Author's note: This fic previously appeared on Uncharted Waters and is based on a Marcus Welby episode called, "A Full Life" in which Richard Basehart guest-starred as Professor Andy Kirkcastle.

A very special thank you to Nancy O. who provided some invaluable information that really brought this whole thing together, and to my long-suffering beta's. Liz, this one's for you.

Pulau Kangor

Pulau Kangor: Dusk

Admiral Harriman Nelson opened both eyes and stared hard at the blurred, yellowish shadows on the darkened wall in front of him. Trying to jar his sluggish, muddled mind back into some kind of lucidity, feeling a rise of panic as he failed to recognize his cold, dimly lit surroundings, he wished he could recall something, anything, to fill the void in his memory.

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat, pain abruptly wrenching his thoughts into clarity, he lifted his hand away from his right side and looked with clouded confusion at the sticky wetness that covered his palm and fingers.

Clenching his hand into a fist, he slowly lowered his arm to the ground. He remembered the sound of gunshots…

Lee was in front, leading the way through the jungle and away from the BioMed camp and the half dozen or so men coming fast on their heels. Semi-automatic fire whizzed past them, hitting the brush, shattering branches and sending the splintered wood in every direction. Gunfire echoed off the dense canopy and Jenkins, the young crewman from Nebraska, fell to the ground with a terrified cry. It had been nothing more than a reflexive action to pick the man up and hoist him over his shoulder. The weight nearly toppled him but once he found his balance, adrenaline kicked in and carried him forward.

He saw the ground kick up around him and felt the sharp sting low in his back. He knew he had been hit but still he pushed himself. The rush of adrenaline had long since worn off and now the weight, the pain and the exhaustion were unbearable. He was concentrating hard, trying to keep up with the flashes of khaki up ahead, not looking down and yet, trying desperately to pick up his feet. And then he stumbled…

The crackle of a small fire caught his attention and momentarily dragged him back to the present. Lee, Sharkey, Jenkins, what had become of them? Were they still alive?

For a moment the unnerving thought that he had been captured by the enemy flashed through his mind however, given that they had been trying their damndest to kill him, he quickly dismissed the idea. Wherever he was, he was amongst friends.

With a great deal of effort and determination he pushed himself into an awkward and extremely uncomfortable sitting position then, after the waves of nausea and pain had subsided to a level more tolerable, brought his legs around and leaned against the coolness of the rock wall. The damp granite stone permeated his shirt and felt good against his skin. Closing his eyes, surrendering to the pervasive weariness, he drifted into a restless sleep.

It was an ordinary mission; nothing more than a visit to an old friend's botanical research camp. But when they got to the site, when they saw the men…

The vision of Professor Andrew Kirkcastle's mutilated body flashed through Nelson's mind, jolting him awake. But even awake, the images persisted, gripping him in a cold sweat and rising sickness that he could no longer contain. Turning his body quickly, ignoring the protests of pain, he heaved the modest contents of his stomach.

"Easy, sir."

Nelson felt a supporting hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Chief Sharkey at his side.

"Take a few sips of this," Sharkey said, lifting the canteen to Nelson's mouth and still supporting his shoulder as he drank.

"Thanks, chief," he said, the words coming with labored effort. Although the nausea had eased, the water did little to quell the encroaching darkness.

Sharkey was there to catch him as he pitched forward.

Gently lowering the unconscious Admiral onto the ground, he peeled away the discolored dressing, wrinkling his nose as he tossed it aside. He didn't like the looks of the wound and was even more concerned with the lack of any kind of sterilizing agent. He had tried to flush out the area with water but knew that was nothing more than a stopgap. They were in a jungle; the place was teeming with all kinds of nasty bacteria. It was only a matter of time before infection set in—if it hadn't already.

Where was Captain Crane? Taking a seat next to the fire, Sharkey's eyes darted between the cave's opening and the Admiral. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

~ooOoo~

Lee Crane peeked through the cover of the heavy foliage, trying not to make a sound as six armed men walked right by his hiding place. Waiting until they were completely past them, he moved aside the fern fronds and crept forward using his elbows and knees to carry him.

He needed to get to someplace high where he could get a better look at the camp and the men who occupied it, but most of the trees he spied were well out of his climbing range. Growing up as a city kid, living in a house without a yard and few trees, he hadn't much practice climbing trees. But just as they always had, drive and determination would get him where he wanted to go.

Using a sturdy vine that had wound its way around the trunk, he pulled himself up as quietly yet as swiftly as possible. Looking up into the tree's broad branches, he could see two places where his ascent might be exposed should that recon party return or a few stragglers wander away from the camp.

He'd have to move quickly.

~ooOoo~

Sharkey was still beside the Admiral, tearing what was once a T-shirt into long strips when he came around.

For a moment Nelson was lost again, uncertain of his surroundings or the events that had taken place. Then he remembered a name and a face. "Jenkins?" He lifted his head and tried to look around, giving up when the effort became too much. "Is he all right?"

"You need to lay still, sir. You opened up the wound and it's bleeding again."

"Chief, is he all right?" He was nearly pleading now.

Sharkey looked away for only an instant but it was enough. Nelson didn't have to ask again.

"He was just a boy," he said quietly.

"He saved your life."

Nelson didn't understand. He was carrying Jenkins; how could the crewman have saved his life?

Sharkey saw the confused expression and tried to explain. "The bullet that hit you went through him first. If you hadn't been carrying him…"

Regret quickly became a flash of anger. "If I hadn't been carrying him, he might still be alive."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but if you hadn't been carrying him, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. Besides," Sharkey paused and looked away. He had to tell him; the guilt would have been far worse than the pain. "He was dead before then."

Nelson felt sick again but this time it had nothing to do with the hole in his side.

Sharkey squinted in the dim lighting to get a quick, satisfied look at the entrance wound in the Admiral's back and then used the long, cloth strips to secure the second bandage in place. "Doc will probably have kittens when he sees this but it's the best I can do."

"How bad is it?"

The Chief was thoughtful for a minute as he decided which version to give him. He hadn't pulled any punches so far; he might as well not start now. Besides, he never could lie convincingly to the Admiral. "It could be worse but given our circumstances, bad enough. The bullet went in and out but I'm betting you got a busted rib or two and maybe a damaged kidney."

Feeling the sharp grating low in his side, Nelson could confirm the chief's conjecture about his broken rib however the pain in his back was so acute he couldn't tell if it was from the kidney, the entrance wound or a combination of both.

Sharkey helped him slip his shirt back on but left it open. "You're gonna have one doozy of an infection it we don't…" His sentence was cut short by a noise behind him. Grabbing the pistol and wheeling around, he squinted into the shadows. Seeing and hearing nothing more, he turned his attention back to the injured man. "I must be getting jumpy in my old age."

Nelson's slightly amused look quickly faded as he noticed the dark blotches of dried blood on Sharkey's grungy khaki uniform. "Are you all right?"

"Who me?" The Chief grinned sheepishly, almost embarrassed at the concern shown to him by a senior officer. "I'm fine."

It occurred to the Admiral a few moments later, after Sharkey had taken up sentry duty near the mouth of the cave, that it was most likely his blood on the COB's uniform. He had a vague memory of someone hauling him down the overgrown path. The thought momentarily alleviated the pain and guilt.

Chief Francis Sharkey was loyal to the core. Nelson had known many COB's in his long career but none held a candle to Sharkey. Yes, he could try the patience of the Pope but in a fight, Sharkey would always be the first man Nelson chose to cover his backside. This wasn't the first time the Chief had hauled Nelson's rear-end out of the fire; he doubted it would be the last.

If we get out of here…

Using his left arm as leverage, cringing at the brief but intense stab of pain, Nelson once again forced himself into a sitting position. Resting against the hard surface, he looked around the dimly lit cave.

It was an odd-shaped cavern, almost triangular in shape and probably taller than it was wide or deep, with an opening protected by several large boulders. Squinting to see the odd formation, Nelson surmised that this really wasn't a true cave at all—just a covered opening formed from falling rock and dirt during one of the many earthquakes these small islands had suffered over the years. He also guessed that it probably wasn't the safest place for them to stay but hopefully, they wouldn't be here very long. He spent several more minutes mesmerized by the yellow and orange flames of the makeshift fire, watching as a small, thin line of smoke trickled upwards towards one of the fissures in the rough formation when it occurred to him.

"Chief, where's Captain Crane?"

"The skipper? He went out to do a little recon."

Had Sharkey not turned his attention back to the entrance of the cave, he would have seen the deepening frown on Nelson's face.

~ooOoo~

Crane was frozen in place, silently watching as two men stood below him, their automatic weapons pointed toward the sky, toward him.

He had tried to gain a better view into the camp and was inching his way across a sturdy, overhanging branch when he had heard voices. He didn't see them until he was almost directly overhead and in plain sight had they looked up.

Something rustled above his head, causing him to quickly look up. He wasn't alone in the tree. Large, bright eyes stared back at him then unimpressed, disappeared into the dark canopy.

Taking a firm hold on the thick branch, Lee repositioned his left foot, bringing it over just enough to give him the cover of a wide swathe of broad leaves and dangling vines. Realizing that the right side of his body was still exposed, he quickly brought his right leg over, his foot snapping an offshoot in the process. Cringing at the loud crack, he watched in horror as leaves and twigs broke free and fell, landing on the men below. Closing his eyes, bracing himself for the ensuing gunfire, he could only think of how he had failed the Admiral and Chief Sharkey.

SSRN Seaview: 500 miles southwest of Wake Island, 2200 hours

Commander Chip Morton stood by the radio, his fingers drumming impatiently on the metal casing. "Anything?"

"Nothing, sir. All I get is static. They could be out of range. They only took the handhelds and those were working when they got to the island." Sparks looked up at the Exec and shrugged. He didn't know what else to tell the man.

Chip's lips tightened into a frown. Sparks was right. Lee had radioed in once they landed on the tiny island but that call nearly eight hours ago had been the last they had heard from the men.

Ordinarily, the Exec wouldn't have been worried. It was a diversion for the Admiral; a chance for him to visit an old friend who just happened to be in the 'neighborhood'. It wasn't until Seaview received a call from BioMed, the pharmaceutical company sponsoring the expedition, that Chip became concerned.

Kate Tannehill, Professor Kirkcastle's companion, was accustomed to radio silence from the doctor; he often went a day or so before checking in. However, at 73 Andrew Kirkcastle wasn't a young man and almost two years ago, after an expedition in Malaysia, he had nearly died from Black Water Fever. Although he made a complete recovery and left for an expedition to the Caquet and the Putumayo rivers two weeks later, the illness seemed to have reduced the effectiveness of chloroquine, the medication he took for malaria. Before he left, Tannehill had insisted he call in every day. For the first few days, he had abided by her wishes but in the last 24 hours there had been no transmission and every attempt by Dr. Haskins at BioMed had been met with dead air.

And now Seaview had lost contact with Lee and the Admiral.

"Mr. Morton?" Lt. Bob O'Brien asked tentatively.

Chip looked up to find all eyes in the control room upon him.

"What would you like to do?"

Seaview was roughly 1,100 nautical miles from the island. They could be just off the coast in a little over 18 hours. If he was wrong and everything was fine, then he'd happily take the ribbing from Lee and the Admiral.

"Set a course for Pulau Kangor."

"Setting a course for Pulau Kangor," O'Brien repeated.

Pulau Kangor: 0230

Birds and marsupials began their hysterical chatter in response to the shattering noise as bullets sliced wildly through nearby branches and leaves. Crane flinched as something stung his right arm but he didn't panic. He could hear their shouts and laughter and quickly realized they weren't aiming for him. After several more errant shots, the men moved off, content that the culprit was nothing more than one of the many jungle tree dwellers.

Crane breathed a temporary sigh of relief and tried to examine the tear in his shirt sleeve. His fingers were damp with blood and his upper arm felt like it was on fire but as near as he could tell, the wound wasn't too bad. Flexing his arm against the soreness, he repositioned himself for another look.

He couldn't see anyone now but off in the distance he could hear the multiple whine of motors—speedboats most likely. Either they were just returning from a raid or they were on their way out. Judging from the celebratory shouts, they were just returning. He thought about making his way back to the cave but the voices were getting louder. In just a few minutes the camp would be swarming with men. He couldn't risk getting caught now.

He could see them, carrying large crates past the tents then gathering around the fire, laughing and taking long swigs from glass bottles. Another man came into view, this one obviously their leader judging by the way he barked orders. Lee couldn't make out the insignias on the tattered officer's jacket he wore but he could make out the captain's stripes.

The man turned around giving Lee a good look at his face, at the red bandana he wore around his neck. He had seen something like that once before but he couldn't recall where.

The men were drinking heavily now, celebrating their latest raid, no doubt. Hopefully, they would drink themselves into a stupor and pass out. At the rate they were going, it wouldn't be long.

With nothing else to see, Lee leaned his back against the thick trunk and settled in to wait. With the noise of the men blending with the jungle sounds, Lee found himself alone with nothing else but his thoughts. He knew Jenkins was dead and Nelson was badly hurt. He regretted leaving Sharkey on his own to tend to the Admiral but he just couldn't sit by and allow the guilt to suffocate him. He had to do something. He had to know what they were up against and if there was a way back to the Flying Sub; he had to find food, water and weapons.

So far though, he hadn't been very successful. He still didn't know who these men were or what they wanted with Professor Kirkcastle's camp and although he had found some very green bananas and a few berries, he hadn't come across any fresh water. Even if he did, he hadn't anything to carry it in. They had one full and one nearly empty canteen but he had left both of them with Sharkey.

Closing his eyes, feeling the pangs of guilt slowly closing in, he tried to put the events of the last few hours out of his mind. He had to stay focused.

Checking his watch, seeing that an hour had passed, Lee felt restless. In the dim light of the campfire he could just see the entrance to the main tent and the motionless bodies lying on the ground outside. Taking a chance that the men were asleep, he carefully inched his way down the tree. Midway down, he froze. Voices. The recon party was on its way back.

Shit!

He was trapped. In the time it would take to climb back up they would see him for sure; if he kept descending, he would fall right into their lap. Thinking quickly, he could only see one option: let go now, drop the ten or so feet and then, if he didn't break anything in the fall, hope that he could run for cover before they got any closer. He could clearly hear their voices now; he didn't have much time.

Coming to an abrupt decision, he let go.

To be continued…