A third season story. Written for the "Again" story challenge at Seaview Stories and is the prequel to my story, When the Price is Too High, in which Chip helps Jamie come to terms with Lee's ONI missions. But Chip's wise words then, were the result of his own struggles to understand why Lee continually puts himself in harm's way for ONI. What he learns here is what he passes on to Jamie later.
The Bear Cage
by Lynn
Chapter One
The green hue of the night goggles guided the team through the dark, abandoned warehouse. Red laser sighting beams preceded their steps as the SEALs moved stealthily along with assault rifles poised and ready to fire. The team of three, honed in on two stationary figures lying on the floor only a few feet from one another. Two SEALs stood guard, sweeping their lasers back and forth as a third dropped to his knee beside one body. He turned the man over, assessing right away that his over two-hundred pound body-frame didn't match their intended target. A bloody wound in his chest indicated a life-threatening wound as the SEAL felt for a pulse. Deemed a non-threat at this point, he moved from the dead body to the crumpled form of another man taking pain-filled, shallow breaths. He kicked away a bloodied knife lying between the two men and took a knee beside the second figure. The prone man flinched as his crumpled form was turned onto his back, while warm blood spilling from his side emitted a greyish glow of thermal heat within the otherwise green outline provided by the night vision. More glowing streaks on his face indicated additional injuries, this assessment verified in his groans at the sudden movement. His eyes popped open, and the SEAL felt the man's weakened attempt to fight back under his restraining hold.
"Easy there. Kansas weatherman says warm and sunny today." The SEAL waited for a reply and got an airy expelled breath instead. He leaned closer and repeated the call sign insistently. "Kansas weatherman says warm and sunny today."
"Perfect day... for a tornado," he answered emotionless, wheezing between breaths and repeating the nonsensical phrase while silently wondering why the countersigns couldn't be shorter, having used too much air from lungs that seemed to lack sufficient volume at the moment.
"Good to see you Storm Chaser," the SEAL replied in a whisper. "You look a little banged up."
"Rough day at the office," he deadpanned.
The SEAL nodded, barely acknowledging the humor as he reached for his ear piece and listened. "Weatherman is asking for confirmation?" he asked reaching for Storm Chaser's arm.
"Mission accomplished."
"Noted. We're not out of the woods yet, so let's get going," he announced, pulling him up with an arm over his shoulder. The move invoked a small gasp, but otherwise the injured man quietly endured the process as he was pulled into a stand. "Doing okay?"
"I'm good."
"Okay, here we go," he announced, nodding to another SEAL who took Storm Chaser's other side as they backtracked out of the building. Ninety seconds later, they cleared the warehouse and made a hasty retreat to the surrounding trees. They moved quietly through the unfamiliar woods, with the only sound the wheezing of the injured man's haggard breaths.
"We're going to have to use the stretcher, he's not going to make it," his rescuer decided as they lowered him to the ground.
"I can... go... on," Storm Chaser insisted.
"You know what they call me?" the SEAL replied in a faux beg-to-differ tone, while reaching into a side pocket of his black fatigues. "Welby, as in Doctor Welby," the combat medic continued with a small grin. "So, just lay back and enjoy the ride, sir. We'll get you home," he promised, simultaneously injecting the operative with a shot of morphine.
Storm Chaser smiled thinly in response before his worried brow furrowed in question. "Cyclone?"
"Left with his new friends; still chummy," Welby answered cryptically while applying a pressure bandage to his bleeding side, before placing Lee Crane on the emergency fold-out stretcher and strapping him in tightly. The strong pain-killer did its job as the operative's eye's closed soon after, and the SEAL team continued on its way.
# # # # #
A cool breeze and salty air greeted Lee Crane the next time he opened his eyes, as a pained groan escaped before he could pull it back.
"Easy there, Storm Chaser. We're waiting for our ride."
"Already?"
"You missed a non-eventful, two-hour ride through a pot-hole infested excuse for a road," Welby joked, his night goggles now positioned over the top of his head and smiling encouragingly, leaving out the part about the grueling hour hike to said road.
Lee squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a groan as the pain crept back into his awareness. He was barely aware of the bandage Welby had applied to his side sometime along the way, all he knew was that everything hurt, and he could presently only manage shallow breaths.
Welby watched him with concern and then raised his head and listened toward the faint sound of a whispering motor approaching stealthily over the waves.
"Hear that, sir? You're almost home," Welby whispered encouragingly as he reached into his pocket again. "I'm going to have to give you some more sleep juice Chaser, we're going to have to man-handle you into the boat and I don't think it will be pleasant."
"No argument here," Lee replied wearily. He had done his part, and now it was time to let the SEALs do theirs, not that he really had much choice anyway. So, he closed his eyes and welcomed the relief far from the pain that even simple breathing invoked. The medication worked fast, and soon he was floating in a peaceful bliss, barely aware of the splashing around him as he was carried through knee-deep water and loaded expertly onto the raft. The sounds of the motored raft ferrying him to the sub were strangely muted as he watched the stars pass overhead in an almost dream-like state. His eyes grew heavy even as Welby leaned over to talk to him, but whatever he said sounded garbled and indiscernible, so he let it pass. He was out cold when his broken and damaged body was transferred to the submarine before it submerged silently into the night with its payload intact; a seriously injured ONI Operative and the information he possessed.
# # # # #
The small, but efficient sickbay's only patient was tucked into one of three bunks; his wheezy breaths still labored, even with an oxygen cannula in use. An IV drip hung nearby and his side had been cleaned and re-bandaged on what appeared to be a knife wound. His shirt had been discarded and Welby had found a disturbing sight underneath; dark purple and black bruises spanning his entire mid-section. A quick examination revealed three broken ribs, and he suspected several more cracked. Without a doctor on board, the real assessment of internal injuries would have to wait until the patient was transferred to a surface vessel, but he suspected as much since Storm Chaser was now sporting a fever to go along with his other injuries. His face hadn't escaped the ill-treatment of his tormentors either, as dark bruises and cuts joined a split lip, swollen eyes, and a jaw that looked as if it had taken some heavy blows. White butterfly bandages on his jaw and high on his cheek bone had abated the bleeding and provided a stark contrast to the surrounding bruises.
"How is he?" Captain Wilson asked quietly.
"Holding his own, but I suspect a broken rib is pressing against his lung. I may have to intubate him if his breathing becomes any more labored," Welby answered tiredly. It had been a long grueling night; the emotional high of a successful extraction was countered once he got Storm Chaser into sickbay where he was finally able to see the extent of his injuries. "His wrist is bruised and swollen, I suspect a fracture," he continued. "I've splinted it and wrapped his ribs. Probable concussion, although he was able to answer the call sign and converse rationally," he added.
"It was a rough mission," Wilson replied distantly as he studied the injured operative.
Welby chuckled lightly but respectfully. "That's pretty much what he said, 'Rough day at the office,'" he recalled.
"That sounds like him all right," the captain answered with a small sigh and a half-smile.
"You know him, sir?"
"Yeah, I know him," Wilson answered, pausing a moment at the dark angry bruises on Lee's abused face. "You know what a storm chaser does, don't you?" he asked almost whimsically.
"A thrill seeker who gets an adrenalin high getting as close to a tornado as possible," Welby replied with a shrug of his shoulders for the definition he had come up with.
"Yeah, that's part of it, but not the whole story. They chase the storms and report the 'ground truth' to weather stations. All the forecasting in the world can't beat feet on the ground and eyes to the skies to tell them what's really happening. They go into the fray knowing they may be cheating death, so that real-time data can result in life-saving warnings, to real people in the path of the storm. That fits Storm Chaser to a 'T'," he said with a nod of self-agreement, "and if he said 'mission accomplished,' you can bet your bottom dollar he did exactly that," he finished resolutely before abruptly turning. "Keep me informed of his progress," he added before stepping through the hatch and closing it behind him.
Welby expelled a breath and returned his attention to his patient; an operative who had given his all in the line of duty and was now paying the price. He only hoped that his skills as a combat medic would be enough until a real doctor got a hold of him.
# # # # #
Earlier that day…
"You know what I think Richards?" the heavyset man asked as his thug buddies picked Lee up from the ground after he'd been sucker punched. "I think you're a stool pigeon. What? Did they cut a deal with you? Is that it?" he asked, drawing Lee close with a fisted hold to his collar.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Lucas," he yelled back defiantly, his arms held tightly and still shaking the cobwebs from his brain after the devastating blow.
"Frisk him," he ordered, releasing his hold as Edwards and Cox threw him against the wall and conducted a thorough search, before spinning him back toward Lucas.
"Nothing," Coleton Edwards reported.
"See?" Lee challenged disrespectfully.
"You're the only one who could have done it, Richards," Lucas countered. "Do you think for a minute I'd believe Cole or Jerry here are even capable of turning on a computer; much less hacking it?"
"You've got nothing on me, Lucas. There's no way Ryker is going believe these lies," he argued, standing his ground and playing the best cards available to him. In only three short weeks, he had taken over the identity of a known bad guy, infiltrated the organization, and made his way into the good graces of the arms "distributor". He'd proven his worth and had secured and sold for a hefty profit, some very lucrative items.
Lucas took a step forward, closing the gap between the two. "Ryker's on to you, Richards," he delivered coolly, "seems you've been ratted out."
Lee felt the hands restraining him tightened their hold, tugging him back as he leaned forward. "This is a set-up. Ryker knows I'm loyal." He was pretty sure Lucas was bluffing about the stool pigeon stuff and was fishing for information at this point, but he did know something.
"That's where you're wrong, Richards," Lucas said calmly and smiling unnervingly. "Ryker knows you stole from him… took a commission for yourself and cheated him out of a quarter million dollars."
Lee stared back into Lucas' cold eyes; there was no use denying it. If Ryker knew about the hacking and the quarter million then the jig was up.
Lucas' smile widened. "Now the only thing left to do, is to find out where you stashed the quarter million," he announced ominously as Lucas backed off and Ryker's enforcer stepped forward. A simple tilt of his head and the large, muscle-bound brute moved in, punching a fist into his cupped hand with every dangerous step forward.