Wrath

by kashkow

Sometimes you can take the measure of a man by the enemies that he has...Part 4 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' cycle.

Wrath by Ellen H.

Chapter 1-

The phone rang in the well-appointed office. A languid hand reached for the intercom button.

"Yes?" the owner of the hand said, in an accented voice. An accented voice was the norm in Hong Kong, in this very international city that even with the return of control to China still was the center of most financial dealings in the Eastern hemisphere. What New York was to the Western hemisphere, so was Hong Kong to the East. Many international companies had their headquarters here, avoiding high taxes and constraining laws. Most had their own buildings, multistoried and expensive, and this office was in one such building, part of a penthouse suite of offices. In answer to the question a secretary's voice answered.

"There is a call. The gentleman did not give a name. He said I should mention the word 'admiral.'"

"Very well. Put it through." There was a pause, and a small beep. "Speak."

"There is a target of opportunity."

"And you feel that I would be interested?"

"I understand that certain people were pivotal in making it necessary for you to leave your country. I was told to notify the main office if either of the two men was in my area. One of my contacts happened to mention that Nelson was coming back from Annapolis this afternoon for a dinner meeting. The opportunity is narrow, but it can be done."

"There are other plans for that one, but that is in the future, and certain entertainments can be had as long as the results are not permanent. It will add to the impact of the final blow. Can you access the New York facility in Buffalo?"

"It would be tight, but yeah. What you got in mind?"

"The newest product, the one that Revere told the board about, with the… unfortunate side effects. Do you know of what I speak?"

"Yes, I... uh... heard that the Big Man was in a real snit about it not working out."

"Perhaps a field-test on a human subject would hurry the process along?"

"I'll see what can be done."

"Good. Keep me updated."

The man in the chair sat back and looked out the window at the teeming city. He wasn't one for complicated plots, strike and counterstrike. He wanted his enemies dead, but was not adverse to torturing them before hand. But his main quarry was wise in the way of these things, and was difficult to attack. Until the time came when they were face to face, he would have to content himself with the small injuries he could inflict.

Chapter 2-

The emergency room nurse sitting at the desk looked up as the door leading in from the parking area was flung open by a slim man wearing camouflage fatigues. That in itself wasn't too out of the ordinary, since being on the outskirts of Washington DC there were a lot of military personnel nearby, and they occasionally needed help faster than a trip to a military hospital would permit. What was different was that this man was wearing black and green paint on the back of his hands and face, though an unsuccessful effort had been made to remove it, leaving for the most part only a pair of golden colored eyes and, once the boonie style hat was removed, a head of short black hair to give testimony to his regular appearance. The expressive eyes looked at her anxiously.

"I was told that two of my friends were brought in after an accident, an auto accident." The nurse looked closely at the man, and the anxiety seemed to grow.

"I'm the commanding officer of one man, and the other is my employer, I'm his legal next of kin," he said quickly, as of sensing she was going to refuse to give him any information. She called up her computer program. She looked back at him.

"Names?"

"Harriman Nelson and Chip Morton."

She entered the names, and read the screen. "They have both been sent up to a semi-private room. Mr. Morton has a broken arm and Mr. Nelson has a concussion. They are both being kept overnight for observation. The doctor has noted that they may leave tomorrow."

"Can I see them?" the young man asked. The nurse glanced at the clock and then at the small sign on the desk that stated the visiting hours, the hours that had just ended less than 30 minutes earlier. The man followed her gaze to the sign and then to the clock. She could see that beneath the colorful paint the face was handsome, and from what she could see beneath the fatigues, he had a body to go with it. She could also see the disappointment in those gorgeous eyes. He looked down at his clothes and then back at her. He shrugged.

"I was on a training maneuver. I didn't get the message until it was over and I came straight here. I tried to clean up, but didn't get much done. Is there any way I could just see them for a moment or two. I won't stay, I just want to…" He didn't finish, instead letting her fill in the last of the sentence in her own mind. "Make sure they are okay."

She glanced around. It wasn't busy right now, and there was no one around that could hear them.

"Forth floor, room 435. I have a friend on duty up there. I'll give her a call. You can only have a few minutes, and if they are asleep you mustn't wake them up," she said. She might never see him again, but she might as well enjoy the fantasy while he was here. A charming smile was her reward, as he thanked her in low tones and headed for the elevator. She watched as he walked away, admiring the rear view, which was almost as nice as the front. It seemed the fatigues fit very well. Yes indeed, she needed to get down near the base more often.

The forth floor nurse was waiting when the doors opened. They had just finished serving dinner, and the ward was quiet as everyone ate. It would be busy again after the trays were picked up and they started getting everyone settled for the night. She was anxious to see this man that Ginger had sent up. Must be something. The door opened to reveal a slim figure in camouflage fatigues. The man was wiping at his face with a paint-covered handkerchief, and looked up as the doors opened. "Oh boy!" was the first thought she had. This one definitely was a looker. That fine boned face, those golden eyes, that black hair with just a hint of curl. She might be married, but she could certainly enjoy a good-looking male, and this one was very nice. She nodded her head toward the direction of the right room, and he smiled at her. Make that very, VERY nice. She watched him pause for a moment in front of the correct door then enter before she returned to her charts.

Lee Crane pushed open the door to the room to which he had been directed. The lights were low and as he entered he could see that both occupants appeared to be asleep. He moved to stand in the space between the two beds, looking from one peaceful face to the other. Chip Morton, blond hair mussed and with a bruise on his left temple, had his left arm in a cast from fingertip to elbow. He looked a little pale, but otherwise okay. Crane looked over at the other patient.

Admiral Harriman Nelson also looked pale. He had some bruising on his face as well, and a white bandage was wrapped around his head holding a dressing in place over the right ear. A concussion, the nurse had said; she hadn't mentioned the bruising. The two men had evidently gotten off lightly. Crane dropped into a convenient chair and closed his eyes in a silent moment of thanks. As he did so his mind reviewed the day that had started out normally and had quickly gone to hell. But the two men had evidently gotten off lightly compared to the scenes that had been flashing through his mind since he got the message that his friends had been in an accident and were in the hospital.

The submarine Seaview was docked in the Norfolk Virginia Naval yard for repairs on her hull. In the course of the last mission they had been forced to ram a People's Republic submarine, and the damage to the portside hull plates required immediate attention. They might have been able to limp home to Santa Barbara, but there were signs of stress fractures in those plates surrounding the damaged area, and both Crane, as captain of the boat, and Nelson, her owner and designer, had agreed that it was better to be safe. The crew was sent home on leave, and for the last three weeks the officers had passed the time with some leave of their own. After enjoying themselves the three senior officers had turned their attention to the business of future funding and provisioning. That unfortunately entailed seemingly endless meetings with interchangeable congressional committees, Naval high command, and the occasional cocktail party.

Crane had stood all he could, and then had arranged a "required training session" at Langley. He had been there for the last two days working with covert ops teams on infiltration techniques. If he couldn't be on his boat, he much preferred crawling through the bushes of the CIA training area to prowling the halls of the Pentagon chasing down various requisition officers who were not prepared to let go of any material in their care. Nelson had given him a knowing smile when he announced his intent, and Chip had given him a nudge in the ribs with his elbow and a fake scowl. The XO would find a way to get back at him he knew. The exercise had ended just over an hour earlier and he had returned to headquarters to find a message at the desk telling him that Nelson and Morton, who had been up at Annapolis, had been in some sort of auto accident. There had been no details, and the person who had taken the note was already gone for the day. Crane had borrowed a car, a fast one he had been glad to find, and had headed for the hospital. He sat now, in the silence of the room, and took what was possibly his first deep breath since he had read that note. Thank God there were no serious injuries. He would have to see what he could find out about the accident when he left here. Some would say he was paranoid, but in the world he inhabited, more often than not paranoia was a survival tactic not to be ignored. Nelson had enemies and Crane was determined that they would not get to the man while HE was able to prevent it.

He gently reached over and touched Morton's hand. He was going to be in a hell of a bad mood for a while. Chip hated not being 100%. The junior officers and ratings should be glad that at least the first part of his recovery would be over before they returned to duty. The last time Chip had a broken limb, a leg, the itching had driven him almost over the edge, and even the XO's normally calm façade had fallen prey to a grumpiness that he had taken out on any unsuspecting sailor in his vicinity. Eventually everyone had learned to steer clear of the man if it was at all possible. This time he would be even more mobile and nowhere on the boat would be safe. Crane was glad he was immune to most of it, though he knew he would get his share of it one way or another.

Crane turned his eyes to the other man, and felt again the same stab of fear he had felt when he had read the note. Nelson wasn't young anymore, for all of the energy that he projected. He might still be active and hearty, but still, how often could a man his age take wounds and keep bouncing back? It was just recently he had been the victim of an electrocution that had left him not breathing and with no pulse. Which concussion, which injury, would be the one that was too much? He lightly gripped Nelson's hand, trying not to think about the time in the future when that warm hand might not be there to guide him. He watched the slow rise and fall of the broad chest for a few minutes and then stood to go. As he was moving away from the chair, the door opened and an orderly entered the room. He came to a startled stop as he came almost face to face with Crane. The captain noted that the other man held a syringe in his hand and he assumed that it was time for some medication for one of his friends. The surprise he attributed to the fact he wasn't supposed to be there.

"I was just leaving," he said, and started for the door. He paused for a look back and saw that the orderly had moved to the side of Nelson's bed, and was injecting the contents of the syringe into the IV that fed into the admiral's arm. He met the dark eyes of the other man, and for a second his instincts told him not to leave, that this man was a danger, but he shook it off. Evidently that paranoia was getting a little out of hand. He sighed and left the room, striding toward the elevator. He smiled at the nurse who was back behind the desk filling out a chart as he went by. She smiled back, and he altered course to come to a stop at the desk.

"I know visiting hours start at 0900… 9:00 am in the morning, but will they be ready to be released before that? I can be here whenever necessary," he asked.

She looked through her charts and shook her head. "Both are down for a last physician's visit before release. That will be at least 11:00 am, after rounds."

Crane frowned, but then shrugged. There wasn't much he could do, and he wanted his friends to have the best care possible. He would have been more comfortable if Jamieson were here or, at the very least, one of the doctors from the Institute. "I'll be here at 9:00. If they ask, could you tell them I was here? My name is Lee Crane." She smiled and nodded, her attention being drawn away by a blinking light on her console. He took the elevator down to the ground floor and went out to his borrowed car. He would have to see about renting something for tomorrow he guessed. He started the car and headed out of the parking lot. As his headlights ranged across the front of the hospital, he saw a familiar figure coming out the door, the orderly. He once again felt that suspicion, or whatever it was, that told him that this man was dangerous. He shook his head and continued out of the parking lot.

Chapter 3-

The next morning Chip Morton was sitting up in his bed trying to eat his breakfast without moving his casted arm. It ached, and his meds were starting to fade. He wasn't usually in favor of painkillers, but the arm was throbbing, and he would welcome a little something to take the edge off. Not to mention that he swore it was already starting to itch. He speared the last of his eggs and looked over at Nelson who was poking at his food. The admiral had not been in a good mood since waking a half hour earlier, but Chip ascribed that to a headache and general soreness, something he understood well. The older man had growled at everyone who had come into the room, from nurse to "pink lady". They had all taken it with a grain of salt, evidently used to dealing with crotchety patients. Chip had tried to be extra nice to make up for it. All in all, Chip was feeling rather lucky and thankful. They had gotten off lightly. He still wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He had been driving them back from Annapolis when suddenly the car had been violently jolted to the side. He had spared a quick glance over his shoulder and had been only able to see a dark car with headlights on high coming back in for another hit. He had struggled to keep them on the road. He vaguely remembered having succeeded for the most part, but it was very fuzzy. Maybe Lee would have more information.

He hadn't been very surprised when the night nurse had told him when he woke up around 0200 that his friend had been there. She had said that Crane had managed to talk his way in after visiting hours, and would be back later today to take them home. Leave it to Lee to charm the staff to get his way, not that he would have seen it that way Morton knew. Ever the gentleman, Crane would never use the personal charm he had for his own gain. Lee must have been very worried. He probably had gotten a note at Langley, or even at the hotel. Not a great way to get news about your friends. Crane tended to take everything on his own shoulders, and Morton suspected he would already be feeling guilty for not being there, even if he would have just been another victim.

For his part, Harriman Nelson was aware of his bad mood. He did have a headache, and his whole body seemed to be echoing that pain. His back hurt, his shoulder and chest ached from the seatbelt, and his left ankle felt like he had twisted it. He must have been bracing himself on that leg when the other car hit them. He didn't really remember much about it. His head had smashed against the window when the car hit them the first time, and everything after that as like a dream. The crunching of metal and shattering of glass echoed in his memory, but that was it. He wasn't really sure why he was allowing himself to be grumpy to all and sundry, usually he was well able to control his moods. It just didn't seem worth the effort right now, and so he just let it be. After he had snapped at Chip about some minor thing, the younger man had retreated to silence and was concentrating on his breakfast. Nelson just pushed his around the plate, not really feeling hungry. He was glad that Lee would be coming to get them soon. He wanted to get out of here. Maybe once he was back at the hotel, he would be able to relax and his mood would lighten. He looked up from his meal as the door opened to reveal Lee Crane in his dark blue uniform. A glance at the clock showed it was an hour before visiting hours officially started. Evidently Crane had talked his way past the nurses. Leave it to Crane to use his looks to get what he wanted. Nelson frowned to himself. Where had that thought come from? It had sounded resentful, even to him. And wasn't true besides. Lee seemed oblivious to the effect he had on women. He shook it off and forced a smile.

"So, have you come to spring us?" he asked cheerfully. Obviously, his false tone must have registered with the captain because he saw a flash of concern in the younger man's eyes and saw him glance at Morton. Nelson felt another surge of anger. His mood was no one's business but his. Crane evidently decided to let it drop since he smiled and came forward to stand between the beds.

I'm afraid the doctor didn't feel any need to rush down here. He'll be here after rounds I guess. That won't be until eleven."

"Then why are you here now?" Nelson groused. He was shocked at his own rudeness, but really didn't feel like apologizing either. Crane blinked at him in obvious confusion. He looked at Morton who shrugged.

"I… guess I can come back at eleven if you prefer," he said finally. Nelson waved his hand.

"You're here now. You might as well stay," Nelson said with ill grace. "Did you find out what caused the accident?"

Crane shook his head. "It was a hit and run. The other car left the scene before the police could get there. The description the witnesses gave is a Lincoln, black, dark green, or blue. No license plate that anyone saw. They evidently hit you three times."

"I can remember two then things get fuzzy," Morton said. He saw Crane glancing between him and Nelson. He had been shocked at the admiral's attitude. It wasn't like the OOM at all to be nasty, and certainly not to Lee. He could tell his friend was just as puzzled as he was.

"You were lucky…" Crane started only to be interrupted by a snort from Nelson. The captain looked at Nelson, waiting to see if a comment was forthcoming, but when it became obvious there was none he continued, "If it hadn't been for a light post that they were just installing you would have gone over the side of the bridge. The front axel wedged into the space between the road and the light base. It kept the car from going over. There was a 25-foot sheer fall. I think you would have been badly hurt at the least."

Chip shook his head, just as happy that he hadn't been aware of the small cliff they had been hanging on. "You're right; we were lucky. Do you think it was planned? Not an accident?" he asked.

"Of course it wasn't an accident. It just remains to be determined who they were after. Probably thought YOU were in the car captain. You seem to draw these types like flies. Mr. Morton and I were probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Nelson snapped. The two younger officers exchanged glances again. Then Crane looked back at the admiral.

"If you'll forgive me sir, you seem to be the most likely target. You have a lot of enemies. It could be any number of people. I have alerted the police and they'll keep us informed on the progress of the investigation. It might be best if we left the hotel and stayed on the boat. The repairs are to a point that we won't be in the way and the security on base is much better than anything the hotel could provide. If someone is going to try again, it would be safer on any innocent bystanders as well," he suggested.

Nelson thought about it and could find no fault with the idea. He nodded in agreement. In the back of his mind a small voice seemed to be whispering to him though. "Why he is making decisions for me? I'm not in my dotage. The boy needs to be slapped down before he gets too uppity. I need to show him who is in command here." He shook the voice away and settled back on his pillow, pushing away the tray table. He closed his eyes, and hoped the pounding in his head, along with the voices, would go away. He vaguely heard the two other men conversing quietly on the other side of the room. He wondered briefly if they were talking about him, but didn't really care. Let them talk.

Crane and Morton talked about various things for the next several hours. They dropped into a companionable silence on occasion, each comfortable with the other. As Nelson appeared to have drifted off, they kept their voices low. They talked about the repairs and a few changes that they wanted to make in the crew roster. They lightly brushed on their next mission, but given the non-secure circumstances, they could not discuss any specifics. They were discussing the recent Army-Navy game when a doctor pushed through the door with two clipboards in his hand.

"Good morning gentlemen. I'm Dr. Parks. I'll be doing your release exams. Who wants to go first?"

Nelson, who had been awoken by the doctor's voice, waved a hand. "Please. I would like to get out of here as soon as possible."

Crane stepped out into the hall to allow the doctor to work uninterrupted. As he leaned against the wall, he tried to shake the feeling that had been growing in his gut since he had first walked into the room. There was something wrong with Nelson. It had to be something to do with the concussion; he had heard that concussions could cause temporary changes in behavior. It was hard to take though. Here was Nelson, the man he had come to consider as his father, and now he was talking to him as if he were a bother, somebody to be tolerated and that was all. He shook his head; maybe the doctor could shed some light on the problem. After fifteen minutes the door opened, and the doctor exited the room. Crane moved to stop him from leaving.

"Excuse me, doctor. Could I ask you a question?" At the physician's nod he continued. "I noticed that Admiral Nelson is… agitated, almost angry. Could that be a side effect of the concussion?"

The doctor considered him for a moment then answered apparently satisfied he would be breaking no confidentiality. "Yes, there have been instances where a temporary change of temperament has been reported. Do you feel that Admiral Nelson is being particularly out of sorts?"

Crane, searching his memory for instances in the past, shrugged, "He's got a right to be out of sorts. He was in an accident. I am sure he has a heck of a headache. It just seems that his temper is…" He didn't have the right words for what he was trying to say. Jamieson would have known what he meant.

The other doctor tried to clarify. "Does he usually have a temper?"

Crane nodded. "He can have. But not in a nasty or rude way." He glanced at the closed door. "Even when he's angry, he's never denigrating or belittling. Now…" He shrugged again. Perhaps he shouldn't have started this.

The doctor, however, nodded in understanding. "I understand. As I said, it is not an unknown side effect. I would advise you to mention this to his physician." He opened the chart and scanned down the page. "Dr. Jamieson, isn't it? He will be following up in a few days in any event, and I am sure he will be better able than I to notice any changes in personality. Try not to worry. Despite his age, Admiral Nelson appears to be in good health, and I am sure the effects of the concussion will fade rapidly." With a nod, he strode off down the corridor. Crane watched as he went into the next room and then turned back to the door to the room where his friends waited. He should go see if he could help Chip get dressed. He sensed that any offer to help Nelson would be turned down in no uncertain terms. He had never thought that there would be a time that he could offer his hand in aid to Nelson and have it refused. He sighed. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

Chapter 4-

The intercom buzzed in the well-appointed office, and the man at the desk looked up from the papers he was reading. "Si?" he said, pushing the button.

"That same gentleman you spoke with yesterday is on the phone again," the secretary said.

"Put him on." There was a pause and when he heard the click of the line engaging, he spoke again. "Talk."

"It went as planned. The drug was administered last night. He should start having symptoms today. At the dosage I gave him it should be in his system for two or even three weeks. The final crisis should be something to see if what the docs at the lab say is true. He should pretty near self-destruct, and might just take anyone nearby with him. You might just kill two birds with one stone if you know what I mean."

"No one saw you? You're sure? They will begin to look once they find out what has happened."

"There's nothing to worry about. Crane saw me, but I was dressed like an orderly. As to the drug, it's not registered with the FDA or anyone else, and so they can't trace it back."

"Crane saw you? Are you stupid? The man is a trained intelligence agent. He'll remember your face! You have just made yourself useless to us there! Idiot!"

"I didn't know he was there! It was after visiting hours. I had no way of knowing. It doesn't matter anyway. How's he going to connect me to it? As far as he knows, I was just giving Nelson the prescribed medication."

"You don't know Crane like I do! It is always a good policy to know your enemies capabilities, and I know Crane. I'll contact the main office. You'll be relocated immediately. You will be contacted with the details." He hit the button to cut off the sputtering from the other end of the line.

The man at the desk leaned back in his chair. It was exceedingly unfortunate that the man had been seen. He could be right about Crane not remembering, but it was too much of a chance to take. If this man was compromised, his contacts would be compromised, and that was something that could not be allowed. He would have to take care of that.

He really didn't care about Nelson. The admiral had certainly had a hand in what had happened in Costa Nuestra, but it had been the other that had been there before, supplying the rebels with guns, helping the rebels to strategize. Then he had involved the rebels again when he had fled the lab. If he hadn't been there, if he had just died when he was supposed to, things would have been different. He would be running the country by now, instead of that… He stopped the train of thought. It was getting him nowhere to dwell on what he could not change. That would come soon enough.

But then there was the other thing. THAT was personal. It was family. He had not heard about it until he had come here, heard about the massive drug bust at the docks in Japan, about the undercover American agent who would testify against the leader of the drug cartel. The agent who had been instrumental in breaking one of the largest drug rings in the Pacific. A drug ring run by his cousin. The same cousin who now was in prison in Japan awaiting trial on counts of drug trafficking, murder, racketeering, and numerous other crimes that would net him a lengthy prison term. Unfortunately, at this point even the death of the star witness would not save him. As the cartel had fallen there had been plenty of volunteers to testify to save their own skin. Yes, Lee Crane had much to answer for.

Chapter 5-

It had been a long week. They had gone from the hospital to the hotel where Crane had packed up everything for himself and Morton. Nelson had taken care of his own things, slamming the door of his room behind him. They had gone from there to the boat, and so it had gone. Nelson sequestered himself in his lab or quarters, making the occasional appearance at meals, and being generally gruff each time he met one of his junior officers. The crew had slowly returned from their liberty in preparation for sailing. Jamieson had been one of the last to return, having been the best man at a wedding in San Diego two days previously. He had come aboard at dinnertime and had come into the wardroom seeking coffee, having eaten on the plane.

He found a silent and brooding wardroom. The junior officers were clustered at one end of the room. Crane and Morton sat at a table in the middle of the room, and Nelson was an island unto himself at the other end. He was glowering at a report. Jamieson had looked from the admiral's unhappy and still bruised face to Morton's broken arm, to the junior officers oh so silently eating. Morton was at least eating. In front of Crane, Jamieson observed a nearly untouched plate of Cookie's best efforts. As Morton raised his eyes to acknowledge the newcomer, Crane turned to see who was there and Jamieson saw something in the amber colored eyes that he could not identify. What the hell was going on?

He could see no sign of an injury on the captain, an unusual occurrence in itself, but obviously something had happened. He sauntered, more or less casually, to the coffee urn, passing Nelson as he did so. He watched the eyes of the junior officers follow him, as if they were waiting for something. He glanced at Nelson as he passed, surprised when the man did not so much as raise his eyes to acknowledge his presence. His relationship with Nelson went back many years, and to have a man he considered a friend as well as an employer treat him as if he didn't exist was somewhat disconcerting. He got the coffee and moved back to sit beside Chip Morton, looking at the cast on his left arm and the bruises on his face. From the color of the bruises, he assumed whatever had happened had taken place approximately a week earlier. Aside from the cast there was no evidence of any other injuries as Morton continued to eat. His appetite had not been affected at all it seemed. Jamieson shifted his eyes from Morton to Crane, and found himself the study of the solemn golden eyes. That same look was still there, though now hidden behind the mask that Jamieson was just now learning to pierce to see the real man underneath. He opted to keep his questions light; things seemed grim enough.

"I'll assume that what ever happened wasn't too serious since I received no phone call. I also see no obvious damage on you, Captain. While this is a nice change, I must admit I am curious as to the cause of Mr. Morton's misfortune, another shore leave on the edge?" The two were becoming known for falling into the most curious of circumstances on what should have been a simple shore leave.

Morton always claimed it was Crane's fault, while the captain simply shrugged it off as simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jamieson watched as Crane and Morton exchanged looks and almost as one glanced at Nelson. He listened as Morton related the story of the accident, noting more what was not said than what was. He turned thoughtful eyes to Nelson, then back to Crane who was still watching him. He nodded as Morton finished.

"All right," he said, deciding to ignore the undercurrents for now. That conversation was for elsewhere. "I will expect you to report to sickbay after mess, Mr. Morton. Hopefully your records will have been sent over by now. I'll want to x-ray the arm and see how it's doing." The XO nodded, knowing from past experience that argument was useless. Seeing that there was no further information forthcoming the doctor finished his coffee and rose to his feet. He went and put the cup in the dirty dish bin, and stopped at the side of Nelson's table. He calmly waited for the man to acknowledge him.

"Doctor?" It came as almost a growl. Jamieson raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment about the tone.

"I will also expect you to report to sickbay this evening, Admiral. I want to follow up on your concussion."

"There is nothing to 'follow-up' on. I had a headache for several days but it is gone now. No need to bother with it."

Jamieson was shaking his head before Nelson finished. "Regulations. Regulations YOU wrote by the way, require that the CMO sign off on any injuries incurred either on or off the boat before the person is returned to duty status," Jamieson responded. He watched with clinical interest as tide of red suffused Nelson's face and the right hand clenched into a fist. After what seemed to be a major effort of will, Nelson spoke calmly.

"Very well, Doctor. I will be there in one hour. Will that be sufficient?" It was said in a clipped, almost brusque, tone.

"Of course, Admiral, I'll be expecting you." Jamieson continued out of the wardroom, considering what he had seen and heard. He was anxious to see the reports from the doctor at the hospital. If they hadn't come already he would have them faxed. Something was going on and he was determined to figure out what.

Two hours later he was writing up his notes when there was a tap on his office door. He glanced at the clock, and gave himself a mental point. He had it down to the minute almost.

"Come," he called out. With no surprise he watched as Lee Crane entered the office and closed the door behind him. The captain moved to the chair in front of Jamieson's desk and sat. He looked from the notes up to Jamieson.

"I assume I don't need to tell you why I am here?" he asked with a small humorless smile.

Jamieson returned the smile, and shook his head, closing the file. He was bound by patient-doctor confidentiality to some degree, but as the captain of the boat, Crane had rights to certain information regarding the health of crewmembers, even those that outranked him. He leaned back in his chair. Mentally reviewing the exams he had just given. Morton's had gone as expected. The arm showed early signs of healing, as did the various bruises. Other than the expected complaint about itching, the XO had no issues of concern. The admiral on the other hand…

The exam had started out on a sour note to begin with, as Jamieson had been finishing up with Morton when Nelson came in. The two men had been like two strange cats meeting on a fence. Backs had figuratively arched and fur stood on end. Morton's blue eyes, moments before laughing at something Jamieson had said, had turned glacial, and the XO mask had dropped. Nelson had been less successful at hiding his feeling. A spark of something had lit the blue eyes, and he had looked grimly upon the junior officer. Morton had finished buttoning his shirt and had picked up his tie, crumpling it in his fist. After that first look the younger man had completely ignored his superior officer, listening to Jamieson's instructions, and then leaving with a quick nod at the doctor. Nelson had sat on the exam table and had been stoically silent except to answer the questions posed by the doctor. Jamieson had been gratified to find that the concussion appeared to be healing nicely, as were the bruises.

Jamieson had covered all the neurological tests, and had been preparing to take a blood sample when Nelson had refused. He stated in no uncertain terms that while he would submit to the required exam, there was no medical necessity for a blood test, and as such none would be taken. A round of arguments had yielded only an empty exam room and a slamming door. Jamieson had been surprised to say the least. Nelson was known for his temper, but what he had just seen had not been temper, it had been anger, pure and simple. Jamieson had got the impression throughout the argument that Nelson was trying to contain it, to make his argument logically instead of angrily. Jamieson was well aware that one of the possible symptoms of concussion was a change of temperament, but this was not a textbook reaction. Usually the emotions were altered across the board, not confined to one. He needed that blood test, but currently, as Nelson had pointed out, there was no medical reason beyond a vague suspicion to have it done. That wasn't going to fly. Nelson might not be a doctor of medicine, but he knew enough about it to make a reasonable argument.

Jamieson shook himself from his memory and looked at Crane, who was patiently waiting for an answer. In the bright light of the office Jamieson could see telltale signs of stress in the young officer, skillfully hidden behind the efficient captain front, but revealed to his discerning eye by years of observation of the subject. He shook his head again. "First, Mr. Morton is healing nicely. The break was clean and they repaired it well. He'll be in the cast for another five weeks or so. I see no reason that he can't be on regular duty as long as he doesn't need anything beyond his current dose of non-narcotic painkillers. I would suggest that anything long enough to be stuffed down his cast for scratching purposes be removed from his vicinity." He stopped and sighed. "As to the admiral… I did a complete neurological check. He's healing fine. The concussion is fading as are the bruises."

Crane sat back in the chair, and stared at the deck. "I talked to the doctor at the hospital. He said that changes in temperament weren't too unusual with a concussion but that they would fade away. He said you would know better than he what constituted 'different'." The golden eyes looked at him. "It's not fading. He's getting worse."

"I noticed the separation in the wardroom. I take it things have not been pleasant the last week?"

Crane shook his head and ran one hand through his hair. "He's been on the warpath all week. Nothing is done fast enough or right enough. Everyone and everything is an irritation, a bother. I tried talking to him about the next mission and he blew me off, gave me an outline and told me to figure it out myself, that he was tired of…" Crane broke off with a shake of his head. Jamieson saw that unidentifiable something again, but it was quickly hidden. "He's angry ALL the time. That's not like him. He doesn't hold it in. He usually just explodes and gets it all out at once. Something has to be wrong." The last was almost a plea, and Jamieson knew that whatever had gone on between the two men had not been pretty. That probably explained the reaction from Morton. The XO would take almost anything for himself and show nothing, but an attack on Crane would have been met with a ferocious response. The loyalty and affection between the two was a constant source of amazement to the doctor. That kind of friendship was rare. He sighed.

"Short of a full exam - blood samples, CAT scan, MRI, x-rays, etc - there's no way I can determine if there is a medical reason for it." He looked at Crane, gauging his state of mind. "I don't suppose there could be any other explanation. Something going on in his private life?" He knew that if anyone knew about Nelson's very private existence it was this young man. The doctor was one of the few privileged to know the true depth of the relationship between the two men.

But Crane was shaking his head. "He's not seeing anyone now, and he hadn't mentioned any problems with any of the remaining family. The Institute is doing really well, better than expected as a matter of fact according to the accountants. The refit went well, and the Navy was paying for that since it happened on a mission for them. He was just nominated for another science award for that work down on the atoll; he's probably going to win that. There's nothing. Nothing that would make him like this… unless…" The young captain stopped and shook away whatever thought had come up without continuing. He looked at Jamieson. "I don't imagine there's any way to get him to submit to the complete physical?"

"According to regulations? No. Unfortunately, perpetual grouchiness is not one of the criteria unless it escalates to a degree that he is nowhere near. As unpleasant as his demeanor may be, we're not exactly talking Captain Queeg here."

Crane nodded. "I understand. I'm just concerned. He's not himself, and I think it's something to do with the crash. Chip says he was in a good mood on the way back from Annapolis, laughing and telling one of his stories about someone he knew on the faculty. It changed after that. That has to be the key. Maybe if it wasn't the concussion, it's some sort of reaction to something they gave him."

"I agree, but unless he agrees to be examined there is nothing I can do. We had annual physicals last month, so I don't have a leg to stand on. I'm going to be doing some research, and get on to the hospital and see if they took any blood samples." He saw the disappointment in Crane's eyes, swiftly masked. He was sorry to say it. He knew that as the person closest to Nelson, and as the captain of the boat, that Crane would be bearing the brunt of the unusual moodiness. The captain rose to his feet and started for the door.

"Thanks, Jamie. Let me know what you find out, will you?" he said before he opened the door. With an attempt at a smile he was gone, leaving Jamieson to stare at the closed door. He sighed and rocked in his chair. He looked down at his notes and read what he had written there. He very definitely wanted to talk to the attending physician at the hospital, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. They would be sailing on the morning tide. He hoped he would have enough time.

Chapter 6-

Once again the man in the office atop the tall building answered a call from a nameless gentleman. "You have something new to report?" he asked.

"The submarine has left the area. Their mission is evidently classified. I have not been able to find out where they are going. I was able to mingle with several of the crew before they sailed, however. There was a lot of talk about how Nelson has been acting, about arguments with the other officers, particularly the captain. They are saying how he had been angry, very angry."

'Good, good! I believe he should be entering the final stages in the next week or so if the lab tests are right. It seems he is reacting like 90% of the test subjects; we should see some interesting results with this."

"About the other thing. Do you still think I need to relocate? They obviously haven't connected this to the drug. I don't see how they can make a connection to me."

"Don't underestimate them, I told you before. Nelson will survive this, and they will no doubt discover the reason and be looking for when the exposure happened. It will not take them long to narrow it down to the hospital. Crane is not stupid. Your little brush with him will be remembered once he starts thinking about it. Get out of there now. It is regrettable that you were so clumsy. I will remember that in the future." He hung up the phone. It was irritating that he had to lose the man he had so carefully placed. It would be months before a new man could be so well situated. The information gap would be unacceptable. Such ineptitude was infuriating and not to be tolerated. That was the problem with having to manage from a distance. He had always been 'hands-on' before. He leaned back in his chair; perhaps it was time for a little house cleaning. He reached for the phone.

Chapter 7-

Crane was leaning over the chart table double checking his figures on the course O'Brien had just plotted. He ran the last figures and then looked up with a smile. "Perfect. You came out just right. I told you that if you just practiced that technique it would be faster and more accurate than what you were doing. Even Mr. Morton can get it right in a reasonable amount of time using the La Salle method." He added the last as Morton joined them at the table. The exec snorted and glanced at the course.

"Now if only the captain could plot something other than a straight line so the rest of us could quit covering for him, THAT would be a system worth talking about," he said teasingly as he deposited a clipboard on the table. "Here's the inspection on the installation of the laser device. Looks like they did a good enough job, but I wouldn't want them doing any renovations on my apartment. They left a hell of a mess. I'll be making a note of that in my report." He tried to maneuver the pencil he was carrying down the top of his cast, but Crane took it out of his hand, ignoring the frown the sufferer threw him.

Crane smiled as he bent his head over the report. Chip hated inefficiency. If you were going to do a job, do it all the way, and do it right. That was all the XO asked. He was sure the person in charge of the installation at the shipyard was going to get an earful. His smile changed to a frown as he read through the papers on the clipboard. He was not very happy about this particular mission. The Navy had installed a powerful gas inductance laser. It was a more powerful weapon than the one that Nelson had mounted on the Seaview. It was being looked into as a missile defense weapon. If the sea trials worked out, the laser would be mounted on submarines, and could be used in the event of a nuclear attack. The missiles could be shot down before they got anywhere near the continental US, and since the location of the submarines could not be ascertained by any hostile nation, they could not be destroyed or interfered with as satellites could be.

The machine itself wasn't the issue, it was the conditions of the testing that Crane objected to, and that he had thought Nelson would also protest. However, after receiving the outline from the Navy and reading it over, Crane had approached Nelson last week to talk about the mission. He had knocked on Nelson's door with some trepidation; the last week had not been pleasant. Nelson had been distant at best. Crane didn't want to really think about the worst. Nelson had complained about everything. Everything from the quality of Cookie's coffee to the way the Herculite windows in the nose had been washed. Crane had tried to reason with him on several occasions, and having little success, had simply started stepping in to redirect the cold blasts of temper to himself rather than the crew. He didn't know what was going on with Nelson, beyond knowing that something was wrong. Jamieson was in contact with the hospital and with several experts on concussion and nervous disorders, but so far nothing had come of it.

At the invitation to enter he had gone into Nelson's cabin and stood at semi-attention waiting for Nelson to look up from his report. Normally he would have simply perched on the corner of the desk, or sat in the chair before it, but that had been before. Now the man behind the desk was not the surrogate father he had come to…. yes, he had to admit it if only to himself… the man he had come to love. THIS man was a stranger. He had stood there for almost three minutes before Nelson looked up. The blue eyes, which normally held a warm light when they looked at him, were cold and hard.

"Captain, what can I do for you?" he finally asked. Crane could not remember Nelson using his name once in the last two weeks, not since before the accident. He carefully schooled his features into the emotionless mask that he had learned to erect during his teen years and had honed during many years of ONI missions. During a mission, showing your emotions on your face could get you killed. He had never expected to use that particular skill with this man.

He held up the file he was carrying. He could see that the report that Nelson had was the same file. "I have read over the mission specs and wanted to talk with you about some issues."

Nelson closed the file and looked at Crane. "I see no reason for discussion. The specs are clear, as are the parameters of the testing. All you have to do is direct the Seaview to the correct coordinates and depth and follow the procedures outlined." Crane tightened his jaw to keep from speaking out in a fashion that was NOT exactly the approved manner of a subordinate officer. Never before had he found it necessary to censor his thoughts or words with Nelson, but now he did.

"The coordinates are not the problem, we can easily reach all of them without putting any strain on our engines or the crew, but I do have issues with the depth requirements in…" That had been as far as he got. Nelson had exploded from his seat, leaning across the desk as if he were coming over it.

"You will follow the orders that you have been given. THAT is the only thing required of you, CAPTAIN. If you will not do as I have ORDERED, I will relieve you of the responsibility and put someone in command who can follow simple orders. Is that understood?"

Crane had simply stood there staring at Nelson. He could not have spoken in that moment if his life had depended on it. For that one second he was transported back almost 15 years, when he had stood before another man he had considered his father, when he had been given a choice, a choice that was no choice at all. Then, he had chosen as his head and his heart had demanded, and it had cost him… everything, though in the end, all had been given back to him and more. This time he could only go again with his heart and head, and hope the outcome was the same.

"That won't be necessary, Admiral. The orders will be followed as given as long as the safety of the boat and crew are not compromised. There would seem to be little utility in a test that resulted in the destruction of the test vessel and the weapon being tested," he finally said, expressing his unwillingness to put the boat and crew in danger, simply to test a weapon. Nelson stared at him for several moments then sat down with a terse nod.

"Dismissed," he said, returning his gaze to the report. Crane had turned on his heel and made for the door. Once there he had stopped and looked back at Nelson. The admiral had been ignoring him, seemingly engrossed in the report. It was if Crane didn't exist. He had felt his heart twist at the thought. He had left the room without another word.

Now, a week later, and on the way to the first test site, the experience weighed heavy on him. Interactions with Nelson had been terse and short, and while all the proper protocol had been followed, Morton was just about fuming. Crane had told Morton of his suspicions regarding the admiral, and the fact that there was no way to prove any of it without Nelson's cooperation. Crane had almost been forced to order Chip to keep his cool as veiled insults and petty complaints had seemed to be the only regular form of communication from the senior officer. Crane did his best to ignore it, to view Nelson as ill, and forgive what were sometimes wounding statements regarding his competency as a captain and the efficiency of his crew. The last was the hardest to take silently. For himself, he could deal, but the crew did not deserve such treatment. If, in the course of the trials Nelson demanded that they take unnecessary risks, he would take up the argument again. He would not allow the boat to be put at risk without sufficient cause, not even if it meant the end of his captaincy.

They would be at the first site in just over an hour. This test would be more of a calibration of the weapon rather than a full trial. The target would be a stationary weather balloon tethered to a sub tender, the Preakness. Seaview would move into position at periscope depth and fire the weapon. After successfully hitting the target from the initial depth, they would move down 500 feet and fire again. This would be repeated until they had reached Seaview's crush depth. That was well beneath anything that the current Navy submarines were capable of and that would be the ultimate test of the weapon. That was one of the issues that Crane had with the mission parameters. He saw no need to take the Seaview to her crush depth, when there was little chance of the weapon being used from that depth again. They should simply take her to the depth limits of the submarines in which the weapon would be mounted. That should be more than sufficient. Of course, it seemed that was not to be his decision and even his input was not appreciated.

After a successful trial run Seaview would move to the next coordinates. There a drone would be the next target. They would once again go through the targeting sequence, though at reduced firepower so as not to destroy the drone until the last shot from depth. In the final round they had no set coordinates, but rather were given the boundaries of an area. They were expected to infiltrate the area, undetected by the destroyer that would be stationed there. Then, once a missile was launched from the missile ship that the destroyer was 'protecting,' the Seaview would attempt to shoot it down and then escape any retaliation and prepare for a second launch. The exercise would continue for over twelve hours or as long as Seaview could evade the attention of the destroyer and any subchaser aircraft that might be employed. The area was large and offered a wide range of possibilities for a submarine to hide. Crane, secure in the capabilities of his submarine and the abilities of his crew, knew they would be able to go the full twelve hours. He and Chip had already worked up a plan of attack.

Chapter 8-

Crane was sitting in the nose, charts spread out on the table before him, when he heard familiar footsteps coming down the stairs. They had completed the first stage of the testing, and the weapon was showing great promise of being all the inventor said it could be. The targeting had been somewhat off, but repeated tweaking by the techs and Nelson had overcome the initial problem. They had found the necessary adjustment for the changes in depth, and Nelson had worked out the mathematical settings necessary to make the adjustment automatic. They had moved now to the second stage. Crane, confident that the testing would go as before, was studying the charts for their area of operation for the third stage. He had been in these waters before, and had a working knowledge of most of the area; however, he wanted to be sure that he had everything set in his mind before they engaged. He intended that the Seaview would evade the searchers and perform as well as the laser. It was a matter of pride, and not just for himself he knew. The crew expected him to guide them to be the best they could be, and he was not going to let them down. They would show that destroyer what the Seaview could do, with or without a laser.

He rose to his feet as Nelson came down the stairs, coming to attention and saluting. He literally could not remember the last time he had done that on his own boat, or to this man. It had been a subject of another of their 'discussions', which were rapidly becoming the only form of communication they had. Nelson, almost hourly it seemed, summoned Crane to his cabin, and then proceeded to dress him down about one item or another. He was beginning to feel like a plebe, just waiting for a senior classman to find a thread on his uniform and make him work it off marching the quad for endless rounds. He liked to think that he was open minded enough to take honest criticism, but this was getting out of hand. The latest change had been to return to the Navy custom of saluting superior officers, notably Nelson. Crane had pointed out the inherent difficulties in doing so on a small vessel with a crew that was only partially made up of reserve personnel. Nelson, in a moment of grudging tolerance had decided that only the officers would need to do so since they were all reserve personnel. Crane had gritted his teeth and agreed. Passing the order on to Chip had almost made up for the aggravation; the look on his face had been priceless.

His expressionless mask was getting a real work out, and he wished for Chip's skill at keeping a straight face. Nelson absently returned the salute and then looked at the charts. Crane could almost see the questions rising in the admiral's mind and braced himself for the inquisition to come. He had noted over the last day or so that the anger seemed to have morphed into a sort of paranoia regarding the motives of just about everyone on board. One of the techs who was along to work on the laser had narrowly missed having his head handed to him by an angry Nelson who had somehow become convinced the man was not interested in making the necessary adjustments as figured out by Nelson, evidently out of some personal prejudice. Crane had guiltily been glad that he wasn't the only target. He remained now at parade rest waiting for Nelson to speak. He wasn't about to reseat himself without permission. He wasn't going to be getting a lecture regarding protocol in his own control room.

"What is this?" Nelson finally ground out.

Crane kept his gaze squarely on Nelson's face. "I'm going over the area for the third stage. It seemed that a familiarity with the topography could come in handy during the exercise. Standard procedure."

Nelson harrumphed and looked over the charts and notes that Crane had spread over the table. He seized on one sheet and read it over. He looked back over at Crane. "This says that you plan to only move to half our crush depth even though the area allows for far more." He shuffled through the charts and notes. "In fact, I see nothing on this table to indicate that you are following our directives, or my direct order, to take the boat to crush depth to test the laser. Explain yourself."

Crane did not look away. "The laser was tested at depth during the first stage and will be again during stage two. There is no need to do so again during the conditions that will exist in stage three. I have evaluated both depths inside the boundary area. Both show fast cross currents that would make maneuvering difficult in the constricted areas, if not impossible, and that represent an unnecessary risk to the boat and crew. The laser is to be deployed on Chaser class submarines and my proposed testing depth is slightly over 175% of their crush depth. It is a fair evaluation of the capabilities of the weapon."

Nelson, who had been leaning forward, braced on his arms on the table, pounded his fist. Out of the corner of his eye, Crane could see Morton turn to look in their direction, and saw heads turning by the men on duty. They were too well trained to keep looking, but Crane knew that they would be listening. "I told the people in Washington that the weapon would be tested at depth; I will not be contravened on my own vessel by some young upstart who thinks he knows better than I do. You will do what I have ordered you to do."

"No, sir. I will not," Crane said, flatly. He watched the red flood Nelson's face.

"Are you refusing a direct order? What are you trying to do, start a mutiny? I'll not only have you off this boat, I'll have you stripped of your rank and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the regulations!" the admiral grated out, not bothering to keep his voice down. Crane refused to quail before the tone.

"If your order is to take this vessel into areas that are not only dangerous but unnecessary to the stated purpose of the testing then yes, as captain of this vessel I am refusing to follow your order, as is my right in that capacity. THAT right is outlined in the charter YOU created as well as in the legal requirements of my position. As to your accusation regarding mutiny, it is spurious and patently ridiculous and if you were not obviously ill, you would see it as such." He had had enough pussyfooting around, accepting the anger and paranoia. It was in the back of his mind that when Nelson refused to acknowledge how oddly he had been acting, as Crane knew he would, to suggest that Nelson prove his health by submitting to a complete physical, including a blood test. He watched as Nelson marched around the table, and he turned to stand face to face with the admiral. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't what happened next, which was why he wasn't prepared.

Nelson slammed him across the face with a vicious backhand. The older man was shorter but he was husky, and there was a lot of power behind the blow. Crane flew backward over the chair he had been sitting in and slammed against the Herculite windows. As he slid down to the deck, he saw Chip practically leap on Nelson's back, dragging him away from where he had moved to loom over the fallen captain. He heard Nelson mutter a curse word that normally the man would never have given voice to.

Crane lifted a surprisingly shaky hand to wipe the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. He was not badly hurt, but the shock of the act was echoing through him. His head KNEW that Nelson was ill, but his heart was remembering what had happened before… but that was before, and it couldn't affect his response now. He wasn't fifteen anymore. He stood up, feeling the twinge of a rib that had impacted the ledge. He pulled himself to attention. He waved Chip off, noticing but not responding to the angry look on his friend's face. Morton stepped back, but did not leave, earning himself a furious look from Nelson.

"That, sir," Crane said to Nelson in a cool voice, "is exactly what I am talking about. You would never strike a subordinate officer if you were not being affected by something." He went to the table and started picking up his notes, leaving the charts. "I take this to mean that I am no longer in your employ. As such, I demand to be put ashore immediately. I will be in my quarters packing. I am sure that you can spare Sharkey to take me in to the nearest port. That is, if you do not prefer to surface and put me adrift. What you choose to do regarding charges for dereliction of duty or failure to obey a direct order is up to you. You'll know where to find me." He finished collecting his papers and marched past Nelson who seemed to be frozen in place. Crane stopped in front of Morton and with his free hand took off his missile key, proffering it to the XO.

"Lee…" Chip started, but then stopped as Crane shook his head. Their eyes met, and the silent form of communication that had grown between them over the years asserted itself. Everything that needed to be said right then was said with no words. Morton sighed and nodded. He held out his hand, palm up.

"You have command, Mr. Morton," Crane said and dropped the key in hand. Without another look at Nelson or the control room, he walked toward the spiral staircase, and went up it toward officers' country. He hoped this wasn't for nothing; it hurt too damn much.

Chapter 9-

"The man is jealous. If he had any talent he wouldn't be a technician," the Voice said. The rational Nelson was almost becoming used to being a passenger in his own head. It seemed that no matter what he MEANT to say, it always came out in a way that made him mentally cringe. And this time he didn't have the excuse of being possessed by a malevolent spirit like Krueger. He watched himself be incredibly rude and condescending to one of the techs that had come with the laser. He had treated the man in a way that he would never have accepted had he seen an employee doing it. He just couldn't stop. That Other Nelson seemed determined that the tech's innocent question was a personal attack on his competence. The rational Nelson knew it was wrong, but it was getting harder and harder for him to hear the rational thoughts over the angry and paranoid thoughts that seemed to fill his head.

"You overreacted," he argued. "The man simply didn't understand what I had done. He was only asking for clarification so he could do his job." He knew he should go to Jamieson, knew that he needed help, but every time he managed to nearly push the idea through to action the Voice almost deafened him with protests. Visions of being sent to some asylum, of Lee locking him up somewhere, tossing away the key, and then taking over the Institute seemed to stream through his head like some strange movie. And through it all, the internal dialog continued.

Then he had come down the stairs and seen Lee working over the charts. The rational Nelson had watched Crane come to attention and remain on his feet as the Other Nelson had asked questions, and he remembered the confrontation the two of them had had about that subject. Another of 'his' ideas; to put Lee in his 'place'.

"You shouldn't make him do that. It's wrong." the rational Nelson had protested. "I don't run a Navy boat, and I don't want Navy protocol to be more important than how someone performs their job."

"He's only humoring you!" the Voice retorted. "You're just in the way. He has most of the power now. He's coddled the crew and officers and now they follow him like puppies. They'll do anything for him. And the way all the women at the Institute dance around him, it's just a matter of time till he phases us out all together."

"They would have done anything for me before..." he broke off. The crew would have done anything for him before he started acting like a tyrant. That small rational part of him saw the look in Crane's eyes and knew that whatever was wrong with him, it was affecting Lee too. It was a thought that made Nelson start to try to reassert himself, his true self. The strength he could not find for himself, he suddenly found for Lee. But he had left it too late. He could not believe the words he heard coming from his own mouth. Refusing an order? Mutiny?

"You're overreacting again!" he shouted at the Voice. "He's right. Those areas are very narrow and do not allow for the maneuvering necessary should there be any problems. There's no reason to take the boat that far down..."

"NO! He's trying to undermine me with the crew, coddling them. He going to put me out to pasture and take over the whole thing. But it's MY boat. MY dream. He can't have it!" raged the Voice.

Lee's cool reply had pushed that other part over the fine edge of sanity upon which the rational Nelson had been keeping them balanced. He had watched in horror as his body had marched over and backhanded Crane. He had been screaming at his other part as he had moved to stand over the fallen man. He didn't know what else he would have done if Morton hadn't grabbed him from behind.

"My god! What have you done?" he screamed at himself. "You hit him!" He had hurt Lee! He could see the blood on the young man's face. He forced his rational side forward, mentally grappling with the intruder in his own mind. He couldn't allow this to go on. He needed to get help. He needed to stop Lee from leaving. He only vaguely recognized what was going on around him. He heard Lee speaking, realized he was walking away toward the stairs, away from Seaview, away from him! The submarine seemed to be spinning around him as if they were caught in a giant whirlpool. He had to get through!

Chapter 10-

Chip Morton watched his best friend walking away from everything he had ever dreamed of. He knew that for Lee this was more than a job, more than a boat even. This was his life. Morton had been working over the chart table when he had looked up to see Nelson coming down the spiral stairs. He had seized the first clipboard he could lay his hands on and had started working his way slowly toward the bow, as if he were looking over the stations. He was well aware of the confrontations that the two men had been having, though Lee had been as reticent as usual regarding them, but scuttlebutt traveled faster than light on submarines, and Nelson hadn't been exactly subtle or quiet about his displeasure with his captain, the crew, and life in general. Morton tried his best to keep his anger in check as Crane had passed on the orders, but he knew that Lee knew. Of all the people he had served under, Crane was the one that knew him best, who could read him like a book. Morton kept himself from making any comments about the situation with difficulty. Lee would not have appreciated it feeling as he did that there was something medically wrong with the admiral. Morton had to admit that he could see no reason for the man's actions if he wasn't ill. He kept his own thoughts about geniuses and mental instability, something else that Lee would not have appreciated, to himself.

Crane and Nelson had a relationship that Chip had found very heartening in the past. He and his own father were very close; and he was glad that, for the first time in his friend's life, Lee would know what it was like to have a loving parent, even if that relationship was known only to a select few. Having known the demonstrative love of his mother and father all his life, he had sometimes wondered at the quiet, almost secretive, relationship between the two men; but, since it seemed to work for them, and made Lee happy, he said nothing. In the last weeks Nelson had seemed to be doing his best to tear that relationship to shreds. Lee seemed to be taking it relatively well but Morton, as one of the few people that had even a hint of what Crane's early years had been like, could not help but wonder how much more the man could take. Just because your mind knows something doesn't mean your heart knows it too. The growing anger and distance between the two men had to be killing him inside.

Morton had seen it all in those golden eyes that had looked into his. The emotional turmoil, the anger, the hurt, but he had also seen determination there. A readiness to do whatever was necessary to see that Nelson was given the care that he needed. If that required Crane to give up the things that meant the most to him, then so be it. You could not help but respect that choice and support it, whatever your own opinion might be, and that was what Morton was going to do. Lee had left the Seaview and her crew in his care, and he was going to do right by them, and Lee. He wanted to tell Nelson what he could do with his orders but he wasn't going to do that. Lee was counting on him. He looked at Nelson who still stood where he had been since Morton had backed off after dragging him away from Crane.

"What are your orders… sir?" he said, knowing that his tone was not quite appropriate, but it was the best he could do.

Nelson stood for a moment, unmoving, and Morton had time to wonder if he had been heard before the older man turned his head to look at him. Chip felt a flare of excitement, as the Nelson that he had come to know over the years seemed to be looking back at him for the first time since the hospital. The admiral started to speak but it came out a strangled croak. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Carry on, Mr. Morton. I'll be speaking with Mr… CAPTAIN, I mean CAPTAIN Crane in his quarters."

Morton had heard the correction and the emphasis on the title. He suspected his stint as captain of the Seaview was going to be brief and that suited him just fine. "Aye, aye, sir." This time he had no problem with his tone. He turned back toward the control room, noting absently that Sharkey had appeared from nowhere, and was now overseeing the helmsmen, who of course needed no such oversight. The chief had no doubt heard about the altercation in the nose, and had come in from wherever his duties had had him. Morton met Sharkey's eyes, and saw the relief in them that he knew was in his own. He glanced about the control room. He noticed several men glancing toward the stairs. Scuttlebutt would already be running through the boat, and there was no way to stop the conjecture. He cleared his throat loudly and the glances stopped with everyone concentrating on their post. He placed the clipboard on the chart table just then noticing it was the bilge pump maintenance paperwork. He shrugged. Oh well, it had served its purpose. Now the question was, would all this be worth the cost?

Chapter 11-

Crane had gone to his cabin, slamming the door in his wake and trying to contain the anger that had bubbled up in him during the walk to his quarters. "He's sick. He didn't mean it." He kept repeating it to himself over and over. He dragged his bag out of the locker and started putting things in it. In a matter of minutes he had all of his clothes packed and was staring at the pictures on the wall. He couldn't leave them, but taking them down felt so final. He shrugged away the thought and stacked the pictures beside the bag. The chief would have a box to put them in. He went into the head to get his toilet items, placing them in his shaving kit. He looked at himself in the mirror, and then leaned forward over the basin, bracing himself on his arms, head hanging. He wasn't sure how long he stood there before a hand coming to rest on his shoulder startled him. He jerked upright and stumbled back in the small compartment, turning to face Nelson who stood there with an equally startled look on his face.

Crane watched as the surprise changed to sorrow. "I'm sorry, Lee. I… didn't mean to frighten you," the admiral said, stepping back into the cabin as if to put more space between them. Crane shook his head and waved a hand.

"I just didn't hear you. I didn't know anyone was there. You surprised me." He took up his shaving kit and went back into the cabin, noting that Nelson had now retreated most of the way across the cabin. He put the shaving kit on the bunk next to his bag and the pile of pictures. He turned to find Nelson looking at the empty wall. He waited for whatever the man wanted to say. When Nelson looked back at him he saw that the blue eyes seemed to be very bright, almost as if he were going to cry. Crane couldn't believe it. He had seen Nelson go through about every emotion from happiness to anger, from excitement to grief, but he had never seen the deep remorse he now saw in the blue eyes that turned to him. He was suddenly concerned as he noted that the older man was pale and there was a sheen of sweat on his face. He also seemed to be swaying slightly. Crane started toward him as he started to speak.

"I'm… I wanted… I… Lee…" What little bit of color that had been in his face completely disappeared, and Nelson started to fall forward, his eyes rolling up in his head. Crane sprang toward him, barely able to keep him from falling face first on the deck. Sinking to the deck with the now unconscious man in his arms, Crane tried to determine if he was still breathing. The broad chest was still moving, and when he put an unsteady hand to the clammy throat he felt a steady, if slow, pulse. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief and stretched for the mike. It was just beyond his fingertips. He needed just a little more stretch but he was reluctant to put Nelson down on the deck, as if by the mere dint of contact he could keep the heart beating and the breath moving in and out. He scooted awkwardly toward the mike with his burden, and with another stretch managed to grab it.

"Medical emergency in the Captain's cabin. Doctor and stretcher team report immediately!" he said after clicking twice to clear the channel. He was surprised that his voice sounded so steady. All that training had paid off it seemed. After a short eternity he heard footsteps in the corridor. "Chip made good time." He had time to think before the door was flung open and the XO rushed in. Morton's eyes scanned the cabin before coming to rest on Crane, sitting on the floor holding an unconscious Nelson in his arms. The XO mask slipped big time.

"My God, Lee, what did you…" He stopped as Crane frowned at him. He cast his friend a small apologetic smile. He knew that Lee would never knowingly harm Nelson. He crouched down beside the two men, dragging a folded blanket off the foot of bunk and spreading it over the pale Nelson. "What happened?" he asked, taking in the pale, sweaty, unconscious man.

"He came in while I was packing my shaving kit. I didn't hear him and he startled me. It seemed to really upset him. I think he thought I was afraid of him. He tried to tell me something but then he collapsed."

"I think he came up here to tell you he was sorry and ask you to stay. At least that's the impression I got," Morton said. He wasn't quite sure where this left them. Lee had basically resigned, and Nelson had not contradicted him. Since Nelson had not spoken with Lee, did that mean that Morton was still in command, or could they just forget the whole thing and get back to where they were supposed to be? He suspected it would not be that easy. They both looked around as Jamieson sailed through the open door at full speed. He was pushing Morton out of the way and kneeling beside Crane and Nelson immediately.

"I take it we've finally reached the crisis point. What happened?" he asked as he was taking pulse and respiration. Crane recounted what had happened, starting with the occurrence in the nose. Jamieson raised an eyebrow at the description of the altercation, and shook his head.

"Anger then paranoia and physical violence, all completely out of character. It has to be some sort of drug. The question is what and where was he exposed?" He nodded to the stretcher-bearers who had paused just inside the door. They gently placed the admiral on the stretcher and headed toward sickbay. Jamieson paused and looked around, his gaze taking in the packed bag on his bunk and the shaving kit on the floor. "Going somewhere?" He had heard the scuttlebutt.

Crane's eyes were on the doorway. He looked at Jamieson blankly for a moment then seemed to shake it off. "I uh… I've been relieved of command or I quit, or both. I was going to go to DC and ask some questions in person, but now… What do you think, Jamie. Is it over? Is he going to be okay?"

Jamieson looked thoughtfully at the young captain, concerned about the look in his eyes. He knew, perhaps better than anyone on board except maybe Morton, just what kind of history Crane had with father figures. To watch Nelson self-destructing, and to have the fallout coming down on his own shoulders had to have been particularly hard on the younger man. The fact that it had escalated to physical violence was perhaps the icing on the cake. "I'll be running blood tests and neurological studies. Even if he wakes up and protests, I feel that his behavior, as you have described it, is more than sufficient for me to exercise my prerogative as CMO. He WILL submit to the testing, one way or the other. It is probably not going to be pleasant for anyone involved. I… think it would be best if you were not there. As the one closest to him, you have been the target of most of the anger and paranoia, and will be the focus of most of the guilt. It's going to take at least 24 hours for me to get the results of the blood tests, more if it's something new. After that we'll be dealing with the physical withdrawal if there is any, or at least the mental effects of what it did."

Crane nodded slowly. He had risen to his feet when the stretcher had left with Nelson, and now went to sit on his bunk next to his bag. "What about… there's no chance of any other... problems?" he finally asked.

Jamieson shook his head. "The drug doesn't seem to have much, if any, physiological effects. He's healthy and strong. There should be no problem there." He hoped that put Crane's mind at ease. "They should have him in the Sickbay now. I'll go start the tests." He narrowed his eyes at his young captain. "Remember. I have a rule about there being more than one command officer in my Sickbay at a time as a patient. Get some rest. And eat something." With that he ducked out the door and disappeared down the hall.

With another slow nod and a slight smile at the doctor's humor, Crane raised a hand and rubbed absently at his right temple, a sure sign of a headache to those who knew him. Not that he would admit to such, of course. He really didn't want to leave. What if Nelson needed him? What if something went wrong during the testing? But he knew that Jamieson was right. It would be better for Nelson if he didn't have to deal with Crane now. Nelson would be very embarrassed about the whole thing, even if he hadn't been responsible. He had been prepared to leave for Nelson's sake before and that hadn't changed. He looked at Chip. "You go ahead and finish the testing. I'll go to DC and see what I can dig up. There has to be something there."

Morton nodded. "Sharkey can stay with you. We can…" he started, but Crane was shaking his head. "What?"

"No Sharkey. He's about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. I'll do better alone. Also, he's not under my command anymore. I don't want him in any trouble," Crane said.

"Lee…" Morton started. He wasn't about to let Crane go off alone with no backup. With the Seaview at sea, there would be too much of a delay if he needed help.

"No, Chip!" Crane snapped then looked at Morton regretfully. "I know you think that it's all over, and I hope to God that you are right, but what if it's not? What if the admiral wakes up and Jamie does the tests and he's still…" He shook his head. "I can't take that chance. I won't drag you down with me. I won't drag the crew down. Sharkey can drop me off. I'll have my satellite cell; you can call me if anything changes, and I'll check in every couple of hours."

"Every hour," the XO, now Captain, said firmly. Crane shot him a nasty look but nodded in agreement. He stood and picked up his bag.

"You won't need that," Morton said. He didn't want Lee taking his things with him. It was too permanent. It was like tempting fate.

Crane smiled sadly. "It has to be all the way, Chip. Like I said, if I'm wrong, and it's just me, and not some drug, or poison, or some concussion thing, then you and the crew have to be protected. It wouldn't be the first time you know."

"Don't go there, Lee. This is nothing like that. He's sick. Jamie will make him better and this can all be put behind us." Chip was determined that Lee should acknowledge the difference in circumstances between now and 15 years previously. He was not going to let his friend leave this boat the same way he had left the only long-term home he had ever known. Chip knew that Lee had given him only a bare bones view of what had happened then, but he knew Lee well enough to know just how devastating it had been. It wasn't going to happen again. He moved to stand in front of his friend, almost toe to toe. He stood there silently until Crane looked up to meet his eyes. He put his hands on the slender shoulders, gripping firmly. "It's not the same. You are not alone this time. This is only a temporary move." Blue eyes bored into golden ones and watched as acceptance slowly filled them, along with gratitude. He smiled and nodded then bent down to pick up the shaving kit off the floor. "Sharkey can get a box for the pictures. I'll keep them in my cabin until you get back." It was said with finality, and Crane didn't protest. He just followed Morton out of the cabin, shaking his head at the incredible friend he had in this man.

Chapter 12-

Nelson woke slowly. The first thing he recognized was the feel of the mattress beneath him and blankets over him. He was warm and comfortable. He lay there for an indeterminate length of time simply enjoying the comfort, not aware of where he was, but happy enough to remain there. Then he started to remember things. It came back to him in flashes. Angry words flung at officers and men, unnecessary tightening of regulations, unwarranted accusations, nitpicky attitudes, and snobbish intellectual superiority. He remember the battle within himself, the way he had been forced by something to become an observer in his own mind, watching himself make an ass of himself with the navy technicians, with his crew, his officers, and... LEE! "My God, what have I done?"

If all the rest wasn't bad enough, the last memory he had was devastating. He saw himself standing over a fallen Crane, his hand still smarting from the blow he had struck, and seeing blood on Lee's face. He remembered being dragged back, seeing Lee rise to his feet, and take his things, speak of leaving the boat, of leaving the Institute… leaving him. He had begun to fight in earnest then, knowing that he had to stop Lee from leaving, had to make him understand that something WAS wrong. He couldn't remember what happened next. He had to know. He struggled to open his eyes, finally succeeding after what seemed an inordinately long fight. He found himself looking into the face of Will Jamieson who was looking at him with concern.

"Welcome back. You've had quite a sleep. How are you feeling?" he asked, placing a hand on Nelson's wrist to take his pulse, and watching his eyes. Nelson, for his part, heard the question but wasn't exactly sure how to answer it. Physically, he felt fine, well rested and comfortable. Mentally, he felt like a fool and emotionally, he wanted to know what the hell was going on. In his usual 'get to it' manner he decided to cut to the crux of the matter.

"What the hell is the matter with me?" he blurted out in a grumpy tone. He realized immediately that he sounded just like the 'Other' Nelson he had been reviling for the past weeks and clamped his mouth shut, his eyes widening with the realization. Jamieson gave him a small smile and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you care to elaborate exactly what you mean by that question?" he asked.

Nelson shut his eyes for a moment but opened them again as the scenes of the past weeks started streaming through his mind again. He took a deep calming breath and spoke in an even, and he hoped, rational tone. "I want to know why I have been making an ass out of myself for the last several weeks. Is that specific enough for you?"

Jamieson's smile widened. "That'll do," he said, the smile fading. He stood up and went to get a chart that was sitting on the small desk in the corner of the sickbay. Nelson now realized he was in one of the bunks. He also realized for the first time that there was restraint webbing over the covers on the bunk. Its regular function was to ensure ill patients were not thrown from the bunks during maneuvers. But, since it could only be removed by someone OUTSIDE the bunk, it could also be used as a restraint to keep someone in the bunk who might want to get out when they were not supposed to. Jamieson often threatened to use it on Lee no matter if they were at sea or tied securely at dockside. Nelson suspected he knew why it was currently in use. He looked up from the webbing to find Jamieson studying him with what Nelson always considered his clinical look on his face. When their eyes met, Jamieson smiled again. "I thought it prudent. I wasn't sure what your state of mind might be when you awoke."

"And you feel that even in my correct frame of mind that I would appreciate this?" Nelson asked. It felt good to engage in the humorous banter that was the norm when it came to Seaview's senior officers and their mutual dislike of sickbay. Jamieson had once asked him why he bothered to put a sickbay on the boat if he hated being in it so much, and Nelson had told him that the Navy required it otherwise he would have put in a larger lab.

"No, but I was prepared to deal with THAT particular response. I've had plenty of practice," Jamieson said still smiling and then his face became serious again. "The other frame of mind scared me, scared us all. Can you tell me what you remember?"

"The best way I can describe it is to say it was like being an observer in my own body. I can only imagine it's much like those people with multiple personalities, only I was aware of the other personality. I knew what I was doing was wrong somehow, but the rational part wouldn't, or maybe it was couldn't, stop it. It was just easier to let it be." He sighed, and looked away from the doctor. "I imagine that if I had been someone else, a subordinate officer or if I had to answer to someone for my actions that it would have been different."

Jamieson nodded in agreement. "Yes, your position definitely made it difficult. You were not inclined to be cooperative, and there was very little we could do about it. You were operating well as far as your general performance was concerned, and except for an exceptionally bad attitude you really were not showing any signs of being ill. Our hands were tied until it reached a crisis point, which was the day before yesterday."

With that, Nelson's head snapped back around. "The day before yesterday? I've been asleep for over 24 hours?" No wonder he felt rested.

"Thirty seven hours. Given the chemicals already in your system, I felt it would be better to let you wake on your own, rather than using more drugs. Given your last blood test I'd say that it was for the best."

"Okay, so now I'm awake, and hopefully of sound mind, so what the hell was it and how was I exposed?"

"Everything that we have been able to dig up suggests that sometime during the night that you spent in the hospital under observation for your concussion the drug was administered. I have reviewed the records from the hospital. They show that you were only given an oral analgesic, and a saline IV to keep you hydrated. As far as the official record and the doctor who oversaw the case is concerned that was it. Cap… Commander Crane was there that night however and he saw a man, dressed as an orderly, enter your room and inject something into your IV. That has to have been it." Jamieson hoped the admiral had not heard his correction. It was an issue that did not need to be addressed right now. He had seen the flare in Nelson's eyes when he did it though, and knew it wouldn't be long.

"That was over three weeks ago. Could one dose have this long of an effect? What was it?" Nelson said. He had heard the slip, and wanted to pursue the reason for it, but he had to know what had caused this.

"What its commercial name is, I haven't a clue. I suspect, given its effect on you, that it has not been released to the public by its formulator. It's definitely a compounded drug. It's not natural. Once it's injected it is stored in the fat cells of the body and gets released slowly back into the system over time. That's what gave it the longevity. As I am sure you've surmised it is a psychotropic. It seems to have the effect of producing a mental schism, hence your other personality, characterized, at least in your case, by anger and paranoia."

"Lovely. I can see how that would be a wonderful drug to add to the pharmacopoeia," Nelson said sarcastically.

Jamieson smiled again. "I don't think that was quite what they were aiming at. I have a feeling that what they were trying for is a something to treat coma patients. I've seen some recent work that suggests certain combinations of these chemicals are helpful in ending short-term comas caused by traumatic experiences. It hasn't gotten to clinical trials; I searched the medical databases for any studies with similar results and found none. I think they had done some private testing and knew exactly what the effects are and are still in the process of tweaking the formulae."

"That radically narrows the field of who would have access to it. It's not like you could get a prescription and take it to the corner drug store."

"True. Unfortunately there are so many formulating drug companies anymore, and they are not obligated to reveal what they are working on until they apply for FDA approval. Given the current state of this drug, I don't think that's going to happen for a while."

"You said Lee," he stopped and then started again with emphasis, "CAPTAIN Crane, saw the man that gave me the drug? Obviously he didn't know him then, but he can identify him now. Perhaps a mug book or police drawing?"

Jamieson nodded, both in acknowledgment of the question and of the correction that Nelson had made. Obviously, Nelson was not prepared to leave things as they had been when he had last been conscious, and his reaffirmation of the title was his way of letting Jamieson know that. The doctor was glad to note that Nelson's regular personality seemed to be reasserting itself quite well. Now came the hard part. Nelson was not going to be happy about Crane's absence. The fact they had not heard from him for the last three hours despite Morton's demand for regular check-ins was going to make it even worse. It was another reason he had left the webbing on.

"Speaking of the captain, could you call him down here. I have some serious apologies to make," Nelson requested. Now that he knew why, it was time to mend the fences he had almost destroyed. "I would also appreciate it if you removed the webbing, since I hope that you can see that I am no longer under the influence of the drug." Jamieson looked away and hastily rose to his feet and went to put the report back on the desk. Nelson frowned. "You will take off the webbing now won't you?" he asked, puzzled at this response. He could understand the precaution given his former attitude and actions, but now he was fine. He really did not relish the idea of facing Lee while restrained.

Jamieson sighed and came to stand by the bunk, reaching for the straps that secured the webbing. He avoided Nelson's eyes.

"The uh… captain is not on board at this time," he said softly, bracing for the explosion he suspected would be forthcoming.

Nelson stared at the doctor as he continued releasing the webbing. Not on board? They had been at least a day out to sea when he had last been awake, and still had two stages of the testing to go. Surely Crane would not have returned to port simply because of Nelson's condition. If further medical help had been required they simply could have had him taken ashore on the flying sub. It didn't make any sense. Then he realized something. He felt the subtle throb that was the heartbeat of the Seaview transmitted through the mattress to his body. He could tell that they were at ¾ speed by the level of the thrum. They were at sea. What the hell was going on?

"We're still at sea. Where, exactly, is Captain Crane?" he ground out through his teeth.

Jamieson heard the command tone in the question, and knew that Nelson would not be put off. "He's gone ashore. As you said, he saw the man that gave you the drug. He went to the NCIS and had them do a computer drawing of the man, and then took it to the hospital. No one there recognized the man though one of the nurses remembered seeing him before, probably the same night. The hospital allowed the captain to look at security tapes from that night and he found some footage of him leaving the hospital about the same time the captain did. I understand that he took the footage to the ONI labs and they were able to get a partial plate number from the car. They ran that through the DMV and got a list of owners and cross-referenced it with the drivers' license data base and bingo, there was our man. Todd Foggerty, I believe the name was," Jamieson related, finally looking up to meet Nelson's eyes when he was finished with the web. He could see that Nelson was not taking this well.

"And then?" he asked.

"He and some NCIS agents went to the address given: Foggerty was no longer there. He had moved some years previously, but hadn't left a forwarding address. The captain was following up some further leads when we last heard from him."

"Which was when exactly?" Nelson asked in a frustrated tone of voice. He felt like he was pulling teeth. His answer didn't come from the doctor however; it came from the man standing in the doorway.

"Almost three hours now. He was supposed to check in every hour unless he made other arrangements before hand," Chip Morton said. He looked from Jamieson to Nelson, seeing that the webbing had been removed. He looked a question at Jamieson who nodded. Morton turned impassive eyes to Nelson. "You're looking better, sir," he said noncommittally. Nelson felt his heart sink a little at the tone. Obviously those fences were in worse shape than he thought. The XO was fiercely loyal to Lee. Anything that hurt Crane made Morton hurt too, and Nelson had hurt their friend. This response from the normally stoic officer told Nelson just how badly. Damn.

"I'm feeling much better thank you. What is the status of the boat?"

Morton, who hadn't bothered to come any closer to Nelson's bunk, leaned a hip against the exam table in the center of the room. "We're currently making for deeper water after having successfully hit the first target in the stage three testing. We're five hours into the stage. Currently we are at 800 feet on a heading of 230 and ¾ speed. As far as we can determine the destroyer is about 25 miles south of us heading this way. We'll back off to half speed soon and come about to 050 and go to 1000 feet. We expect they will fire the next round of missiles in another hour or so. We'll be ready," he reported. Nelson nodded, and slowly sat up in the bunk. Jamieson frowned and came over to help him sit with his legs dangling off the side.

"I suppose it would be useless to suggest that you rest a little more?" he asked

"You said I just got through resting for 37 hours. I don't think I need more sleep," Nelson said. "Could you get me some clothes, Jamie?" he asked with a glance at Morton. Jamieson saw the glance and nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

"Get it said, Chip. It can't be any worse than what I've said to myself," Nelson said as the door closed. He rose to his feet and went to stand before the younger man. Blue eyes met blue eyes and stayed locked. Morton shifted to stand almost at attention; causing Nelson to remember the conversation he had had with Crane about that. Another incident he preferred to forget but couldn't, evidently a part of his penance.

"I…don't know what you mean, sir. It's not my place…" he started to say but Nelson waved it away.

"We've too many years behind us to take that tack, Mr. Morton. I like to think that we have always been honest with each other. Let's not change that now. I have a feeling it's going to be important to both of us."

Morton considered for a moment. He knew Nelson was right; if they wanted to continue working as a team, the best team he had ever been a part of, they had to clear the air. No matter how justified he felt in his anger on his friend's behalf, he knew Lee would not thank him for upsetting the balanced trio that was the command crew.

"All right, sir," he said, relaxing a little out of his stance. "I know you were… ill and it wasn't your fault, but to be frank, you've been a bastard to everyone who crossed your path, and even more so to Lee. It was like you zeroed in on him and you didn't let up. What made it worse is that, sick or not, you knew right where to dig to make it hurt the most. I have a hard time forgiving that, even under the circumstances. Then, to add insult to injury, you accuse him of mutiny! You give him the back of your hand like he was dirt and give him no choice but to resign or deck you and be thrown in the brig and then court-martialed, and it was all for just doing his job. You might as well have ripped his heart out. Then he goes off on his own to try to find out who did this to you, and won't let anyone help him in case it isn't some poison in your system or the blow to your head. Maybe you just have some bug up your ass about him and he didn't want to drag anyone down with him. He hasn't checked in, and if anything happens to him, sick or not, I'll blame you, and you can take this job and…" He stopped there. There was honesty, and then there was too much honesty. Nelson had been looking at him through the entire speech, and did not look away when he was finished.

"You're right. I remember almost everything I did, and to say I regret it all is an understatement. I KNOW I hurt Lee, in more ways than one. I hurt this whole crew and the faith they had in me as a superior officer. When I think of what I did, and what it must have felt like to him, it makes me sick to my stomach. And yet despite it all, he has taken his time to go and try to find the man or men responsible instead of getting as far away from me as possible. THAT is about the only thing that makes me want to go on, that keeps me from locking myself in my cabin and pretending this never happened. He has that much faith in me, cares that much, and I won't let him down again. Now, I intend to get dressed and get on the radio to ONI. They must have some idea of where Lee was going, of what he was doing."

"The destroyer might pick up our signal, it will give our position away. Lee wanted us to finish the testing, he wouldn't appreciate it if we got caught halfway through the game," Morton said, though he had wanted to do the same thing for the last two hours. But as temporary captain of the boat, he had to consider other things than what HE wanted. Lee knew all about that, and it was one of the things that made him the captain that he was.

"The hell with the testing. They have two stages completed, and we've done one third stage launch already. If your estimate is right, we should be able to do another test at depth with the next launch, and that should be more than sufficient. I'll get on the horn with COMSUBLANT and let them know as soon as we get a line on Lee." Jamieson opened the door, and looked in, a smile on his face as he saw both men none the worse for wear. He knew they were both determined and sometimes blunt men, and had wondered what might result from a talk between the two with no witnesses. He should have known that their mutual respect would lead them to a peaceful solution to their differences. He held up the khakis he had gotten from Nelson's cabin.

"You want to use the head to shower before you dress?" he asked. Nelson nodded and snatched the clothes. As he marched toward the head he called back to Chip.

"Have Sparks get me Admiral Smith at ONI. I don't care where he is at; tell them I want him now. If you have to, tell him it's about a breach of security around the laser. That should get him on the line." He was into the head with the door closed as he finished the order. Morton exchanged looks with Jamieson, and then flashed him one of the first genuine smiles the doctor had seen in weeks.

"You heard the man, Doc. Things are getting back to normal." With that he was out the door to the corridor and on his way to the control room. Jamieson looked from that open door to the closed door of the head. Nelson on the warpath, Chip all wound up, Crane missing in action several hundred miles away and in possible danger.

"Yes." He thought with a grin to himself. "Things are getting back to normal."

Chapter 13-

"It's the home office. Mr. Pritchard himself," came the voice of the secretary after the man in the office had finally acknowledged the buzzing intercom. The man, who had been occupied on the large leather sofa, stood and straightened his clothing. He sauntered back to the desk, aware in the back of his mind of the female form stretching like a cat on the sofa. He reached for the phone, switching it to speaker.

"Ortiz," he said shortly.

"What the hell is going on with our man in Washington, D.C., Foggerty isn't it? I assigned him to get me some information from the Pentagon and he said you had told him to leave town ASAP. I've spent a lot of money getting him into the position he's in, and I intend to get some value for that money." Pritchard's voice, as aggressive over the several thousand miles in between them as if he had been in the room, boomed out of the speaker.

"It appears Mr. Foggerty isn't the skilled operative he would have us think. Evidently his success up to now has been based more on the amount of money he had to offer than any skill on his part," Ortiz said, sitting in the chair behind the desk. His eyes were on the woman who had risen from the sofa and, totally nude, was swaying toward the built in bar. She proceeded to mix herself a drink and leaned against the bar sipping it, totally unconcerned with her lack of dress. "He was given a simple assignment; he made a mess of it. There is some possibility that if he leaves now there will be no repercussions. If he had remained in place, there was a high probability of him being compromised. I do not have much faith in his loyalty to the company in that event." The woman had mixed another drink and carried it to him, caressing his cheek with her hand after she placed it on his desk. He picked it up and sipped the 20-year old scotch.

"What assignment? He was working the Pentagon and the joint chiefs, what did you have going on there at your end that would tie in with that?" Pritchard asked.

"We had a target of opportunity to inconvenience our mutual friend Nelson. I felt it was worth the chance, and Foggerty was the only man available on short notice. It turns out he was incompetent. If nothing else the exercise was valuable in showing that incompetence before it could lead to greater chance of exposure for us." He went on to explain the particulars of what Foggerty had done.

There was silence from the other end of the line.

"Inconvenience, huh? That better be the extent of it. You know I have plans for Nelson, and they don't include him dying and leaving it all to Crane. That stiff-necked son of bitch will be as bad as Nelson or worse. Nelson's an idealist; Crane's a realist for all that he toes Nelson's line now. That'll make him more dangerous. I intend to make sure neither one is around to cause me grief and that Nelson knows who caused it all to fall apart." There was another silence. "I told Foggerty to go back to the Pentagon to finish the deal with one of our contacts there. After that he can be moved to another of our divisions. Given the revelations of your little escapade it might be best if it were in something less critical. We'll phase him out ASAP, and then give him the boot. Damn, it's hard to find good help."

"I had already made some… plans for him. He will not be an issue," Ortiz said. The woman had begun to dress, sliding into the short leather skirt and tight sweater. He noticed that she did not have any underclothes. "I will contact you when it is taken care of. Do you want me to find someone to take over the D.C. area?"

"No. I have someone in mind already. He's already inside, and I have certain information that he would rather not get out. He'll work just fine." There was a sudden buzz as the phone was disconnected at the other end. Ortiz, unperturbed by the abruptness, severed the connection and sat back in the chair. The woman had finished dressing and had come to sit on the corner of the desk.

She sipped at her drink again.

"He's not going to let you kill Crane you know, at least not until he's finished, and maybe not then. He likes to see people suffer more than he likes to see them gone. It makes him feel more satisfied."

Ortiz shrugged in that Latin manner that involved more than just the shoulders. "We shall see. In the end, as long as Crane is no longer a problem, I do not think your father will care how it happened. Perhaps we will all get what we want." He raised his glass in a mock toast to her and tossed off the rest of the whiskey. She did the same and came to sit on his lap.

Chapter 14-

Crane pushed his way through a hedge and then crouched in the shadow, his eyes locked on the house the hedge surrounded. He absently wiped at what he assumed was a scratch on his cheek from the thorns in the hedge. He complained silently to himself. Why couldn't people use stuff without thorns? After all, even in Washington, DC there couldn't be that many people lurking around climbing through hedges to sneak up on houses in the suburbs. There were lights in several windows, and as he settled down he saw another light go on upstairs. It would be asking too much for the man to be going to bed. It would make things a lot easier. Not that anything had been particularly easy the last two days.

He had spent the first day creating an identikit picture of the orderly, watching videotapes, and slogging from lab to office to lab, trying to find the man he had seen dressed as an orderly. He had faithfully called in every hour, becoming more discouraged as time went on and Nelson did not appear to be waking. Jamieson had assured him that it was a healing sleep but Crane had been worried nonetheless. Nelson's continued unconsciousness didn't seem to be a good sign. He had continued on until there were no more techs to harass and no more offices open to contact, and then had fallen into bed for a few hours of sleep before rising and starting all over again. Finally his work from the day before had yielded him a car and a name. The address had proven to be bad but it gave him a starting point. He had retreated to the ONI computer labs, and after calling in some markers, had the name run for any information available.

The powerful and well-connected ONI computers would access every government database available, and a few that weren't so readily available. He had been forced to wait for that, the speed of computers seemingly slower than molasses as he drank cup after cup of coffee. Finally the computer techs had threatened to have him ejected from the building if he didn't leave them alone to crunch the numbers as needed. He had decided to visit a friend in the Pentagon who had connections with the CIA. He doubted that Foggerty was a foreign spy, but it never hurt to cover all the bases. Nelson had made enemies in many different parts of the world. Crane had one particular enemy in mind however -Jason Pritchard the third. He could not use his regular ONI contacts to get information on what Pritchard might be up to, that would be expected, and might set off alarms that would let Pritchard know he was being looked at. His friend, Jerry Guthrie, was the CIA liaison to the Secretary of the Navy and had an office in the Pentagon. He would have the ability to access just about any information Crane might need.

He was on his way down the corridor heading to Guthrie's office when he saw him, Foggerty, the man who had masqueraded as an orderly and injected Nelson with the drug. He had been coming out of an office and starting down a side corridor, apparently headed toward one of the parking areas. Crane glanced at Guthrie's door, but decided he could not take the chance of losing the other man. He started down the hallway, looking at the nameplate on the door Foggerty had exited, and making sure he was ready to duck aside should the other look back. He saw a security man heading his way and pulled out his ONI ID. As the security officer approached, Crane caught his eye, held up his ID, and held a finger to his lips. The officer, to his credit, was startled for just a moment and then nodded slightly. Crane reached him and with a nod indicated he wanted the man to walk with him. With a puzzled frown the other man complied.

They were about a hundred feet behind Foggerty, who seemed focused on leaving the building, and was not looking around. Crane swiftly let the officer know that he was pursuing a possible felon, responsible for an attack on a Flag officer. He told the man to contact Guthrie and confirm his identity. Guthrie should then contact the tech at ONI and tell him that Crane had located his man and would be calling in as soon as he could get a firm location. Guthrie could ask the tech for more information on what was going on. Crane gave the officer a copy of the computer-generated picture; glad he had several in his pocket. The officer repeated his orders and left Crane at the door to the parking area, asking as he went if Crane shouldn't wait for some back up. Not wanting to lose his only chance to trail the man, Crane declined and slipped out the door.

He had ghosted among the cars, following the other man. Finally Foggerty had stopped at a plain dark sedan and had gotten in. From where he stood, Crane could see the license plate, and committed it to memory. He noticed that the man had taken out a cell phone and appeared to be ready to make a call. He was not moving. A quick glance around showed Crane that they were several rows over from where he himself had parked. He glanced again at the car. Still on the phone. He took a chance. He ran quickly to his car and started it. He drove out, double-parking not far from the exit. Another five minutes, and he was rewarded with the sight of the other man's car coming out of the lot and heading north.

He had followed at a discrete distance, easily tailing the man through the still relatively light midday traffic. He was glad it wasn't quite as busy as it would be a little later when more people were getting off. Then he could have been right behind the man and still lost him. They'd traveled to a small suburb of Washington DC. Crane had watched as the man parked and went in the house. He had parked well down the street and had approached the house next door to his target. Despite the early twilight of the winter day, there were no lights on in this house and he had cut across their backyard to the thorny hedge. He now sat there in the growing shadows watching the dark form move in front of the window upstairs. He glanced down at his watch and almost choked as he saw the time. He was way overdue on his check in, and that meant he was in deep trouble with his XO… no, with Chip, his friend.

He sighed. He was tired of being in this limbo. He had been hoping that Nelson had come around, had given some indication if he was really prepared to beach Crane and have him court-martialed for refusing a direct order. He wasn't sure what the legalities of that charge were given the circumstances. They had been doing work for the Navy, and so were under Naval regulations to some degree. However, they were a privately owned boat and since they had not been recalled to active duty, they technically were not subject to Navy discipline. He really didn't want to have to figure it out. He pulled out his cell phone and opened it. He was getting ready to hit the speed dial that would connect him to Seaview when he saw the charge indicator didn't appear on the screen at all. He punched a button and got no response. Great. He had been having trouble with the battery for a few weeks now. He had meant to take it back to the quartermaster when they got back to Santa Barbara, but the refit, along with the testing run, had delayed their return. So, there was no way to contact Chip and he could not even call for back up without leaving and taking a chance that Foggerty might leave.

He stood and made his way cautiously toward the back of the house. He rounded the corner, and what he saw made him glad he had not left to call. The covered back porch was filled with what appeared to be packed and sealed packing boxes of various sizes. The man was moving out.

Crane went to the back door and peeked in. There appeared to be no one in the kitchen. He gently reached out and tried the door handle. It did not turn. He reached into his pocket and pulled a credit card from his wallet. Good thing Foggerty didn't seem to have a deadbolt on the door. It would have been a bit harder. As it was, he had the door opened in two minutes and slipped into the kitchen with almost no sound. He closed the door and sidled along the wall to a darkened doorway off the short hallway leading toward the front of the house. From what he could see in the dim light, the doorway opened onto a dining room. Only a large table and chairs remained in the room. Evidently everything else had already been packed and moved out.

He stepped into the darkest corner of the room, and listened to the footsteps moving overhead. He needed a plan. He knew what the man had done, and they had enough proof to get him convicted of assault, but that was not enough. He wanted to know WHY. He was sure he knew who was behind the man's actions. He knew he was over the line here. Legally he was trespassing. He might be able to push the idea that he was following a suspected felon, and hence had chosen to break and enter concerned that the man would get away, but it was unlikely. Crane had every respect for a person's civil rights normally, but that respect ended when it came to Nelson's safety. He would do whatever was necessary to get to the bottom of this, and put a stop to it.

In the time he had been at the Institute he had come to realize that as intelligent as Nelson was, and he WAS a genius, his sense of self-preservation was not as well developed. Nelson had seen the depths to which man could fall yet he had an optimistic idealism when it came to his fellow man that allowed those who he thought of as friends and colleagues to take advantage of him. It was an admirable trait, but it could be dangerous to the person having it. Crane could not believe the number of spurious and outright silly research requests that came to the Institute. He had found that every scientist with even the most farfetched theory about something to do with the ocean headed straight for Nelson.

Nelson, always polite even in the face of sheer stupidity, had been overwhelmed trying to deal with them. When Crane had started taking over some of the more mundane details of running the Institute from Nelson, one of the things he had done was look into what was stealing Nelson's time to do that which he enjoyed most, his own research. Aside from responsibilities that could be delegated to Crane and other trusted employees, the constant influx of requests for funding, research time, and employment consumed the most time. Crane knew that Nelson wanted, and indeed deserved, to make the final decisions regarding who and what the Institute supported and what the Seaview did. But Crane felt that there was a better way to go about it. He trolled the halls of the Institute and found a group of people that made up what had come to be known as the "Stone Face Committee."

Three scientists, an accountant, and a technical writer met and listened to the scientists submitting requests. He had made it clear that everyone was to be treated with the same courtesy that Nelson would have shown them. They screened the requests and sent those they felt had merit on to Nelson. It had just been another thing that proved to Crane that Nelson needed someone, or a group of some ones, to watch out for him when he got too immersed in his work to watch out for himself when people took advantage of his desire to help others less fortunate than himself. The fact that the entire complement of the Seaview was sometimes not enough to keep him out of trouble just spurred Crane's own efforts further. He had come to realize shortly after he had come to NIMR that there was almost nothing he wouldn't do for the man. It was the least he could do for all the things that Nelson had given him.

Now, with the doubts about Nelson's feelings toward him running through his mind, he had come to the wall. He knew that Nelson had been reacting to the drug that had been injected into him, but Crane had to wonder. Had the drug only allowed feelings that Nelson was having anyway or had suppressed to manifest themselves? Did Nelson resent him? Had he overstepped his bounds? A month ago he would have said no, now… But regardless of that, Crane could not, would not, break faith. He would protect Nelson until such time as Nelson, personally and in his right mind, told him to stop. Of course if the plan he had blooming in the back of his mind came to fruition, Nelson might not get that chance for a while. He was shaken from his contemplation by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. It was time to get the ball rolling, no matter how distasteful it might be.

He soft-footed it to the doorway and lurked just inside the door. He could see the shadow of his intended victim, giving him a good idea of where he was. As Foggerty passed the doorway, Crane slipped out of the darkened room and wrapped his arm around the man's throat. He had pulled his small pocketknife from his pocket and opened the small blade before he had moved. He now placed it against the other man's throat. He knew the man would not be able to see the knife with his head in the position into which Crane was forcing it; and a small knife was as good a threat as large one. They were of a height and about the same weight, so it was without difficulty that Crane forced the man into the dark room and face first against the wall. He could feel the fine trembling in the body he held against the wall, and was satisfied that his tactics had done what he wanted. Surprise, the feel of a sharp edge, and then the plunge into darkness had done the work for him. The man was frightened, and Crane could take advantage of that.

"You made a mistake," he growled in Foggerty's ear, intentionally making his voice rough.

"Wha… what?" Foggerty stammered out.

"You injected Nelson with the drug, but you were seen. That's not acceptable. Do you think HE accepts substandard work?" Crane ground out.

"Or… Ortiz sent you?" Foggerty gasped out. He was breathing in short gasps, hyperventilating, and Crane knew the man was in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen if he didn't get the answers quickly. He had felt a thrill of victory when he heard the name the man uttered. It was a common enough name, but Crane knew which Ortiz Foggerty meant. Not the name he had been expecting, but a man who could access Pritchard's resources.

"No, though I am sure that he has plans for you too. He's not a forgiving sort. I'm from the other man, the one who signs your checks so to speak. He could show Ortiz a thing or two about ruthless."

"No! No, it's not my fault. Ortiz told me to get the drug and give it to Nelson. He said he'd clear it with Pritchard. I only did what I could to follow orders. I called in about Nelson, like I was told to, and that should have been it. I tried to talk to Pritchard but he was on some yacht somewhere having cocktails or something. Ortiz was the only one available. It's not my fault." The words poured out of Foggerty, with the last an almost whine. Crane didn't really notice after he heard the name he had been fishing for. That was it. He now knew, had testimony, that Pritchard had escalated his war on Nelson to a new stage. Monetary and emotional attacks had been the weapons of choice before, but it looked like he was ready to get physical now. The thought cemented the idea that was forming in the back of his mind. He had no choice now. He had to take the fight to Pritchard. He dragged the now gasping and blubbering man away from the wall and pushed him down the hall toward the living room.

"I'm not a big fan of Ortiz so I'm going to give you a chance. You're going to write down everything that happened. Maybe then Pritchard will see that it was Ortiz overstepping his bounds rather than you fouling up. I'll take it to him tonight. Who knows, you might just get off if you satisfy him with enough facts. He's not unreasonable." He wasn't sure if Foggerty would buy it, but the other man nodded eagerly and allowed himself to be steered to the small writing desk in the corner of the living room. There was some paper in the drawer; and Foggerty began writing, his handwriting shaky, but clear enough. Crane made sure he stayed out of Foggerty's line of sight, but close enough to remain an intimidating figure. It took Foggerty almost ten minutes to write everything. Crane had him seal the folded papers in an envelope, which Crane took and put in his inside jacket pocket.

"Are… are you going now?" Foggerty asked anxiously, and despite the grim nature of his visit, Crane almost grinned at the tone. He urged the man to his feet and started him back across the living room toward the hallway. He would tie the man loosely in the dark dining room, and make his escape. Or at least that was the plan. They were halfway across the living room when Crane saw it. On the white sheer that covered the wide front window. A red glow, as if a small red light were being held against the window. But he knew it wasn't a red light. He threw himself at Foggerty. Everything seemed to happen at once. The window shattered; Foggerty was thrown back against Crane; and Lee felt a stinging pain in his left arm. Then he was on the floor, and Foggerty lay heavily atop him.

A warm sticky substance seemed to be dripping on his face. He raised his right hand and placed it on Foggerty's throat. There was no pulse. Whoever had taken the shot had been good. Foggerty must have died instantly. Crane knew he had to get up and get out of there. He had not heard a shot, so that probably meant the weapon had been silenced, but the window breaking might have been heard. Even if it had not been heard, sooner or later a curious neighbor would notice the broken window call the police. He could not be there when that happened; he had no time for questions. He dragged himself out from under the corpse, wincing as he moved his left arm. A quick glance at the wound showed a graze along the bicep. Nothing compared to what Foggerty had gotten.

He took one last look at Foggerty, sprawled on the carpet, eyes staring at the ceiling, and then went back to the dining room. He looked around, going over what he had done in this room since arriving. He had touched nothing with his hands. There would be no fingerprints here. Only the doorknob would have anything. He moved quickly through the kitchen and stopped at the door. He took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the inside knob. He opened the door and stepped outside, drawing the door closed behind him. He wiped the doorknob carefully and then made his way back to the hedge. The darkness had now fallen in earnest, and he had to navigate his way back by memory, not too difficult for a man accustomed to commanding a submarine. You had to have good spatial awareness to operate in the deeps. The streetlights cast a glow here, but it was faint enough that he should be able to move unseen. He pushed back through the hedge. Instead of going out the way he came, he made his way across the yard and, after a quick look over, jumped the fence. The house adjoining the yard was dark, so he made his way down the path along the side and let himself out the gate. There were a few cars moving down the street, but no foot traffic. He waited until the cars had passed, then moved out onto the sidewalk. He walked around the block to his car, and drove away. As far as he could tell, no one had paid him any particular attention.

Instead of driving back into D.C., he went to Baltimore. He drove around until he found a small cheap looking hotel. He parked the car in a multistoried parking garage, and walked back to the hotel carrying the small duffle bag that he had kept in the trunk. Long habit had made him place it there after renting the car. It contained everything he needed. Now all he needed to do was make some contacts. He closed the door on the small sparsely furnished room he had rented for the night. It was threadbare but clean. He put the duffle on the bed and sat down on the soft mattress. It was not going to be as comfortable as his bunk on Seaview. He shook his head. He could not think about that now. There were more important things.

He rose from the bed and went to the small desk He found the complimentary pen and paper that were in the drawer. He sat down and began writing. It took him over an hour, and several drafts, to complete what he wanted to write. He placed the reports in envelopes and addressed them. He included the papers containing Foggerty's story in one of them. Finally finished, he set them aside. He looked at his watch. It was after seven. He had been out of contact for almost eight hours now. Chip would be ready to blow like a nuclear missile. He reached for the phone. He listened as the phone rang four times before it was picked up and a distracted voice muttered hello.

"Jerry? Can you talk?" Crane asked.

There was a pause then the voice demanded, "Lee? Where the hell are you? ONI is all in a dither about you not being in contact, and Seaview is practically burning up the airwaves trying to get anyone and everyone looking for you. I haven't seen so many chains rattled in years. Someone out there wants you bad."

"Call off the bloodhounds, will you, Jerry? I'm fine." He stopped, gathering his courage to start the ball rolling on what had to be. "I really didn't call about that though. I need a few favors…"

Chapter 15-

Chip Morton put down the microphone he had been using while directing the Seaview into her slip in the shipyard where she had been repaired three weeks earlier. While she needed no further repairs, it was the only secure slip available, and the laser equipment needed to be removed. He watched as the deck crew attached the lines and swung out the gangplank. He found it hard to be in any way excited about being back in port. They had completed the third stage of testing the previous day, almost five hours ahead of schedule. Nelson had convinced the powers that be that the Seaview had proven the worth of the system and the rest of the exercise would do little to prove anything except that Seaview could evade surface vessels with ease. Hence they had run at full speed back to port, anxious for any word about their missing friend. There had been nothing for almost twenty-four hours now.

Nelson had pulled strings to get everyone he knew looking for Crane. For his own part Morton was both anxious and still a little angry, anxious for Crane, and still slightly angry with Nelson. He knew intellectually that Nelson could not have helped himself. Jamieson had explained the drug's effect after he had gotten more detail from his tests; the drug stimulated a particular portion of the brain responsible for anger and aggression. He had researched the effects of stimulation on this area by looking at studies on localized tumors. He had found that the patients had exhibited unnatural anger, paranoia, and violent urges. The most telling point of the research had been the revelation that, for some unknown reason, the anger tended to be directed most at one particular member of the family, a spouse or a child. Most patients had reported being aware of the behavior, and knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop it, or even to seek help. Morton had nodded through the explanation, and had accepted it outwardly. However, the longer that Crane was out of contact the more the anger grew. He found himself beginning to wonder if there had been something there for the anger to build on, a hidden antipathy, perhaps unknown to Nelson's conscious mind, that started the whole thing with Lee.

To add to the problem, they had heard this morning from a friend of Nelson's at the Pentagon that the search for Crane had been called off at around 2000 the previous night. No one seemed to know exactly who was responsible for that. Nelson, who had spent the rest of yesterday and the night in his cabin at the insistence of Jamieson, had been in the radio shack trying to contact various people since 0900, though he had been pacing in the nose since 0600. Morton had retreated to the bridge since they were running on the surface the last five miles into port. He had seen the look that Nelson gave him when he had announced his intention but had shrugged it off. He suspected that Nelson was aware of his anger and the reason for it. After all, the man was not stupid. Despite their truce in the sickbay, Nelson knew how anxious he was about Crane. Chip just could not bring himself to care too much about Nelson's feelings of guilt. He waited until the officer of the deck reported that everything was secure before picking up the mike again.

"This is the… captain." He wondered if anyone noticed the pause. He could hardly bring himself to say it. Nor could the crew and he hadn't expected it of them. "All hands stand down. Liberty schedules have been posted in the crew's mess and the officers' wardroom. All security personnel will remain on board pending the removal of the system. This mission was a success, and you have done the Seaview - and the skipper - proud with your performance. That is all." He hung up the mike. He knew from what he had overheard that most of the crew planned to stay in town during the short liberty. Most were as anxious to hear word about Crane as the senior officers were. There was a lot of speculation going on among the crew about what had happened. The story about the incident in the nose had, of course, made the rounds of the boat in double-time. The fact that the admiral had been under the influence of a drug had traveled almost as fast. The crew seemed pretty evenly divided between anger at the person or person responsible, and anxiety about their trouble-prone former captain. Morton had noticed that almost no one addressed him as "captain" it was always "sir." The crew's way of avoiding the sore issue, he was sure.

He leaned back against the rail and closed his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, and his body was not happy about it. Must be getting old. He let the breeze blow over him for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. He didn't open his eyes until he heard someone come up the ladder and stand near him. He opened his eyes to find himself almost eye to eye with Nelson. The man could move quietly when he wanted to, a legacy of his days in ONI, something he and Lee shared, one of many things that had drawn them together. Chip was starting to wonder if that closeness had come to an end. He didn't speak as his blue eyes met Nelson's. They stood for several moments staring at each other. Then Nelson sighed and shook his head, as if in answer to something only he could hear. He turned away from Morton, and went to lean over the rail, looking out into the harbor.

"Would it make any difference to you if I said that you couldn't be angrier with me than I am with myself?" the older man finally asked, not looking back. Morton was startled by the question, though he should have expected it. THIS was the real Nelson. Not afraid to ask the tough questions, and not afraid to hear the true answers. He shrugged, even though Nelson could not see.

"Probably not, at least not now, maybe not until he's back aboard and in command where he belongs." He knew he didn't have to say whom he meant. The admiral knew the source of his anger, just as he knew of its existence.

Nelson nodded again, still staring out over the water. "Fair enough. I have a car coming from ONI. I'll be going into D.C. Do you want to come along?" Morton felt a flush creep up his cheeks. It was obvious that Nelson was just going to accept that he was angry and live with it, and that he was going to make every effort to include Morton if he would work with him. Somehow, that made Chip feel bad about his anger, though he still felt justified. Conflicted, he though about it. There was really little he could do on his own. He had some contacts, but he wasn't in Nelson's league, especially when it came to clandestine contacts. He wanted to be looking for Lee, and being with Nelson was going to be the best way to do that.

"I would appreciate that… Sir," he finally said. Nelson nodded again, and without looking at Morton turned and went down the hatch. Morton watched him go. Somehow he got the distinct impression that he had not handled the meeting as well as Lee would have wanted him to. He knew Crane would have been more considerate of the admiral's situation, and would have been more conciliatory. Unfortunately, Morton just couldn't find it in himself to do that just yet. He smiled to himself as he thought about what Lee would have to say about that, and was glad that he had agreed to go with Nelson. Maybe that would keep his friend from punching him out when he got back.

Almost four hours later it was Chip who wanted to do the punching. He and Nelson had gone from one clandestine agency to another as Nelson worked his contacts to try to find out what was going on. They learned that Lee had been hot on the trail of the man responsible in the late afternoon of the day they lost contact. Lee had found video footage at the hospital with the man on it. Nelson and Morton had viewed a copy of the tape that Lee had brought to the ONI labs, and neither had seen the man before. They got a copy of the computer-generated picture Lee had made, an amazing resemblance for him only having seen the guy for a few minutes. Another of his recall tricks no doubt. They had then followed his path to the computer labs where they learned about the license plate and driver's license. They were saved from going to the defunct address by one of the techs who had talked to Crane later when he had come back to have them dig for more info. He had given them the address that had been culled from a newspaper subscription. Morton had tried to ignore the fact that the government seemed to have way too much access into the supposedly private information on supposedly secure computers.

A trip to the address had not soothed their worries. There was police tape around the front of the house and across the door. A Crime Scene Investigation van was parked at the curb, and there were technicians moving in and out of the house. Nelson and Morton had exchanged worried looks then got out of the car. They were both wearing their blues, and it seemed to have impressed at least one man on the CSI team who stopped to talk to them. He asked why they were there, and Nelson suggested that a call to the Pentagon by a suitably senior department officer could yield that information. Suitably impressed the tech had told them that the man who owned the house had been killed the night before by what appeared to be a sniper shot through the window. The man had died instantly. There were no witnesses. So far it looked like the time of death was around 1700 to 1800 the previous evening. The two officers had thanked their informant and, with a last look at the house, they got back in the car.

"We don't know that Lee was here. He didn't go back to the lab for the information, so how would he have found the place?" Morton pointed out as he sat behind the wheel. He really wasn't sure of where else they could go. They knew that Crane had been chasing Foggerty. If he was dead, where the hell was Lee? If he had been there, had he seen the killer? And if he hadn't, then where had he gone after leaving the lab? All they had were more questions, and Foggerty was now, literally, a dead end.

Nelson sat in the passenger seat, quietly thinking. He watched as the CSI team moved back and forth between the house and van carrying plastic bags with evidence. The fact that the man who had injected him with the drug was dead didn't really bother him. No more so than the usual regret for a life taken before its time through violence. While he would have liked to have known why, and more importantly who, there were more pertinent things now. He was deeply worried about Lee. He had no doubt that the younger man had been hot on the trail of Foggerty, and that he would not have quit. The question was where would he have gone after leaving the lab? Had some bit of the probing set off alarms that alerted whoever was behind this? Alerted them to the fact that someone was looking? Pointed them in the direction of who exactly that was? Had that person or group of persons taken steps to assure that no trail would be left by not only killing the only man that could be connected to the crime, but also the man doing the looking?

He took a deep breath and looked at Morton, who was staring morosely at the van, his thoughts obviously no better than Nelson's own. Nelson was well aware of the young officer's anger toward him and understood its source. They both loved Lee, and the thought of someone hurting him as Nelson had hurt him must have made it difficult for the man to be as circumspect as he had been. Only the exceptional restraint learned over years as an executive officer had kept him from outright insubordination. Not that the crew seemed to be far behind. Nelson had never felt so out of place on his own boat. No one needed to say anything. The looks he received were enough. He had actually been relieved when they had left this morning. At least Chip tried to hide his anger and resentment. Nelson dreaded to think what might become of the Seaview, of him, if Lee should be… He didn't even want to think about that. He shook his head.

"We still haven't found out who put a stop to the search I had going for Lee. If their estimate of time of death is correct, it was more than two hours later when the search was called off. There are only a few explanations for why that would have been done. The first is that whoever killed Foggerty has connections in the intelligence community and didn't want anyone looking for Lee for some reason." He didn't expand on the reason, but he could see by Morton's even grimmer look that he didn't have to. "The second explanation is that someone at a high level in the intelligence community needed the manpower for some other matter and the search was cancelled, which we have not found any evidence of. And the third…" He paused, thinking again. He stopped for so long that Morton felt he needed to prompt him.

"The third, sir?" he asked.

Nelson looked at the van and then the house, staring for a long moment at the damage the bullet had done to the window. "The third is that Lee had it called off by someone he knows. That he doesn't want to be found." Morton stared at him for a moment and then looked at the window. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You don't think Lee had anything to do with…" he started angrily, only to be silenced by the look that Nelson threw him.

"No! I do not! I'll thank you not to doubt that my feelings for Captain Crane have not diminished in any way due to the happenings of the last weeks. If anything he has risen in my esteem. He would never do such a thing, or countenance it being done in his name or mine," Nelson growled, his eyes snapping. They sat that way for a moment, eye to eye, and then Morton nodded and looked away. Nelson took a conscious breath and sat back in the seat. He ran a hand through his hair. He didn't look back at Morton as he spoke. "I meant that Lee might be following a trail that only he knows about now. If he managed to contact Foggerty before he died, he might have gotten some information out of him, or he may have found something all together different. He knows a lot of people in places that we could never access. He has ways of getting information that we will never know. I would bet that by 2000 hours, at the latest, he had found out that Foggerty was dead. That being so, and being who he is, I don't think he would let it end there."

"Alone?" Morton muttered, not liking where this line of thought was going.

"He's Lee Crane. He doesn't think the way we do. His first concern would be to keep us out of it. You, because you're his friend and the closest thing to a brother he's ever had, and me… and me because as far as he knows I would be more of a hindrance than a help," Nelson said bitterly. Hearing the tone, Morton glanced at him. Nelson's face was sadder than he had ever seen. He felt moved to place a hand on the admiral's arm. Nelson finally looked at him, his eyes brighter than usual.

"That's not the reason," Morton said, sure of his facts, and suddenly sure that he needed to do this. "Lee didn't, doesn't, blame you for what happened. He knows that you were sick, drugged. Don't take his leaving the boat as anything more than what it was. He came here to find out what had happened. He would have done it when we got back to port anyway. That last thing with you on board… it was just… it was bad, and I know it hurt him, because of his past, and because of the way he is about Seaview, but in the end I think it made it easier for him to leave when it looked like you were going to get better. I think he almost wanted it to happen, to see if pushing you to the edge would snap you out of it; and in a way I guess it did since it was after that you passed out and Doc could start figuring out what was wrong." He had Nelson's full attention now and he went on, something telling him that he was on the right track. "You're right though, he doesn't think like we do, and if we want to find out where he is we have to start thinking like he does. If you were him, and you had to wait for the lab to get you information, what would you do?" Time to draw on that shared past. They were both trained as ONI agents, there had to be some mental processes in common. Nelson seemed to be considering it. After several minutes he motioned for Morton to start the car. Morton did so and looked at the admiral for directions.

"If I were Lee, I would go to another source, someone else who might have another point of access or other information. He was at the ONI labs. They are just down the road from the Pentagon. Who does he know there that would be able to access information?"

Morton tried to think back to conversations that he had shared with Lee in the past about people he knew, people he dealt with in his work with ONI, friends they knew from the Academy that now worked in the Pentagon… Wait, wasn't there the guy who had left the Navy because of his wife? Something about her health, he thought. What was his name? Giles? Gustov? No, it was Guthrie. He had joined the CIA and was a liaison in the Secretary of the Navy's office. Lee had mentioned in the past how Jerry had helped him out on a few things, with information that the ONI had not been able to obtain in time. It seemed likely that Lee might go back to him now. He cast a sideways look at Nelson.

"There's a guy in the SecNav's office, Jerry Guthrie, CIA liaison. Lee's mentioned him several times when he's needed something faster than ONI could get it. He might be a place to start."

Nelson nodded. "That sounds logical. If nothing else he may be able to point us in another direction. He might know some other contacts."

They drove the rest of the way back to D.C. in silence. Both deep in their own thoughts, trying to put themselves in Crane's position, to think like him. Morton found a parking space in the VIP lot and they walked toward the massive building. They passed the new memorial for those killed on 9/11, and both men felt a twinge of sorrow for the many lives lost, some friends, others simply brothers and sisters-in-arms. They both also hoped that they would not be losing any other friends, a certain friend in particular. They made their way to the SecNav's office, and asked for Jerry Guthrie. They were directed to his office and went there, entering a small reception area where a young civilian worker sat at a small desk. She smiled at them as they entered.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Admiral Nelson and Lt. Commander Morton to see Mr. Guthrie," Chip said.

She frowned and flipped through an appointment calendar on her desk. "I don't see you on the schedule. Did you make an appointment?"

Morton shook his head. "No, we just got back in port. Something has come up unexpectedly, and we really need to speak with Jerry, I mean Mr. Guthrie. It's about a mutual friend who might be in trouble."

The woman listened seriously, still frowning. "I can check with him, but he's got an appointment in less than 30 minutes. Could I tell him who your mutual friend is?"

Nelson forestalled Morton's answer by putting a hand on his arm. "Just mention our names to Mr. Guthrie. He'll know who we mean." She

nodded and rising, went through the door to the inner office. Morton looked at Nelson with a lifted eyebrow. Nelson smiled slightly and answered the unasked question.

"I have a feeling that the fewer people who know that we are looking for Lee the better. I'm sure that Mr. Guthrie will know who we are, and this way there's no gossip at the water cooler." Morton, seeing the point, nodded. The inner door opened and the woman stepped out, leaving the door open behind her.

"Mr. Guthrie says he can give you fifteen minutes. Please step this way." She gestured them into the office. They entered and found a man

of Chip's age stuffing papers in a briefcase. As they approached his desk he closed the briefcase and set it aside. He rose to his feet and offered a hand to Morton.

"It's been a long time, Chip. I think it was that party in Manila just before I resigned. You were wearing a redhead if I recall. Whatever happened with her?" He smiled and the two men shook hands vigorously.

"Don't ask me. After we got thrown out of the third bar she dumped me for a Marine. How have you been, Jerry? How's your wife, Faith isn't it?" Morton said.

"She's good. Thanks for asking. The cancer is in remission now. She's been able to do without the radiation treatments for three month now. And since she's doing good I'm doing good," Guthrie said and glanced at Nelson. Morton cleared his throat and introduced the older man.

"Admiral Harriman Nelson, this is Jerry Guthrie. He graduated in the same class as Lee and me at the Academy. Now he's steering a desk, but he's not a bad guy. Jerry, this is my boss, so no more made up stories about Manila," Chip joked.

Guthrie seemed to lose the jovial mood that he had greeted Morton with as he shook hands with Nelson and gestured them to chairs in front of the desk "I don't have much time; I have an appointment down the hall in about twenty minutes. I assume this is about Lee." Both Nelson and Morton shifted to the edges of their seat as Guthrie mentioned their friend. Nelson took the reins of the conversation, though he sensed that Guthrie wasn't overly pleased to meet him.

"Yes. We're looking for him. He was doing some investigative work on his own, and we've lost touch with him. We don't know where he might be, so we don't have anywhere to start looking. Mr. Morton said that Lee had come to you in the past for information; we were wondering if he might have done so again yesterday," he said seriously. He really didn't care if Guthrie liked him or not, as long as he helped them out.

Guthrie seemed to consider his words for several seconds, his eyes on Nelson, and then he looked at Morton. He shook his head and gave a humorless laugh. "Well, I at least have the satisfaction of knowing that Crane can be wrong about something. I was beginning to wonder. Captain of the world's biggest submarine, darling of the ONI, adored by women everywhere, including my wife I might add. It was giving me a complex. It's good to see that he can at least misread a situation." Guthrie sat back in his chair and looked back at Nelson. "No offense to you, sir, but I wasn't expecting you to come. Rumor has it you didn't exactly part as friends with your former captain…"

"PRESENT captain," Nelson said firmly. He met Guthrie's eyes steadily. The man accepted the correction with a nod.

"Present captain then. In fact, there was talk of court martial for refusing a direct order," he continued.

"Where did you hear this rumor, Jerry?" Chip asked, wondering about where the man was going with this.

Guthrie shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It's not widespread, but there are people talking about it. People who make decisions about things like promotions and appropriations. People who love a good scandal about other people who can do things they can't. People who would love to see Lee crash and burn. I owe Lee a lot. If it weren't for him I wouldn't be able to go home to my wife every day and be there for her. I would do just about anything he asked of me." He stopped as he saw the puzzled look on Morton's face. He laughed and shook his head again. "He didn't tell you, did he? What he did for us?"

Chip frowned. "No he didn't say anything. What do you mean? What did he do?" he asked, but Guthrie shook his head.

"If he wanted you to know he would have told you. It doesn't matter now anyway, just so that you understand, both of you," he said, with a glance at Nelson. "I'm doing this for him, and not for you. I'll answer what I can, but that's all." He looked at Nelson again. "I won't break his trust."

Nelson tried hard to not take offense at the words. He was not going to defend himself to this man. There was no defense, and the only one he owed anything to was Crane. Even with that, he felt a thrill of hope as he realized what the man was saying. "I would not expect you to do so," he assured Guthrie, hoping that his words would not come back to bite him. "Can we assume from your words that you do have some information about Lee? We believe he was doing some investigation of the man..."

"Foggerty," Guthrie supplied, confirming Nelson's suspicion that he did indeed know what was going on, and that Lee might have indeed been in contact. Nelson continued with a nod.

"We have just found out that Foggerty, or at least a man that was living in the house where Foggerty supposedly lived, was shot and killed last night by what appears to be a sniper. You understand that we are concerned that Lee ran into some trouble."

Guthrie nodded and got to his feet. He went to a small locked file cabinet and opened the top drawer with a key. He took out two envelopes, one slightly thicker than the other. He walked back over to his desk, and handed an envelope to each man. Morton got the thicker envelope. They both looked at the envelopes, each addressed to them in Lee Crane's distinctive handwriting, and then at Guthrie who shrugged.

"That's it. I can tell you that, yes, he did run into some trouble." He held up a hand to keep the questions he saw in their eyes from being asked. "With typical Lee Crane luck he was coming here to ask me for any help I could give him and he spotted the guy in the corridor coming out of the office of an aide to the SecNav. He followed him toward one of the parking lots and buttonholed a security man and told him to come to me with a note. He gave me the number of a guy at ONI who knew most of the story, and I waited for him to call me when he had a new address. I should have known better. It was almost seven before he called. By that time all the excitement was over."

"Excitement?" Morton asked having a bad feeling that he knew exactly what Guthrie was talking about.

"Lee was there when Foggerty was shot." He saw the alarm in both faces and rapidly added, "Got a graze on his bicep but other than that he's fine. It seems the sniper was only interested in Foggerty. If it's of any interest to you, some of my colleagues at Langley were tracking a 'suspected' hit man who entered the country two days ago in New York. He gave his tail the slip at the airport here in D.C. yesterday morning. They were looking for him all day until he turned up at the airport again last night like he had just been out sightseeing. He took a flight back to New York then on to Eluthra. In case you don't know, that's a major offshore banking center in the Caribbean. They have no doubt that Foggerty was his victim. You could say that we are taking a much closer look at the SecNav's aide right now."

"But what about Lee? If he's all right, where is he?" Morton asked, not really deeply concerned about the man who had assassinated Foggerty, the aide, or about Foggerty himself for that matter.

Guthrie gave them that humorless smile again, with a little laugh. "I would have thought you would guessed by now, Chip. You've known him longer than I have."

"He's gone after whomever Foggerty was working for. Did he get the information out of Foggerty before he was killed?" Nelson said grimly. Guthrie shot him a surprised look and nodded. "Damn." Nelson sighed.

"What! You let him go haring off alone after someone who evidently had no trouble having his agent killed? Where the hell is he?" Morton said, getting to his feet and starting to pace around. He looked at Nelson who was still seated, staring at the floor. "If all else fails, we'll set Jamie on him. Even a graze needs a medical evaluation. Once we get him on the boat we can talk him out of playing the Lone Ranger." He stopped his rant as he saw both Nelson and Guthrie shake their heads. He addressed his question to Nelson. "What?"

Nelson looked at Guthrie then at Morton. His face was grim, and his eyes dark with a sorrow that could not be expressed. "He doesn't intend to allow us the chance to talk him out of it. I would not be surprised if he wasn't already gone." He waved the envelope that he still held. "He's said his goodbyes and he's on his way." He looked at Guthrie for confirmation. The man nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. Nelson nodded to himself. He rose to his feet.

"Come along, Mr. Morton. We've taken enough of Mr. Guthrie's time. He's already late for his appointment," he said to Chip, who had frozen in place. Nelson looked at Guthrie. "Thank you for your help." He headed toward the door. Morton watched him go and looked back at Guthrie, who was watching Nelson go with a bemused look on his face.

"That's it? We just accept it all and go back to the boat?" Chip demanded.

Nelson spun around at the door and when he spoke his voice was filled with all the anger and pain that Morton could see in his eyes. "YES! That's it. He's gone. Do you really think we have much of a chance of finding him now?" Nelson pointed at Guthrie. "HE'S not going to tell us anything. He told us where his loyalties lie and Lee's too good at what he does to make it easy for us to track him. We'd only be putting him in more danger if we blundered around and possibly alert whoever he's after that he's on the trail. He's gone on his own because that's all I left him." He stopped suddenly, straightened his posture, and with a visible effort contorted his face into a polite mask. Only if you looked into his eyes could you see the toll this was taking on him. "I'll be waiting at the car." He left the room, closing the door. Morton turned to Guthrie who shrugged.

"The man knows what he's talking about. You won't find him. Even I only know part of it, and that's only enough to be dangerous like the admiral said. Don't get him killed, Chip; he's counting on you to take care of that fancy boat of his until he gets back. He told me that. He's also counting on you to take care of Nelson." Guthrie watched as Chip made a face, and smiled. He pointed at the letter. "Read that. He really doesn't blame Nelson. If it were me, I would have clocked the old man back and damn the consequences; packed my gear, wrote him off, and found me a good Navy lawyer. Of course, Lee's got to be different." He shook his head. "I told Lee that, and he laughed at me, and asked me if Faith ever got a bit out of sorts when she was on the chemo. I told him yes, that she could be pretty nasty sometimes when she was hurting. He asked me if I was planning on getting a divorce." He laughed at the look on Chip's face. Morton hung his head and shook it. Leave it to Lee.

"Jerry, I wish I could say it's been nice to see you, but under the circumstances…" he offered his hand. Guthrie took it wordlessly and shook. Morton gave him a small smile and left the room. Jerry Guthrie leaned against his desk, and stared at the closed door.

"Good luck, Lee. Good luck to you all.

Chapter 16-

"The job is done," came the voice from the intercom. "Payment as usual?"

"Yes, delivery tomorrow, in the usual place. No complications?" Ortiz answered, sitting back in his chair.

"Of course not. I am a professional. You hire the best you get the best results. The objective was met, and the collateral damage was minimal," the voice replied.

"Collateral?"

"Another person was there, but he saw nothing."

"There was someone else there?" Ortiz asked. "I was told his family had been moved already. Who was there?"

"Don't know. Male, early to mid-thirties, dark hair, slim build. Must have been waiting in the house for him since he didn't come in with the target, or come in later; maybe a friend helping with the packing or something. I didn't stick around to ask for ID, if you know what I mean," the voice replied.

"Very well. As long as the job was done." He paused considering the implications of there being a witness of sorts. "As I said payment as usual and in the same place. Keep in touch. I may have use for you again in the near future, perhaps this time you can use your other talents."

"Oh, haven't had a chance to do that since the Sandinistas got tossed out; there's just no one looking for a good… interrogator anymore. I'll drop a line." The phone was disconnected. Ortiz sat back in his chair.

All in all, the operation had been less successful than he had hoped. He had set out to inconvenience and harass his enemy, and that had been done. According to reports, once again culled from agents in the area bars and nightspots, Nelson had not only fired Crane, he had physically attacked him, the end result of which seemed to be Crane leaving and basically disappearing. While the idea of causing the two men he held responsible for his exile any pain, be it emotional or physical, held great appeal, Ortiz was aware of the costs. They had lost the use of Foggerty, who had been in a unique position to access the Pentagon and the Secretary of the Navy's office. That could be a loss that could mean the failure of several projects that Pritcorp had in the works. Should such failure occur, he had no doubt where Pritchard would be looking for his scapegoat

Ortiz had few illusions about the permanence of his position with Pritcorp. No one, with the possible exception of Pritchard's daughter, was permanent, and Ortiz suspected that Lucinda Pritchard was there on as much sufferance as anyone else. She just happened to know where a few more of the bodies were buried, and it would take more to buy her off. Ortiz knew for a fact that she was sleeping with at least three members of the board, and had probably bedded all of them with the exception of her father at one time or another. That was simply the way she was.

Ortiz knew where a few bodies were buried himself now too, literally in fact. He had even put a few there himself at Pritchard's request. There had been those two research assistants, and then that ambitious district attorney. But still, as he had just demonstrated with Foggerty, there was always a way of dealing with assets that had ceased to have any value. He didn't intend to become one of those.

He had plans. He was building his fortune back up. Making contacts in places that had not been open to him before. He would return to Costa Nuestra one day, at the head of his own army. He would stomp out those who had driven him from his country, and he would finally be where he wanted, deserved, to be.

Purpose reaffirmed in his mind, Ortiz stretched and glanced at the clock, almost five. Time for cocktails at the club then dinner at the Savoy with the ambassador from the People's Republic. After that, some dancing and who knows what else. He rose to his feet and sauntered out of the room, turning out the lights as he left. In the darkness of the room his monitor glowed brightly. On the screen was a listing of names; at the head of the list was a title. It read "Prospective Crew List, Tantalus 2." Had he been sitting at his desk he might have seen the small warning box pop up on the screen notifying the user that the work file was being updated to reflect changes in the original file on the Pritcorp mainframe. A certain amount of time was allowed to keep the old file and disallow any changes, but since there was no one there, the warning went unanswered. The warning box cleared from the screen, and the file was reloaded. It was doubtful that anyone would have noticed the change that had been made. The one name that had been added to the list did not stand out, and did not make any noticeable impact. After another five minutes of inactivity the screen automatically shut itself off. The room became completely dark.

TBC in the next sin…..

Authors note: As you can see I have decided to indulge in the art of the cliffhanger. Ain't we got fun?