeded spectacularly. Morton’s
jaw dropped, his eyebrows climbing into his now mussed fair hair, blue eyes
narrowing as the skin over his cheekbones seemed to tighten and his mouth
thinned into a grim line. Crane’s more
expressive features mirrored his exec’s – except for the anger that was all too
apparent. Chip was just too good at concealing his baser feelings.
“Son of a
b….” Lee barely breathed out the words as he laid a supportive hand on the
exec’s arm, removing it swiftly as Chip winced.
He’d inadvertently gripped the bandage concealed by Chip’s
shirtsleeve.
“Damn
him!” Morton’s deprecation was little
more than a whisper. Then, “hold
on! Something’s not right here.” Fingers skimming across the keyboard his
posture radiated tension as he frowned heavily and – to the two outside his
immediate family who knew him best and were thus familiar with what to look for
– with intense fury. Once his digits
stilled, he was quiet for so long that Nelson grew worried by his immobility.
“Chip?” He exchanged querying looks with Crane and
Angie. Accustomed to the XO’s calm
serenity when all around them had gone FUBAR, he was unnerved by this uncommon
inactivity. Exhaling a breath he
hadn’t realised he was holding, he watched a quick exchange of looks between
his senior officers before Morton focused his attention back on the assembled
company.
“Sorry,
sir.” Nelson impatiently waved off his
apology, anxious to hear what he’d learnt.
Another of those silent communications between captain and exec had him
almost demanding answers. He saw Morton
draw in a deep – in others he would have thought ‘calming’ – breath before he
spoke. “I think we need to call in Lt.
Connelly, sir - but suggest to him that he leaves his little sidekick back at
the ranch!”
****
Patrick
Connelly couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
He’d been a cop for more than thirty of his fifty-six years and he’d
rarely come across anything quite as skewed as he was currently being asked to
consider. His head was reeling. If not for the fact that he trusted these
people – and one in particular – he’d have slapped a gag order on them so fast
they’d have been in HQ at East Figueroa before they’d had time to call their
slick on-site lawyers.
Reality
prevailed, as his blood pressure dropped back within normal parameters. He scanned the solemn faces ranged around him
in Nelson’s now secured private office, honing in on one pair of cerulean eyes
that had engaged his steadily since the moment he’d entered the room and taken
up residence on the brown leather sofa.
When had Chip Morton’s regard become so necessary to him? Perhaps not until the moment – mere minutes
ago – when he’d realised from the blond’s closed expression that he had
probably lost it. Why did it pierce a
place in his chest where his heart had once resided? Connelly couldn’t answer that – even to
himself – and he shifted uncomfortably, the leather echoing his awkward
movements. Perhaps it had been foolish
to defend O’Regan in the face of what looked like overwhelming odds – or a
stack of co-incidences, depending on your viewpoint – but he’d worked in
Robbery/Homicide with the woman for over ten years. Surely that earned her the benefit of the
doubt? OK, so he hadn’t partnered with
her before and he’d found her reactions to the NIMR officers a little…unusual – make that abrasive. But that didn’t mean they could target her
as their scapegoat and he’d told them as much.
That was when something infinitesimal had entered the blond’s clear blue
eyes – something Connelly wasn’t used to seeing in someone he had come to
regard as friend – and somehow that shamed him.
He’d only
understood about one word in three of Chip’s explanation of the anonymous
e-mail and how it had been tracked to his personal computer downtown. His dark, almost chocolate brown eyes swept
the assembled company. He’d been
dismayed to learn of the late night events that had left Crane and Morton
looking both ill and exhausted. The
captain’s breathing sounded distinctly wheezy and the executive officer seemed
to be trying to suppress a persistent cough.
The younger officer – James – whom he’d not met before, had lines of
strain and tension around his mouth.
Connelly had read the incident report before he’d left the station. Angie Newman looked tired, pale, and younger
than he’d thought with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and dressed more
casually than he’d ever seen her in slacks and a light blue sweater. Her poor bruised cheek, now puffy and
beginning to sport varied colours from green to dark purple, caught at
something inside him. The trio of armed
seamen standing guard outside the admiral’s office had shown no signs of
tiredness and appeared more than ready to dispel all comers. Frankly they were – intimidating, even to as
seasoned a cop as Pat Connelly.
And
Nelson. Well, Admiral Harriman Nelson
looked like exactly what he was – a blisteringly angry four-star flag officer
whose military bearing was evident even seated in an armchair. He certainly didn’t look like a man whose
life had been threatened. Then again he
hadn’t gotten those stars for no reason, Connelly reminded himself. Not far off his own age, Nelson’s grim
expression, despite the lines of fatigue, bore witness to the man’s desire for
answers – for justice – for an end to the attacks on his people. This was a man who hid behind no one. It went deeply against the grain to have to
take a back seat and watch his colleagues – and friends, for Connelly had
observed that they were more than co-workers back when Crane had been attacked
by the Sommers woman – being targeted and unable to stop or deflect the pain
and suffering onto himself. Realisation
dawned – as he became aware of four identical, disappointed glares and one
still steadfast blue one. What he was
seeing in Nelson went for each of the others in the room. Any one of them would willingly give his life
for the other.
Pat
Connelly exhaled heavily, rubbing his large hand contemplatively over the lower
half of his face, his forefinger lingering on his slightly fleshy lower
lip. He tapped it speculatively before
leaning forward and withdrawing a single sheet of paper from the briefcase that
rested on the coffee table. His
experience with NIMR had – up til now – been positive, despite difficult circumstances. Deep down he knew – trusted – that
these people wouldn’t cast blame lightly.
They all, to a fault, epitomised everything that an officer and a
gentleman – outmoded as the notion was – should be. Yet something in him still hesitated. It was akin to ‘selling out his own’. With all their complex equipment and reasoned
explanations there wasn’t one single positive shred of solid evidence that
would hold up against his colleague. As
much as these men stood up for each other, it was up to him to take a stand on
behalf of his co-worker – until such time as his defence was proved
misplaced.
Unfortunately
for Pat Connelly, that wasn’t long in coming.
****
A single
A4 sheet of plain photocopy paper denounced Alanna O’Regan as an attempted murderer
and possible traitor to her country.
In an
attempt at defending his colleague, Connelly had retrieved a full colour
drawing of the Academy ring Angie Newman had described to the police artist the
previous day. “Sgt. O’Regan circulated
the description you gave throughout the entire area.” The page quickly circulated, each officer in
turn shaking their heads as they failed to recognise the year or branch of the
military it pertained to.
Until the
page reached Angie. Taking a quick look
and about to pass it on, the diminutive brunette suddenly pulled it back and
studied it more thoroughly, oblivious of the eyes that watched her with intense
concentration.
“This is
the drawing your detective circulated?”
At Connelly’s affirmative nod she glanced towards Nelson, as if seeking
confidence before she spoke. Evidently
getting what she needed, she had no hesitation in continuing.
“Because
this is not the ring I described to your artist.”
****
Conscious
of each of them visibly reacting to her words – and none more than the police
lieutenant – she hurried on. “It’s
similar, pretty close in fact, but not quite right.” Frowning, she tried to concentrate on what
she’d witnessed rather than the depiction she was currently seeing. “The shape is good, except the setting of the
stone was a bit wider and the sides are too – exaggerated. The ring I saw was narrower and the colour of
the stone is completely wrong. It was
jade green – this one’s almost turquoise.”
There
wasn’t a man amongst them who’d have picked up on the differences – much less
admitted to it publicly. The big police
lieutenant’s very stillness made her nervous.
She searched her colleagues’ eyes for reassurance, the disconcerting
events of this entire weekend affecting her usual aplomb and causing her to
doubt herself. Just as she opened her
mouth to voice her uncertainty, Nelson interrupted.
“Well,
Lieutenant? Is this proof enough? Your
sergeant is somehow involved in what’s been going on around here. I don’t know to what extent but I’m certain
she’s at least guilty of sending the e-mails and falsifying the drawing. Now it’s obvious that she’s working with
others and we need to find them. Fast!”
“Before
they can carry out their threat to the admiral.” Crane added harshly.
But it
was Chip Morton – the quiet voice of reason on Seaview’s command team –
who sealed O’Regan’s fate in Connelly’s eyes.
“Or hurt any more of our people.
So far we’ve lucked out and nobody’s died – no thanks to her. The next time we may not be so fortunate. She has to be stopped, Pat. Now.”
Connelly
hunched forward on the couch, dropping his head into the hands he’d propped on
his knees. Cops were charged with
protecting lives, valuing human existence, cheating death, putting their own
life on the line to save an innocent.
This…this piece of scum had diced with lives, uncaring if death or
injury occurred, if innocents were targeted, the attacks – the desire to hurt
Nelson – being the prime motivator. And
they weren’t concerned if others outside the Institute were wounded or killed,
as they’d clearly demonstrated when they’d allowed a drugged Chris James to get
behind the wheel of a car. The thought
that a fellow cop – and a woman he’d worked with, hell he’d brought her to NIMR
– could be involved, made him sick to his stomach. But the pieces began to fit together and
Connelly was a veteran who couldn’t – much as he might wish to – ignore the
string of co-incidences which his gut now told him were anything but.
The
silence in the room was disturbed by the quiet hum of paper spewing from the
printer behind Nelson’s desk.
“Excuse
me, sir, but I ran a check on Sgt. O’Regan and diverted the report to your
printer.” Morton strode purposefully
across the room to retrieve the print out.
Nelson shook his head sardonically; he should have known the exec would
have the bases covered.
Chip
scanned the six-page report, frowning slightly as he passed the pages in turn
to Lee who’d risen to join him. Nelson
watched Crane, knowing he’d glean more from the captain’s expressive face than
from Morton, whose XO mask was firmly in place.
As Lee read, Nelson observed his features tauten, saw the resolve that
tightened his mouth and caught the exchange of glances between his two
officers. Impatient, beyond worry, he
wanted – needed – to know what they’d found.
“Well,
Gentlemen, get to it!” Almost exploded
from him when he caught the hesitant look Crane and Morton traded. “Out with it!” He barked.
Saw Chip nudge Lee to speak.
“Admiral,”
Crane took a deep breath, regretting it as a coughing fit ensued. Recovering, he wished himself anywhere but
where he was. There was no easy way to break this. “The late mayor, Aidan O’Regan, was married
once before. His first wife is the
mother of his daughter, Alanna. Her name
was Charlotte Hamilton.”
Lee had
anticipated the effect the words would have on Nelson and was already on the
way to the admiral’s desk to call for Jamieson.
Chip grabbed for the carafe of water on the sidebar and poured a glass,
handing it to the admiral as the older man sagged back into the desk chair,
reeling from one shock too many.
Only the
three senior officers knew the significance of the name; Connelly, James and
Angie exchanging puzzled looks. Then it
clicked for Angie – and her complexion paled until it was akin to waxen. “The Puppet Master.” She didn’t realise that she’d whispered the
words aloud. For one single moment she
considered making a bolt for the bathroom.
Nausea roiled in her stomach and the ache in her left shoulder
intensified. “C – for Charlotte.”
****
“I don’t
need a doctor! I’m all right.” Nelson protested volubly, slapping testily at
the CMO’s hands as Jamieson, who had come on the run, attempted to take his
pulse.
“I can
see that.” Jamie snapped back, all the
time visually assessing the obviously shaken man. It hadn’t escaped his notice that there was
palpable tension in the air. Angie was
sheet white and looked in need of a week’s R&R – at least. Morton was desperately trying to disguise the
cough that was becoming increasingly persistent – and with two bouts of
pneumonia in the past couple of years, Jamieson wasn’t prepared to take any
chances with the exec’s health. Chip was
heading for Med Bay – NOW! It was just a
matter of girding his own lungs and ears up for the yelling match that would
ensue. Not that he, Jamieson, wasn’t up
to it; but he knew he’d probably have to fight the admiral and captain
also. And not that the skipper was going
to escape a stay in Med Bay either.
Crane was patently exhausted and suffering some obvious after effects
from the gas inhalation. Knowing how Lee
could and would hide any and all symptoms at will, Jamie was doubly aware of
the potential effects that he would need to be on the look out for in the
skipper in the coming days and weeks.
And he wasn’t looking forward to keeping close tabs on the man. Crane could be extremely devious when he was
cornered in Med Bay and had a tendency to find his own way out. Usually, like this little incident, without
the approval of his CMO and with the undoubted aid and abetting of his exec.
But Jamie
also recognised their ingrained call to duty and what intrinsically drove them
– both as officers and men. And he had,
over the years, come to admire them equally on their own merits as individuals
– both very different in looks and temperament, but the depth of their loyalty
and friendship was unsurpassed in his experience. He had to admit to a sense of awe – their
‘brotherhood’ being something of a wonder to him and unlike anything he’d never
experienced during or since his college days, either in Med School or in the
various branches of the Navy that had led him to NIMR. He had to stringently remind himself that it
was in their best interests that he curtailed their activities – for the sake
of the immediate and long-term repercussions on their already depleted
systems. If he had his way, all of them
– including Chris James – would be ensconced in Med Bay for the next twenty
four hours – minimum – on maximum rest plus any other medication he deemed
necessary!
Snorting
lightly, he released Nelson’s wrist. Fat
chance of any of his wishes ever resembling reality.
He had to
constantly remind himself that he wasn’t dealing with “normal” males. These men were honed warriors – battle
seasoned and, in their own minds, immune to any health issues that impeded
their single minded, contrary get-the-job-done attitudes. And while it regularly ticked him off, from a
professional standpoint, it also gave him a profound sense of well being and
pride – that there were such stalwart individuals in this world, who cared more
for the rest of mankind than for themselves, that they would repeatedly put
their own lives on the lines for each other – and for others who would never
know of their selfless sacrifice. It
humbled Jamieson when he thought it through – but not enough to allow these
guys that much leeway! It was his job to
ensure that they were in the whole of their health to take on all before
them. And he wasn’t above getting loud –
if it garnered the required result.
Unfortunately, he already had surmised that he was on a hiding to
nothing this time out.
He didn’t
even have the chance to begin issuing orders before the phone on Nelson’s desk
started to ring.
****
Events
had moved quickly once Nelson had picked up the receiver and put the caller on
speaker. How O’Regan had known they were
all there was anybody’s guess. She was
even better informed of their movements than they’d thought – the information
she’d disclosed suggesting that she was working with an insider. But who?
Thoughts of a traitor in their midst gutted them all. They’d built a tight knit crew on Seaview
and NIMR’s screening programme for new recruits was second to none. However, that concern would have to wait
until later as they’d bigger fish to fry right now - like the little gem she’d
just dropped so adroitly into the conversation.
“Now that
you’ve finally figured me out, Admiral, and remarkably without anyone being
killed, it’s really quite appropriate that all your people are with you now to
witness your demise at my hand. And
don’t even think about being heroic, Nelson.
If anyone attempts to leave, the bomb I’ve planted will detonate. I think you are familiar enough by now with
my methods to know that I don’t fool around or make idle threats. If the door to your office opens, for any
reason, the bomb will be remotely detonated.
So I suggest you tell your seamen stationed outside not to attempt
entry. Oh, and just in case you might be
tempted to try and defuse the devise – it’s in the bottom drawer of your desk,
by the way – it’s been rather cleverly booby trapped. And I’m sure you’ll agree, Admiral, it’s only
in the movies that they successfully manage it without blowing themselves to
kingdom come. Real life is quite
different, but feel free to try.”
Nelson,
back once again to his usual indomitable self, exchanged telling glances with
the two officers who were already delicately investigating the contents of his
bottom drawer while he engaged the woman in conversation. “Your issue is with me, O’Regan, not my
people. Let them leave.”
“And you
think they’d agree to that, Admiral? “
She mocked, her tone changing to chilling detachment. “You’re trying to snow me and I don’t
appreciate it. If you need another
demonstration of my ability to get to you and your people, perhaps I should
just detonate the bomb right now.”
“No, that
won’t be necessary.” Nelson’s voice was
terse, controlled; the only overt sign of his agitation was the almost silent
drumming of the fingers of his right hand on his desk. Crane and Morton nodded as one, having picked
up the coded message he’d tapped out. “Stalling
for time, see if you can do something with it.” “I gather you have an agenda and we are down
to the final item. Something tells me
you want to play this out in person, mano a mano, so to speak.” His resolute gaze swept the room, gauging the
reactions of his people.
Crane and
Morton were gently removing from the drawer the book sized black plastic box
with its steadily blinking red light, having determined from experience that
moving it wouldn’t cause it to detonate.
Crane tapped out softly “need tools” as Morton searched for a way
to pry open the casing, switching on the desk lamp to provide better
illumination. Chris James, cool as usual under pressure, silently queried the
admiral who pointed towards his briefcase lying on the credenza. Swiftly crossing the room, he brought the
attaché case to his superior who thumbed the combination and handed over a
compact toolkit, all the time continuing his conversation with O’Regan. Angie’s already waxen complexion was now grey
as putty but she was holding up well, unconsciously rubbing at her left
shoulder. Jamieson was intently studying
each of them in turn but, events having overtaken him, was content to play this
out now, his trust in these men implicit as he held his own anger at bay. And Connelly, he was on the edge of his seat,
the sense of betrayal now hidden behind a cold mask of fury and deadly intent.
“Don’t
you mean, “lámh cois lámh”, Admiral?” She chided. “After all, both our roots are Irish.
Although you might not appreciate that little reminder.”
“Not
particularly, Ms. O’Regan. And I
appreciate less that you stole my research, injured my personnel and caused
thousands of dollars of damage to property.
Not to mention putting countless lives in danger without a thought for
the consequences when you blew up Chip Morton’s vehicle and placed Chris James
behind the wheel of a car when you’d given him a drug that impaired his
senses.” His tone getting harsher with
each word, his eyes cut to the scene that was playing out on his desk.
Using the
tools from his kit, Crane had prised the casing from the small black rectangle
of plastic uncovering the intricate network of wiring underneath. One sweeping glance was enough to apprise him
of the fact that this wasn’t a conventional timer device complete with ticking
clock, instructions for the making of which could be downloaded from the
Internet in these egalitarian times.
Unfortunately, this apparatus was much more complex and Nelson watched
with growing despair knowing, even before interpreting the escalating concern
on his officers’ faces, that this one was a bitch.
“Come
now, Admiral.” The mockery and
self-congratulation in her voice made his teeth ache as he clenched them. “You’ve got to admit, I played you well. And nobody died. YET!”
“And if I
have my way, nobody will.” His heart
sank as he caught the look traded by Lee and Chip. It was no good. With what they had to work with, the bomb
couldn’t be defused.
“Tsk,
tsk, Admiral. I hadn’t realised you were
so naïve!” She laughed, her voice
becoming louder. “Someone’s going to die
today and that’s you. You don’t deserve
to live. ‘Innocent casualties of war”
sound familiar? That’s what your
people will be – ‘regrettable but unavoidable’ – in my war against you!”
There was
no other conceivable way out. He briefly
thought about chucking the bomb out the nearest window but, despite its compact
size, it was powerful enough to cause untold damage and he had no idea of who
else might be working in the Admin Building or any of the adjacent ones. A quick visual check with his command team
told him all he needed to know. Whatever
chance they had of getting out of this lay in challenging her openly. Only one option – give her what she
wanted. Direct confrontation.
“All
right.” His normal baritone was somewhat
husky – lives rested on his ability to pull this off. But he had the backing of the best team in
the known universe. And each of them
perked up at what, to a disembodied voice, sounded like surrender but to the
assembled company who’d gone into battle countless times against worthier adversaries
was nothing less than an ultimatum.
“Your show, Sgt. O’Regan. We
can’t defuse your bomb. You hold six
lives in your hands when you want only mine.
Not to mention the seamen stationed outside. They would at best be injured if not killed
in the blast. I won’t risk any more
lives. How do you want to proceed?”
“You are
beginning to realise that I have control, Admiral.” She took immense pleasure in it, if the smirk
in her voice was any indication. “Order
the seamen outside your office to stand down. Surrender their weapons to me
upon my approach. As you’ve surmised, I
want your death to be face to face. If
others die as I accomplish my goal, so be it.
I really, really don’t care. You
have to believe that, Admiral. But I’m
not a monster, despite what you think right now. And I’m open to trade. But you don’t know what I’ll want to trade
until we meet. So I suggest that you set
that in motion, immediately. I’m already
on the base. Issue the necessary
instructions to clear me – and my companion – to your office.”
Devoid of
choices, Nelson silently consulted with his people before complying. To a man they concurred with his decision –
only possible choice, in the circumstances – to confront their nemesis up close
and personal.
****
Her
eyes. He’d expected them to show some
degree of mania or mental illness. For
surely she was insane. But her deep blue
eyes were pools of clarity, filled with intense hatred and a hint of amusement
at their predicament. She’d flicked her
gaze over each of them in turn, assessing, gauging who was her biggest problem,
when she and her escort had ushered a raging Kowalski, steaming Patterson and
pissed off Riley into the office ahead of them.
Their weapons had been confiscated and they were as defenceless as their
superior officers once her companion had searched them thoroughly and relieved
Nelson and Connelly of their hardware.
Her
companion. Nelson ground his teeth. NIMR’s deputy director of Security, Philip
Richardson. No wonder she’d managed to
infiltrate their Level One status. She’d
had the man responsible for Base security this weekend in her pocket. The betrayal stung – deeply. He’d seen the reactions from his men to the
former Marine guard – they ranged from bitter disappointment on Lee’s part to
wanting to rip his head off on Ski’s.
Then he’d spotted Angie cringe and retreat almost instinctively behind
Morton and his gaze flew to Richardson’s left hand – which sported an Academy
ring on the second finger. His
thunderous scowl evoked a smirk from the big ex-Marine; whose wolfish gaze
devoured the diminutive brunette as he lovingly cradled an Uzi sub-machine gun
in his arms. Nelson had no doubt that
this was the man who’d been instrumental in Angie’s carjacking and had
assaulted her in Med Bay. He didn’t
blame her for withdrawing – the man was a giant, easily six foot six and
powerfully built – Richardson had frightened his usually indomitable assistant
using his size to make her vulnerable, both physically and sexually. He was aware of Crane and Jamieson moving
protectively closer to her, both conscious of the implicit threat.
Amazing
the tiny details one could perceive when the shit was about to hit the fan,
Nelson mused. He’d often thought Morton
inscrutable, unreadable, but right now he could decipher every notion, every
image, that crossed the exec’s all too intuitive mind. And knew that the XO was ready to pound the
way-bigger Marine into hamburger. Chip
didn’t get mad often but when he did….
And right
now Nelson didn’t need his exec taking on an armed ex-Marine, fully five inches
and forty pounds of muscle heavier than him, in defence of Angie when there
were greater hazards at stake – like getting their collective butts out of here
in one piece with a bomb on his desk and the detonator in the possession of a seriously
deranged female. He was about to bark an
order when he caught the silent interplay between Crane and Morton. An almost infinitesimal unspoken
conversation, the two so highly attuned that they needed little more than
flicked glances to communicate. He
relaxed his stance – his men had it totally in hand. And Angie would be protected – no matter the
cost.
“Admiral
Nelson – and company.” Her tone was
mocking as she swept the nine people covered by her Glock 9mm and Richardson's
semi-automatic – not to mention the detonator she held so casually. Her gaze lingered on the obviously enraged
police lieutenant. “I’m honestly sorry
to have used you the way I did, Pat. You
were more than fair to me when others thought I was trading on my father’s and my
uncle’s reputations. But you gave me a
legitimate reason for being here and Phil provided the access I needed to put
my plan into operation. Oh, in case I
didn’t introduce you properly, Phil is my younger brother – or more correctly
my half-brother. He chose not to trade
on our paternal surname when he entered the Academy and so changed his name by
deed poll to his mother’s maiden name.”
She tossed a twisted smile in Morton’s direction. “So don’t go tying yourselves up in knots
over your security checks. He passed
then all – legitimately. And was happy
enough to come work here several months ago – at my suggestion.”
“You’ve
obviously planned this revenge of yours very thoroughly, Sergeant.” Nelson tipped back the chair behind his desk
and thumbed a cigarette from the package that was always near to hand. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply and,
seemingly, contentedly. As if a coded
message had been transmitted to his men, there seemed to be an appreciable
relaxation amongst them – while simultaneously an imperceptible state of
heightened awareness found its place, if you knew what to look for.
“Oh,
believe me, Admiral, I have.” She
strutted forward defiantly, frowning, disconcerted by his apparent
nonchalance. “I’ve been working on it
since the day you took my mother from me!”
Nelson’s
gaze sharpened and he ground the stub of the half smoked cigarette into the
ashtray as he snorted. “Don’t talk
rubbish. You couldn’t have been more
than a child when your mother died.”
Enraged
at his seeming dismissal, she planted her hands on the desk in front of him,
never relinquishing the Glock, angry dark blue eyes boring into bright sapphire
ones as she hissed venomously. “I was
only a baby when she died. If the truth
be known, I hardly remember her. But my
father brought me up on tales of her patriotism, her heroism and the fact that
she gave her life to make this country a better place for others to live
in. Then you had to go and besmirch her
name, all she stood for, all my father stood for.” Tears of rage flooded her eyes and she swiped
them away angrily. Pirouetting from the
desk gracefully she took in the cagey but fearless faces. “Cover them, Phil. Don’t let down your guard for a moment.” She cautioned. Watching as he hefted the sub machine gun
tighter in his grip, she then swung back to the still silent Nelson. “Nothing to say, Admiral? No high and mighty defence? You branded her a traitor! You were the one who had to ‘set the
record straight’. You caused my
father to have a heart attack and die – of shame. YOU cost me both my parents!”
“I
brought the truth to light.” Nelson
spoke softly initially, conscious of the fact that he was dealing with a
largely unknown entity. She was volatile
and totally beyond reasoning – and liable to shoot first and rationalise it
later. A quick glance in Jamieson’s
direction and he caught the small nod that assured him he was playing it right
– for now. Will’s expertise was in
trauma surgery but his exposure to the extraordinary aboard Seaview had
honed his interest in psychology and mental health and Harry trusted his
judgement. Hell, all their lives might
depend on his next play. “A good man was
vilified for years; his reputation left in shreds. A man who saved countless lives and whose
death left an unquantifiable number of agents in limbo behind the Iron Curtain
– our own people as well as some who had crossed to our side with the promise
of a better life in America for their families.” His voice rose inevitably as he became
passionate. “For over thirty years Colin
Barrington was buried in a pauper’s grave, a charge of treason laid against
him, for his actions against the United States – and for shooting your
mother. She’d convinced the powers that
be that Barrington had turned and I was part of a task force sent in to either
retrieve him or eliminate him. Those
were very tense times.” Nelson’s tone
grew bleak with the telling. “I shot
him. It was an unbelievable
situation. He had killed Charlotte, then
came rushing out towards us. We had to
assume he’d gone rabid. So I took aim
and shot him, believing him a traitor.
And for thirty-odd years all those involved – me, my team, the
establishment – believed it also. But
the record had to be set straight when the facts became known. I had no choice.”
“No
choice! No choice!” She jerked her weapon up and levelled it at
the slightly shorter man, for she was a tall girl. “You had a choice. We all have choices, Admiral! It was a thirty-year old story. Barrington had no family. No one to hurt. You didn’t have to bring it to light. You could have let it lie. Let her rest in peace.”
“And
Colin Barrington? What of him? Didn’t he deserve to have his reputation
restored? He was a hero, a true patriot. Didn’t he merit more from the country that
he’d served? He’s now buried in
Arlington, where he should have resided all that time.” But Nelson despaired of reasoning with the
now wild-eyed woman.
“You’re
trying to confuse me. My mother died
exposing a traitor!” She was shaking
now, tears beginning to leak from the dense blue eyes, her features twisted in
pain.
“No,
Alanna.” He used her given name in an
attempt to reach her – futile perhaps, but he needed to try. “Your mother was the traitor. Colin Barrington died because of the information
she’d given us and, to my last breath, I’ll regret that I was the one who
brought him down. But I honestly
believed that he had gone rogue. He’d
shot Charlotte – my team and I witnessed the shooting – but we weren’t aware of
information he had identifying her as the double agent. We were programmed to see what was played out
in front of us and she orchestrated it beautifully.” A depth of emotion saw his head drop to his
chest and bitterness invade the tenor of his voice. “Unfortunately she hadn’t calculated on Colin
taking the action that he did.”
At her
continued silence he ploughed on, conscious of the readiness of his people to
act when he gave them any slight opportunity.
“Her presence with what was obviously an elimination team signalled to
Colin that she’d betrayed him. He loved
her.” A resounding ‘No’ interrupted him
but he continued as if the interjection hadn’t taken place. “You forget the times we were living in. I knew little of Charlotte’s private
life. Wasn’t aware of her marriage to
your father or your birth – and Colin certainly wasn’t, I’m sure of that.” He didn’t add that he himself had had
feelings for the beautiful older agent – in the circumstances it wasn’t
appropriate, but he was aware that his close friends knew the whole story. *
A swift
glance around his office noted that all his people were ready for whatever
opportunity they could find to act. It
was up to him to locate the trigger to afford them time to overpower the two
armed insurgents.
****
When he
looked back on that day – that weekend – in the passage of time, Harriman
Nelson shuddered. Profound grief vied
with intense relief. The stench of death
had permeated his office for many weeks – a lot longer than it had taken the
cleaning firm to remove the stains from the furnishings.
His
attempts at placating O’Regan with the true facts of her mother’s death,
reasoning with her over the subsequent denouncement of Charlotte Hamilton as a
double agent and the restoration of Colin Barrington’s reputation, had
backfired. Instead he’d opened a wound
that had bled freely. And drawn blood in
ways he could never have envisaged. He’d – in later discussions with his
command team, they had all – pegged her as a loose cannon. But he could never have dreamt the immense
repercussions his words would have.
Deferring
to his greater knowledge of the circumstances, having complete faith in him,
his men had allowed him to run the play.
On the rare occasions he permitted himself to indulge in intense
introspection, he wondered if that faith had been misplaced. If his actions had, directly or otherwise,
been the cause of two tragic deaths. If
he could have somehow prevented the terrible unfolding of events that Sunday.
****
“No! I know what you’re doing, Admiral. Trying to vindicate yourself – absolve
yourself of any responsibility in her death.
I lost my mother twice because of you. I lost my father because of you! I don’t care about Barrington. I wanted to be what she was – it’s the reason
I joined the Police Department.” She ran
distracted hands through her long dark hair, the Glock still tightly clenched
in her right hand. “You – YOU, Admiral
Nelson – took away my reason for living!
Do you understand? I don’t care
what happens to me now. I have to kill you
because you destroyed her. Single
handedly, you devastated our entire family.
Now do you understand?”
The cold
dispassion in her eyes, the purpose, more than the words, caused his heart to
skip a beat. A quick glance alerted his
men to take advantage of any chance for action.
Nelson knew he could count on Kowalski to take out the marine if the
opportunity presented itself. Ski’s
heavy muscular build, coupled with his martial arts skills, would be a match
for the taller huskier man – if they succeeded in disarming him.
Intercepting
the glance, and enraged that Nelson wasn’t sufficiently cowed, her eyes
narrowed dangerously. The four-star flag
officer tensed and saw a similar reaction from his men. Even Angie seemed to note the increased danger
emanating from the police officer.
“I don’t
think you quite appreciate how serious I am, Admiral. You are going to die today and it
really doesn’t matter to me if I go too, or how many I take with me. I’m not sure that you’ve grasped that concept
fully. Maybe this will convince
you.”
In mere
seconds, and before anyone had time to react, she had pivoted, picked her
target, taken aim and fired. The retort
from the bullet echoed loudly in the room, assaulting ears and Angie screamed,
clutching Chip’s arm in fright.
Simultaneously Riley cried out, the force of the bullet catapulting him
backwards and, eyes glazing as pain overtook him, he hit the wall and slumped
into a semi-seated position on the carpeted floor.
There was
stunned silence for a single count of probably ten seconds before the men of Seaview
responded, their one concern – to a man – aiding their injured
comrade. Ignoring her commands to stand
still, the men of the world’s largest nuclear vessel moved swiftly into
action.
Jamieson
grabbed his bag and practically vaulted across the sofa to reach the downed
seaman. Kowalski, a trained field medic
who had been standing next to Stu Riley, had beaten him by mere seconds and was
already checking for pulse and breathing.
The bullet had caught Seaview’s youngest seaman high on the right
shoulder and he was still conscious although blood was pumping steadily from
the close range wound. A 9mm Glock
wasn’t a weapon to be trifled with.
Riley was lucky to be alive.
O’Regan hadn’t targeted with any concern for whether her victim lived or
died, a fact that tore through Harriman Nelson and the rest of the command
team. Chip swiftly disengaged Angie,
pushing her behind him, protecting her from the threat while giving him room to
manoeuvre should the need arise.
Richardson
swung his Uzi, desperately attempting to cover the moving bodies who were
paying no attention to either his or O’Regan’s shouted orders to remain
still. Only Nelson hadn’t changed
position, remaining behind his desk as his men swarmed into action, aiding
their fallen comrade. Obviously in
shock, Riley was clinging onto Ski’s arm while protesting weakly that he was
OK, much to the doctor’s chagrin.
Staunching the bleeding as best as he could, Jamieson thought about
insisting that he be allowed to transfer Riley to Med Bay knowing the seaman
would require surgery to remove the bullet.
But Stu, though pale, was in no immediate danger; the blood loss having
been temporarily dealt with, he’d been shot up with a mega strength antibiotic
and painkiller. Will was deeply afraid that O’Regan wasn’t going to stop until
she had succeeded in her self-imposed mission and Nelson was dead. If she tried and failed then he wanted to be
there to provide what immediate care he could – hopefully enough to save
Nelson’s life. Not to mention whomever
else she decided to target in the process.
Nelson,
however, had other ideas. He wouldn’t
have chosen this arena but, like his men, he was a warrior first and a human
being second. An opportunity had
presented itself – perhaps the only one that would – and they acted as
one. In the confusion of shouted orders
and scuffling bodies, Lee and Chip moved in unison to tackle the Uzi-toting
marine. Patterson had dropped to the
floor during the shooting and now came up wielding a wicked looking knife that
had been concealed in his pant leg. A
single flick of the wrist and the knife left his hand in a fast smooth arc
before burying itself high in Richardson’s broad back, felling him
instantly. Almost before he dropped, the
senior officers reached him. Chip
wrenched the semi-automatic away, clipping him smartly under the chin with the
butt of the gun and, once he was on the ground, Lee quickly straddled the larger
man causing a scream of agony as he twisted his arms behind his back, securing
them with his web belt and knotting it tightly.
Simultaneously,
Nelson reached for the Colt Double Eagle he had taped to the underside of his
desk. A momentary twinge of conscience
at shooting a woman assailed him. If
there had been any other way…. He’d done
it before and, if the necessity arose, no doubt he would do it again. He shot to wound, to disable, but in the last
second before the bullet left the gun she turned, saw his intent and loosed off
a shot of her own. His struck first and
hers went wild. She crumpled, the gun
falling from her hand, and Nelson moved quickly to kick it beyond her reach. His bullet had hit her at mid chest and he
knew, even before he stooped to check, that he wouldn’t find a pulse. It was over.
What he
hadn’t anticipated was the heavy thud from behind him that had him pivoting
swiftly, bringing the 8-round pistol to bear, or the heartfelt “No!” that came
from Chip Morton.
O’Regan
had succeeded in her mission of death.
But had failed to take out her target.
Instead her final bullet had penetrated the broad chest of Lieutenant
Patrick Connelly. No novice when it came
to field injuries, Nelson knew there was no hope even as Jamieson elbowed him
ungently out of the way and began to assess the fallen man. A small trickle of blood seeped from the
corner of the police lieutenant’s mouth as he turned his head to find one
person. Jamie’s urgent “don’t move” went
unheeded as the seasoned cop sought out the man he’d developed a particular
friendship with over the preceding months.
Chip
tossed the Uzi aside, dropped to his knees and took Connelly’s hand between
his, grasping it firmly as if he could will the man to live. He too had seen enough fatal injuries to know
that not even Jamieson’s skill could save the police lieutenant. Tears burned behind his eyelids but he
refused to let them fall. PDA’s (public
displays of affection) went against everything he’d been trained for at the
Academy but he knew his friends would forgive the lapse if he allowed himself
to give in right now. But the training
was ingrained and he contented himself with grasping Pat’s cooling hand in his
own warm one. “Hang in there,
buddy. Jamie’s the best. He’ll have you sorted in no time.”
A heaving
breath all but did Connelly in but he was determined to have what he
instinctively knew would be his last words.
He’d enjoyed the months of friendship he’d found with Chip Morton. “I think...we both know…that isn’t going…to
happen. My fault…I brought her here.”
“No,
Pat. You couldn’t have known. With all our security checks we didn’t find
out about Richardson.” Chip could see
the light fading from the brown eyes and his own cerulean ones pleaded with
Jamie to do something. Even before the
doctor’s defeated shake of his head as Jamie pressed several large gauze swabs
against the gaping wound, he’d known. A
comforting hand descended on his shoulder.
Lee. He could always count on Lee
to be there for him and dipped his head in both appreciation of the fact that
his brother was by his side and despair for the life of the man slipping away
beneath his hand. He felt the need to
say something, anything that would help ease the transition for this man, who
had come to mean a lot to him, into the afterlife – for he strongly believed
that there was one.
“Thank
you, Pat, for believing in me when the evidence proved otherwise. (**) For
being a true friend, even if we didn’t see each other that often lately. More my fault than yours but I’ve valued your
friendship more than you possibly know and I’m gonna miss you, pal.”
“Me…too. Never had…a kid. But would have…liked a boy…like you. Make sure…you take care…of yourself…you
hear?” Chip tried to shush him but
Connelly knew every moment counted and he wanted to say the things that were
important to him. Jamie handed Chip a
fresh piece of gauze and Morton gently wiped away the blood that continued to
trickle from the corner of Connelly’s mouth.
“Got…good people around…you…friends…family…nice girl. Enjoy.
You do…good work…son…fine officer….”
It wasn’t
dramatic but it was final. Connelly had
slipped away and Morton knew all eyes were on him. Trying to resurrect his stoic XO mask was
difficult. He wanted – needed – to
grieve for the man who had just died in front of him. Chip looked up at the family gathered around
him. Lee was by his side, total acceptance in his open face, his presence rock
solid. Jamie laid a comforting hand on
his arm, his lean features sombre.
Nelson nodded gently, his blue eyes showing his sadness at this
unforeseen turn of events. Angie was
crying openly, sheet white from shock, held tightly against Chris James’
chest. Ski and Pat were quietly tending
Riley, giving him as much privacy as they could. It was enough.
He
gathered the childless man into his arms and rocked him as he would have his
own father. He didn’t know if Connelly
had family who would mourn his death.
But in the here and now he was there for him and, recalling the
affection he’d seen in the older man’s eyes when they’d met sporadically, as
his missions on Seaview allowed, he bent his head and allowed his own
feelings free rein.
****
The
mopping up operation was fast and skilled, Nelson’s four stars accelerating the
process. With the detonator in his possession,
Nelson had no difficulty defusing the explosive. SBPD acted swiftly and claimed the bodies of
the lieutenant and sergeant, their spin-doctors already concocting viable
stories. Richardson had been taken under
armed guard to Santa Barbara General, his wound serious but not life
threatening. He’d already given police
the name of his accomplice, thankfully not on the staff at NIMR, and SBPD were
preparing to round him up.
Harry was
way beyond tired, but determined that the truth would come out. He would ensure that Connelly received a
burial befitting the sacrifice of his life – if nothing else it was needed to
cauterise the open wound he sensed still resided within Chip Morton.
Which was
why he’d gone back on his word to Will Jamieson and overridden his CMO’s edict
to haul both Crane’s and Morton’s tails straight to Med Bay. And in the heel of the hunt Will hadn’t
protested – too much – beyond subjecting each of them to another
exam and blood test before releasing them to their respective homes, under
strict instructions to go straight to bed and rest for twenty-four hours
minimum. Both knew that Lee would most
likely take the spare room at Morton’s place – just to be there if he was
needed to talk or sound off to – and acknowledging that they both needed to
feel the closeness of the unique bond that existed between them as a
re-affirmation of life. It had been a
hellish weekend.
****
“Give me
a minute, Lee.” Chip requested as they
approached the vehicle Nelson had insisted upon to take them home. Despite his exhaustion he’d noticed that
Angie was giving him a wide berth and had elected to return to her own
apartment now that the threat was past.
He couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of the first hand
experience of the danger they faced almost daily – she would be used to it in
theory having read Seaview’s logs but this was the first time she’d been
party to death up close. Or was it that
she regretted the burgeoning relationship between them for other reasons. Nausea seemed to be his constant companion
right now but he worried that the threatened rape – coupled with facing her
assailant – would have more serious repercussions. He would do whatever she needed of him to get
her past this. His insecurity hammered
at him but he’d never backed down from a fight before and if that’s what it
took then so be it.
“Angie.” She turned at the sound of his voice. Patterson was tucking her into the passenger
seat of a staff car but discretely moved to the opposite side of the vehicle at
the exec’s approach. Chip crouched down
to eye level, every muscle in his body protesting the manoeuvre. “Sure you don’t want to stay over one more
night?” He kept his voice low. “Guest room’s yours as long as you want it.”
“I….”
She’d thought she was tough, the kick-ass Deputy Director of NIMR. How wrong could a girl be? Green eyes shimmering, she engaged his azure
ones. God, he was beautiful. “I can’t, Chip. Pat’s taking me home now and the admiral has
cleared Ski to take me in the Flying Sub tomorrow to my best girlfriend’s place
for a couple of days. I just need a
little space right now. This all
happened so fast.”
He could
relate to that. He just didn’t want her
so far away from him, his protective instincts coming to the fore again. But Angie had proved that she was more than
capable of fighting her own battles. He
sighed quietly – it wasn’t about what he wanted but what she
needed. His mother’s voice came out of
nowhere. ‘If you let something go and it
comes back to you then it was meant to be, but if you try to trap it you’ll
never know if it stayed for the right reasons.”
He needed
to know that Angie was staying for the right reasons.
“You take
all the time you need, honey. Just
remember, we have a date when you get back.”
Her lips
quivered but a small smile eventually tweaked at the corners of her mouth. She’d thought, after the day’s events, that
she’d never smile again. “The ‘date’
we’ve been trying to have for the past six months, Sailor?”
Crouched
as he was outside the car as she sat in the passenger seat, Chip was on a level
with her. “I think I’ve got even more
incentive to make sure this one really happens.
You’re one of a kind, Beautiful.”
Without giving her a chance to object, he angled forward and touched his
lips to hers. Gently, no pressure. Anticipating nothing more than a return
peck. With an almost inaudible sob, she
caught him close, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their kiss deepened, desire overcoming
propriety, until sense prevailed and Chip pulled back, resting his forehead
against hers, inhaling the subtle fragrance of her.
When he
thought he could, he stood, unclasped her arms and set her back in the seat,
latching the seat belt securely around her and closing the car door. Patterson had been discretely scanning the
scenery but practically leapt to attention when Morton advised him that Angie
was ready to leave.
“I’ll
take good care of her, sir. The admiral
has requested a guard be placed on her apartment until Ski picks her up in the
morning to fly her home.”
“Thanks,
Pat. Make sure you get some rest
too.” The exec in him wouldn’t stand
down until he knew all his men were accounted for and given the down time they
needed. It had been an exhausting couple
of days for them all.
“Will do,
sir. Now you need to get home before the
doc catches your six still on site.” The
senior rating knew the slight insubordination would be tolerated. Patterson had long since designated himself
the exec’s ‘keeper’, as Ski was the captain’s and Sharkey the admiral’s. Their service together went way back and a
little mutinous behaviour was tacitly tolerated.
“You got
that right! I’m beat. But I don’t want to see you report until
Tuesday morning at the earliest. Ski,
either. Take some time to decompress. I think we all need it. And thanks, Pat, your skill with the knife
saved our bacon back there.”
The
rating flushed at the accolade. “Just
lucky, I guess, that when Richardson patted me down he didn’t do a good enough
job. Glad it worked, sir. I knew the admiral was just waiting for a
diversion and hoped that if I could take one of them out then it would give you
an opportunity to act.”
“It
worked fine, Pat. And you deserve the
credit.” He made a mental note to commend Pat’s contribution in his incident
report, even as his heart clenched at the thought of writing the full
story. “Drop Angie off then go get some
sleep. And that’s an order, Sailor!”
“Aye,
Sir.” Snapping a perfect military
salute, Pat rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Morton watched the glow of the taillights
until he couldn’t see them any longer.
“Come on,
pal.” A familiar voice at his side urged
him towards their waiting vehicle. “I
need to crash even if you don’t.”
“He was a
good man, Lee. He didn’t deserve
this.”
“I know,
Chip.” Crane’s voice was filled with
pain – for Connelly and for his friend.
“And good men have died before and will again in the pursuit of peace
and righteousness. I know it’s no
consolation but I honestly believe that the last person in the room Alanna
O’Regan would have wanted to die was Connelly.
He had no part in this. We were
all dragged in because of our association with the admiral. He was unfortunate enough to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time. A real ‘casualty
of war’ as she put it. So bloody
unfair.” The last came out as a
whisper. Eyes stinging, Morton ducked
into the rear seat of the car. There
would be several more days of de-brief, funeral arrangements to be made etc.,
it wouldn’t end here. But for now he
needed sleep and the thought of being allowed that in his own bed was secondary
to none. Except, maybe….
“Lee, you
think it might be…advisable – given the circumstances – to stay aboard Seaview
tonight? I mean, just in case of a
further threat.”
Crane
visibly brightened. Any opportunity to
be with his ‘lady’ worked for him. All
the men who served aboard the nuclear submarine had a connection to her but
none more than the command crew. Nelson
was her designer, Morton a plank owner who had been there from her inception
and Crane, well, Crane was the man who had always been destined to captain
her.
“I think
that might be a solid plan, Chip. Good
thinking.”
“Just
what an exec is for, Skipper.” But Lee
could hear the ache behind the words.
****
Several
hours later Jamieson found his way back to Nelson’s office, unsurprised to see
the lights on and the admiral still at his desk. The overflowing ashtray bore testament to the
number of cigarettes he’d smoked, as did the stench of stale smoke in the stale
air.
Nelson
inhaled deeply the last drag from his cigarette before crushing it out, knowing
how much Will hated that he risked his health in this way.
“How’s
Riley?” His voice was husky from lack of
sleep and too much nicotine.
“He’ll be
fine.” The CMO reassured. “Luckily the bullet didn’t do any major
muscle or tissue damage and, though it caused quite an amount of blood loss,
your speedy closure of the situation prevented him from needing anything more
than a couple of pints of transfused blood.
The surgery to remove the bullet went well and, with some supportive
care, Riley should be fit for light duty in a couple of weeks.”
“And Lee
and Chip?”
Jamieson
snorted, shifting tiredly in the armchair.
“What do you think? Best guess, they’ll
be haunting this place before either one of us is awake in the morning. Good as the scuttlebutt around here is, I
overheard a rumour that they’re spending the night on the boat.”
A small
smile tugging at his lips, Nelson chuckled.
He should have anticipated it.
His ‘boys’, as Jiggs Starke called them, would find their own comfort
level and nowhere better than Seaview to provide what they each
needed. Not to take from the man seated
in front of him; Nelson knew Will would drag their sorry sixes instantly to Med
Bay if for one moment he thought they needed it. But he was also a believer in the power of
healing the mind and body in tandem and knew Lee and Chip together with Seaview
could do more for each other than all his medical knowledge would accomplish.
“Doesn’t
surprise me. I don’t think Lee is fully
convinced that the patch on NavCom is going to cut the mustard during simulated
tests. Best guess he’s already needling
Chip on ways to circumvent the….”
Jamison
groaned. “I so do not need to know this,
Harry. What I need, right now, is
my bed. For eight straight – at the very least.” And he pointed an accusing finger at his
superior officer. “As do you too! I know you think you can oversee everything
but, as your doctor, I’m telling you that you need sleep. Now.
No agenda. No compromise. My bones are telling me I’m too old for this
shit! And yours ain’t so great either.”
His
rank-be-damned and tell-it-like-it-is attitude was a major part of the reason
Nelson had employed Jamieson initially.
Coupled with his aptitude for dealing with his command team, knowing
when to press and when to allow them latitude, such as just now. It had to be dealt with.
“Thanks,
Will.”
“For
what, specifically, Harry?”
Dulled-with-tiredness, brown eyes perked up slightly as the admiral
pushed himself slowly out of his leather swivel chair and crossed to the
sidebar. Pulling a bottle from the
cupboard underneath he poured generous splashes of an aged amber liquid into
two old fashioneds – squat Irish crystal whisky glasses. Passing one to his trusted CMO he raised the
other in salute.
“Sláinte,
a chairde. Go n’eirigh on bothar leat.”
At Will’s quizzical look he interpreted, “Roughly translates from the
Irish language as ‘Good health, my friend’ – or ‘down the hatch, pal’,
whichever you prefer – and ‘may the road rise with you’ or in naval terms it
could possibly equate to ‘good winds and following seas’. In this case, I’d like it to mean more than
that. The beauty of the Irish language
is that it can be interpreted to mean many things, depending on
relationships. ‘Slán’ signifies
‘goodbye’.” The slight tilt of
Jamieson’s glass made no translation necessary.
Nelson
sighed. “And as for the rest, I would
wish it in varying ways for Connelly and for all of our young bucks. They will
have their own roads to follow. I think
we both know the paths they’ve chosen won’t be easy ones and the best that we
can do is try to guide them and prepare them for the difficulties that they
will face. And be there to patch them up
when our Intel goes FUBAR!”
At the
admiral’s unexpected witticism, Jamieson choked on the rye burn of the
alcohol. “I think it’s more than time
that we both hit our racks, Harry. If
that’s the level you’re reduced to.
Don’t know about you but I’ll need to be in the full of my health to
deal with our two pit bulls first thing in the morning. I don’t expect either of them to do other
than bitch at being on less than full duty status come daylight.”
The
four-star flag officer sent a wry grin his CMO’s direction and raised his
glass. “Thus were we once, Will. Thus
were we. In our day. And thank God for them and their ilk. They have different paths to tread. Other foes to battle. Weapons such as we would have never imagined to grapple with.
There are times I think we had it easy compared to what they have to
contend with.
And then
I look back and see that it wasn’t easy to do what we did, in our day, with
what we were given to fight with. To
coin a phrase from the French, Will, ‘Plus ça change; plus qu’il la même
chose’ – ‘the more things change; the more they remain the same’.
Draining
the amber liquid, Harry placed the glass back on his desk, Will echoing his
movements. The shorter man pushed
himself to his feet, almost swaying with tiredness. The repercussions of this weekend weren’t
done with by a long chalk. But that was
for another day. For this Sunday night,
he was going home, his people were safe, his research retrieved – not that that
mattered one whit to Nelson – and order was being
restored to his life.
For who knew how long.
****
Finis
(*) The Puppet Master
(**) Identity Crisis
(***) The Selection Process
(****) No Easy Extraction
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