Greed

by kashkow

Sometimes you can take the measure of a man by the enemies that he has...Part 6 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' cycle.

Author's Note: Number six in the "Seven Deadly Sins" series. I hope that you all know how much I appreciate the continuing feedback I have received. It really is very gratifying and I am so happy that you are all enjoying reading my stories as much as I enjoy writing them. Only one more to go after this, please stick with me. Not much action in this one since it is really a set up for the last. You might want to buckle in though, there could be turbulence on the way…

Greed by Ellen H

Chapter one-

"No!" The single word came very clearly through the walls of the office, and Angie turned so that the person she was talking to on the phone had less chance of hearing it through the mouthpiece. She cupped her hand around it as well. It was no one's business what went on in that office and she was not about to allow rumors to get started over partially heard arguments. She just hoped it didn't go on much longer, there were other people on this floor, and it was only a matter of time before word spread. She was just hanging up when the door to the inner office slammed open. A slim figure in a dark blue uniform stood in the doorway; he turned to speak with the occupants of the office.

"You DID it, so it can be UNDONE!" With that pronouncement the man turned and stepped out of the office, slamming the door behind him. He marched past Angie without a glance, and slammed the outer door as well. She was left staring after him.

She could feel a faint flush rising in her cheeks, and she shook her head. The only thing more magnificent than Lee Crane in his dress blues was Lee Crane in his dress blues and in a full-blown temper. She didn't know what was going on in there, but whatever it was the captain was not happy about it, and hadn't been shy about expressing it to the other men in the office. She wondered how THAT had gone over, especially given what had happened in the last few months. The captain had only just returned from… somewhere, no one was saying where, and his relationship with the admiral was the subject of much speculation among the employees at the Institute. She sighed. She wished everything could be back to normal. She didn't like it when everyone was so tense and angry. With another sigh she went back to typing the dictation the admiral had given her.

Inside the office silence reigned. Admiral Harriman Nelson, USN retired, sat back in the large leather chair behind his desk and looked at the door which seemed to be still vibrating from the force with which it had been slammed. He mentally calculated the force necessary to shatter the materials it was made of and pondered the possibility that a human could generate such a force with a single slam. It was mental busywork while he let the conversation of the last few minutes run through his head, wondering exactly when it had all gone wrong. The other occupant of the room was also staring at the door. He shook his head and turned back to Nelson. There was a spark of admiration in Jules Pearson's eyes as he met Nelson's gaze. He gave a snort of laughter.

"No wonder you hired that boy, Harry. He's the only one that can take everything you can give and hand it right back to you plus some! I'm glad I never made him angry before." He leaned out of the chair and started picking up the papers that were scattered on the floor. He straightened back up as Nelson spoke.

"That wasn't anger," the admiral said with a sigh.

"If that wasn't anger, it was a damn fine imitation," Pearson observed. He didn't ask the question that was on his mind, but he knew that Nelson heard it anyway. Nelson shook his head and swiveled the leather chair so that he could look out the window. Pearson watched his old friend and employer carefully. He cared for, and truly liked, Harry Nelson, and not just because he was incredibly rich as some of his acquaintances thought. He liked the man behind the money and the genius. Harry was a decent man with high morals and in spite of his incredible intellect or maybe because of it, he was charmingly naïve about some things. It had recently come to Pearson's attention that the joys and pains of fatherhood was no longer one of the things he was ignorant of. It had surprised him somewhat to realize that knowledge had come to the admiral in the form of Lee B. Crane, former Navy submarine captain, current captain of Nelson's greatest invention, the submarine Seaview, and, it now appeared, son by everything but blood.

Pearson had dealt with the young man in passing and had heard from Nelson about him, but it had been only recently that he had worked at length with the young man and had been able to take his measure. After a somewhat rocky start when Crane accused one of Pearson's oldest friends and colleagues of attempting to ruin Nelson and the Institute, he had come to respect the captain. Despite his age, the young man was canny and wise in the ways of the world, in some ways more so than Nelson or Pearson himself. Having proved himself right about the now ex-friend, he had proceeded to lay out what was going on and had enlisted Pearson's help in ridding the Institute of the man and reversing the damage he had done. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, that betrayal, but it had been done, and so had begun a roller coaster ride that even now, several months after the fact, still hadn't reached its penultimate twist and turn.

He had felt more alive in the last months than he had in years. He had been swimming with the sharks and had come out not only with his skin intact, but picking remains out of his own teeth. He had dove into the pool at Nelson's behest and with his money; but he had played the game his way, and it had been a heady and thoroughly satisfying game. Nelson had given him nearly free rein, the only caveats being that in the end, Jason Pritchard the III was out of business and that it all had to be legal. He hadn't gotten it all nailed down yet, but he was on the right track to do so. He knew, of course, that he wasn't the only player in the game; Harry had been working his own magic with the bigwigs in Washington while he had worked Wall Street. He had lost track of the number of criminal charges that had been filed against PritCorp, and its Chairman, Jason Pritchard, but a fair number of them were because of his work.

The S.E.C. had been VERY interested in some of the things Pearson had unearthed, not to mention some of the information that Crane had mined from the company's computers. It had only been ethical to provide the information to the commission. Stock mismanagement, insider trading, fraud, junk bonds –there had been so many different violations. Pearson had been impressed with the breadth of the operation and how well PritCorp's lawyers and accountants had hidden it for so long. He was not as impressed with their damage control and suspected that they had gotten complacent; they hadn't counted on someone like him prying the lid off all the deeply buried cans of worms. They hadn't counted on the vengeful response of Harry Nelson either. The machinations of Pritchard and some of his people had almost resulted in the loss of the one thing that it turned out Harry valued above all others. Jules Pearson knew he was only one of many weapons Nelson had brought to bear on PritCorp because of threat to Lee Crane.

Pearson was everyday becoming more aware of what had grown out of the meeting of the two men. He had at first, just after Harry had hired the younger man, been somewhat wary of the relationship. He understood that Crane was a good captain, maybe one of the best, but that had not been his concern. He had known Harry Nelson for decades, and while the man was smarter than anyone he knew when it came to science, and was a superb Naval officer, there were certain things that seemed to escape him. One of those things was the finer dealings of finance, and the other was interpersonal relationships.

While he, and their contemporaries, had married and produced families, Harriman Nelson had built an Institute, and produced the Seaview. That he was 'married' to the idea of preserving the oceans, and that the Seaview was his baby Pearson had no doubt. But it wasn't the same. He had watched as Nelson had gone from woman to woman, always treating them in the courtly manner, but never finding the 'one' woman with whom he could spend his life.

There had of course been Edith, before her tragic death, but even with her Nelson had seemed restrained. Since Edith had been the same way, Pearson had come to understand that it was simply their way, and that while they didn't express it, they still loved each other. Harry had plenty of friends and associates, and of course as with any rich person, a contingent of hangers on. Pearson supposed that Nelson, coming from a rich background, had become used to those people who would pretend to like him for his money at an early age. He was quite the catch really: rich, successful, and handsome. Gold diggers had abounded in the early years, some of them Harry refused outright, others he amused himself with, always the gentleman, but never involved.

Then along came Lee Crane. Pearson had known of the young man almost from the start of the friendship. Nelson had mentioned an extraordinary young midshipman who had helped him out of a tight situation, and it had grown from there. There were months, sometimes years when they didn't meet, but fate always seemed to draw them back together, and Pearson knew that Nelson had always kept his ear to the ground for news about the younger man.

He could still recall an incident, almost 12 years ago when he had been meeting with Nelson about some financial papers. Nelson had been onshore for a brief time while the Nautalis was being refitted. He had a small office on the Norfolk base. They had been going over the specifics when the phone had rang. With an apologetic shrug Nelson had answered, and had listened to the person at the other end speak. From Nelson's response he had known that the caller was Commander Eric La Salle, a close friend of Nelson's who was currently teaching at the Academy. Whatever La Salle had to say it had not gone down well. Pearson could track the rise of Nelson's formidable temper with the color that was sufficing his face. By the time he growled a halfway civil 'thank you' and 'goodbye' to La Salle, Pearson could see that Nelson was ready to explode. He had slammed down the phone and started ransacking the drawers of his desk, grumbling under his breath all the while. Obviously forgotten, Pearson had watched as Nelson had pawed through the organized drawers, the work of his orderly, messing up the contents and then slamming them shut in frustration. Finally, not finding what he was looking for he had simply stood and stalked to the door. Flinging it open with a slam, he had stalked out to his orderly's desk and stood over the man.

Pearson had to give that young man a tip of his hat for courage under fire. Seaman first class Sharkey had simply risen to attention and waited for Nelson's command. Nelson had frowned on him mightily but had simply ground out his request for a call to be placed to Admiral Blankman at the Office of Naval Intelligence, since he couldn't find his address book to do it himself. Sharkey had calmly acknowledged the order and reached for the phone. Nelson had slammed back into his office and flung himself into his chair, catching sight of Pearson as he did so. He had scowled, then straightened and rolled forward to lean on the desk.

"Sorry, Jules." He said, "Let's get these papers signed. I've got to take care of something else as soon as that call goes through."

Pearson had spread out the papers, indicating where Nelson should sign. The captain had done so, his signature rushed and for the most part illegible, not his usual style at all. Pearson had collected the papers and put them in his brief case, then had looked at Nelson. He had been sitting in his chair, staring out the window with such a sad look on his face that Pearson had been moved to ask a question.

"Is there anything I can do Harry?" He supposed it was some sort of Navy thing, and that there was not really much he, a civilian, could do, but he needed to ask. That look had been… heart wrenching. Nelson had turned to look at him, and had sighed, seemingly with the temper held in check for the moment, but Pearson could see it burning in the back of Nelson's blue eyes. Harry had shaken his head.

"No, Jules. But thank you for asking. I uh…" He stopped for a moment, as if considering if he wanted to continue, then began again. "You remember that young man I told you about, the midshipman?" he asked.

Pearson nodded. "Yes, Lane or something like that?" He was not very good with names.

Nelson smiled. "Crane, Lee Crane. He's a lt now, jg. He was on the Nautalis for a tour as an ensign. He's back at Groton now, taking some advanced courses. I just heard from Eric La Salle that…" Nelson stopped again, and Pearson saw the temper building back up. "Eric says he found out Crane was missing from classes for two weeks, then showed up with a broken arm and cracked ribs. Eric teaches some classes there, you know. He's been… keeping track of Crane for me." A faint blush was added to the color already in Nelson's face.

"Some kind of accident?" Pearson suggested, though he knew that Nelson would not be this upset over an accident, then of course there was that call to ONI. Because of his association with Nelson he knew who they were.

"That was the scuttlebutt going around, and Crane didn't deny it, then Eric found out that Crane had been 'detached' from classes and reassigned for those two weeks." Nelson said getting to his feet and pacing the small office. He scowled out the window. "A little more digging on his part and he found out that Crane had been reassigned to ONI for those two weeks, at the request of Admiral Blankman himself, the head of ONI. Do you know what that means?" he demanded.

Pearson shook his head. "You have to remember Harry, I did my stint in the Army as an Infantryman, Navy Politics are a puzzle to me."

"It's not politics, Jules, its cradle robbing!" Nelson growled. "They've recruited that boy for assignments. He's hardly dry behind the ears and they have him…" he broke off, obviously realizing he couldn't detail what ONI did. He slumped back into his chair. "He's a damn fine submarine officer, Jules, maybe one of the best. I can't allow them to get their claws into him." At that point the phone had rung. The call had been made, and Admiral Blankman was on the line, Sharkey had announced. Pearson had taken his leave.

Now, years later Parson realized that even then, Harry had looked upon Crane as more than just a 'damn fine submarine officer'. It had been growing then, had perhaps been growing since their first meeting years earlier. Drawn together by fate, and held together by mutual regard and love, the two men had become the family that each had secretly longed for, and Pearson was determined that they were going to stay that way, if he had anything to say about it.

Now the Pritchard Corporation's headquarters had been raided and seized by a multi-agency federal task force. They were gathering evidence of several different crimes on which indictments had been handed down. All of the corporate assets in the United States had been frozen, along with the personal assets of all of the board members. All of the domestic subsidiaries had been closed pending investigation. Trading in all stock had been stopped in all US markets. There was a warrant out for Jason Pritchard III, who, it was rumored, was currently holed up in the corporate offices in Hong Kong. They had cut the head off the snake, but there was still a large body left thrashing around. PritCorp was a multinational corporation with fingers in everyone's pie.

The Justice Department had been working with several governments to extend the seizures and had been getting cooperation on most, if not all, fronts. Trading had stopped on the Japanese markets and the British stock exchange. Hong Kong was not cooperating. Evidently very large bribes had made it to the right people, and Pritchard was safe there for now. The question was: how would he strike back and when? Neither Pearson, nor Nelson, believed he would not. That is why, when Pearson had made certain suggestions, Nelson had agreed at once and told him to write up the papers. Of course it turned out that they had not taken one important thing into consideration, the response of one Captain Lee B. Crane.

Nelson sighed again, bringing Pearson's mind back to his friend. Nelson was looking better than he had in quite a long time. He had some color back in his face, and Pearson had actually heard him laughing earlier. It had been a nice change from the grim, hurting, OLD man that had haunted these halls for the last two months. When the argument with their stubborn captain had begun he had been afraid that Nelson would revert to that man, but it had not been so, in fact, his friend had almost seemed to be, if not enjoying himself, comfortable with the situation. Obviously the relationship was healthy enough to withstand honest disagreement; Pearson could not say the same for many biological relationships. He had just about given up on getting his unasked question answered when finally Nelson spoke.

"When Captain Crane gets angry, he gets quiet. The quieter he gets the angrier he is. What you just saw wasn't anger. What you just saw was uncertainty, and surprise, and… and guilt. Maybe even some fear," he said, still looking out the window.

"I can understand the surprise, and the uncertainty, but fear and guilt? That young man doesn't strike me as someone who lets fear get much of a toehold. From some of the stories you've told me, I didn't think the boy had even a passing acquaintance with the feeling," Pearson said. Nelson turned his head and looked at him.

"Not that kind of fear. Lee is one of the most courageous men I have ever known when it comes to putting himself on the line to do what must be done. I'm not going to say he isn't afraid when he does some of the things I've seen him do. Any sane man would be afraid. He never lets it stop him from acting, however. But this is a different fear. This isn't about him physically putting himself at risk. This is worse. This is emotionally risky, mentally dangerous." Nelson paused and looked at the closed door. He seemed to consider his next words carefully.

"Lee didn't have a very pleasant childhood; in fact, it was quite ugly up until he was ten when he was adopted by the Cranes. Even then it didn't really improve until he went to the Academy. He won't tell anyone everything about it, but from what those of us he has shared parts with have been able to put together, the fact that he is the man he has proven himself time and again to be is a triumph of the spirit over environment. He has every right to be wary of… gestures of the sort we just proposed to him; in the past they have come at a very high price."

"I hardly call giving him power of attorney over what amounts to your entire life a 'gesture', Harry. I would have thought he would have been honored that you trusted him enough to do it," Pearson responded. "It wasn't as if you were asking him to reciprocate."

"That wasn't it, Jules. I can guarantee you that had I asked him to give me his power of attorney, he would have done it without question. It isn't about the money or the power; it's about the responsibility. That is what scares him."

"I would have said that a more responsible man would be hard to find. In fact, from what you've told me, he is almost responsible to a fault."

"Hmm." Nelson nodded. "But, you see, that's his job as he sees it. He is the captain of the Seaview, and therefore he is responsible for the boat and everyone on it. He is an ONI agent, a highly capable one, so it is his responsibility, his duty, to take assignments when he is needed. But this… this is personal, between him and me. He allows me certain privileges, concessions he has never allowed anyone else. I can hurt him like no one else can." He stopped for a moment and Pearson saw that hurt flash in the pale blue eyes. "And I have," Nelson added softly.

"Water under the bridge, Harry, let it go. He has," Pearson counseled, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. He exhaled and looked at Nelson who was staring out the window again. "Okay, so he's had a hard life. I can understand that he might be wary of 'gestures' as you call them, but this is legal and completely above board. He has nothing at risk. Once he signs these papers and they are filed with the court, anything having to do with Institute business or your personal finances will require not only your signature but his as well. All that is required of him is to put his name on a stack of papers. It's not like we're asking him to make any decisions, though I think that he would only make those in your best interest anyway. You say he feels guilty too, guilty about what?"

"You don't understand, Jules," Nelson said with a sigh. "It's always been clear to me, and to anyone who knows about the relationship we have, that he has never cared about my money. If I suddenly hadn't a dime he would still be to me everything he is now, and would probably be more comfortable with it. By taking this step, at least the part about my personal finances, I've put him in a situation where it might appear to those who don't understand that he has insinuated himself into my life for the purpose of getting a foot in the door so to speak." Nelson smiled grimly. "Not all that long ago I told him that I was leaving almost everything to him with the exception of some bequests to charities and a few distant relatives and, and after he got over the shock, I thought he was going to quit then and there. I finally had to tell him that even if he left I would STILL leave it to him to get him to allow me to leave the will as it was. At his request, the terms of my will are strictly confidential."

"So he didn't want anyone to know that he was the heir apparent. I can understand that. It would have made his position difficult, maybe impossible. But he's taken over some of the things that you used to do here at the Institute and it's obvious that you have allowed it. He hasn't been shy about that by any means, why is this any different?" Pearson asked. He had not really thought about how complicated the relationship between these two men was.

"You are missing the point, Jules, just as I did for a while, but I finally realized what it was. If he signs those papers everyone here would KNOW that I had given him that power over my life, would KNOW that I trusted him to that level. That he could probably handle in regard to the Institute, but on the personal level…" He shifted in his seat. "As you are well aware, we've been circumspect about our relationship up till now. I have had more than enough publicity in my life to want to have any more of my private business put out for public consumption, and Lee….Lee is an intensely private man. One who is definitely not given to public displays of any emotion or feelings. We've been mutually content to let it be as it is. There are those people who know, certainly: Chip Morton, Will Jamieson, several of the men on the boat, they know the most. Others here at the Institute and in the places we spend the most time, have known for years that there was more than friendship between us, but they don't know how deep it runs." He stopped and rose to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the window. Pearson smiled at the display of restless energy. It was good to see Nelson almost back to normal.

"It seemed the best way, never mind the nasty speculation regarding the exact nature of our relationship." He stopped as Pearson made a choked noise.

"You uh… heard about that?" Pearson said with a faint flush rising in his cheeks. Nelson smiled at him, devilishly.

"Yes, Jules, I heard about that. Lee has too I'm sure, though he never mentioned it. The man has an uncanny skill when it comes to knowing what's going on anywhere around him." The smile dropped off his face. "I've spent many years on submarines staffed with young men, and you have to admit that Lee is not exactly hard to look at. Rumors like that have been around since men first took to the sea in ships; it isn't anything that both of us haven't heard before." He started pacing again.

"Anyway, despite rumor, we haven't felt it necessary to make any clarifications. This though, this can't be hidden, kept private. Once this becomes legal, everyone here will know, and it won't take long to get outside the Institute. My will has been recorded and is a matter of public record. The lawyers insisted on it. They said if I died without a publicly recorded will it would be like Howard Hughes all over again; people popping out of the woodwork with alternate wills and claims on the estate. This way there is no question. They filed it in some obscure little town somewhere in Northern California to keep it out of the way. If someone wanted to look, they would find it, and then it would be in the newspapers. That's what he feels guilty about. He thinks it's his fault that I've had to go to this length."

"How could he think that? He's not the one that started this war. That was Pritchard..." Pearson started, only to stop as Nelson shook his head.

"He thinks he should have been able to stop this before now; he was on the Tantalus, he was in their computers. He thinks that he failed because he was found out before he could find that one thing that would have resulted in Pritchard's immediate arrest. To make it worse, Pritchard left the country to go after Lee. That has put him out of reach for now. To Lee, it is just one more failure. So yes, he feels guilty," Nelson said, emphasizing the last word with a smack of his palm against the wall by the window. He leaned on the sill, looking out over the magnificent view, though Pearson suspected he didn't see it. Pearson rose to his feet and went to stand at Nelson's side, dropping a hand on the broad shoulder of his friend. He hadn't realized the mental and emotional minefield he was pushing them into with his proposal. Not that he thought it was wrong, but he did regret the tension it had caused. It seemed that late-in-life adoptive fatherhood was no less fraught with perils than the regular type.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know. But something like this has to be done. Things are too open any other way. I can have the documents redone with another name…" he was cut off by a shout almost as loud as the previous one.

"NO!" Nelson spun to face him, and the blue eyes were blazing with their familiar fire. "LEE is the one I want. Despite his response, if I changed it now he would take it as if I was buying into his guilt trip and blamed him for this damnable situation," he said forcefully. He took a deep breath and stepped back, realizing that he had been a little too intense perhaps, though Pearson was smiling at him in that insufferable knowing way again. "Stop smirking at me, Jules. I'm sailing a fine line here, and I seem to have only one good channel and a very strong wind on my quarter. I can't afford to end up on the rocks with this. I WON'T."

Pearson didn't bother to hide his smile. Back to the old Nelson indeed, it seemed. He held up a placating hand. "Very well, no changes, but how are you going to convince him to sign the papers? This needs to get done, Harry, now." He knew he was being a nag about it, but that last thing with Harry had scared them all. He had been under the influence of a drug that had made him a stranger, an angry stranger. If their enemy was going to take such steps, there was no telling what might be next, and the protection of requiring two signatures on any given directive or financial paper was only good sense. Nelson nodded and took in a large lungful of air, letting it out slowly. He was looking out the window again, but this time he was definitely looking AT something. Pearson followed his line of sight.

He saw a slim figure in dark blue stride past the entrance to the massive sub pen and move along the path that led toward the stretch of beach. He saw a second figure, also in dark blue though he could see the blond hair even from here, standing at the entrance to the sub pen looking after the other. As he watched, the blond figure turned and looked toward the building they were in. Pearson had the feeling that sharp blue eyes were looking at the window in which they stood. At his side he saw Nelson nod as if he were answering a question that Pearson couldn't hear. The second figure then turned and followed the first. Nelson nodded slightly.

"I'll talk with him again in a little while. Maybe Chip can…" He didn't finish the statement. The two old friends stood there watching as the two young men disappeared down the path. They were both thinking about the captain, and wondering if his friend could make him see that in no way was it his fault that things had come to such a pass. He needed to see that before he would be able to see that what they asked was no more than a simple precaution. In silence they waited.

Chapter Two

Former US Navy Captain Ian Porter felt his jaw drop and he knew he must look like an idiot as he stood before the large desk in the very well appointed office and stared at the man sitting in the large leather chair. However, what he had just heard had hit him from out of the blue.

"You… you mean you're letting me go? Wh...Why? You can't blame me for what Crane did! I had no way of knowing he would be on the boat. I wasn't told that there was a chance of industrial espionage. He was run through the security check at the corporate headquarters and I hired him on the merits of his resume. I was told that his work history had checked out. You CAN'T hold me responsible for that! We were ahead of schedule; just read my reports…" he finally stammered out, looking from the man behind the desk to the man that was seated on the leather couch about ten feet away. Neither man seemed impressed with his argument. He looked at his Executive Officer, Williams, seeking the support that one expected from his XO. Williams seemed to be looking out the window of the top floor office. With no place else to go, Porter looked back at the man behind the desk.

Jason Pritchard III waved a languid hand at him, as if dismissing his protest. "I've read your reports," he said, "all of them. And yes, you were ahead of schedule. However, I find myself in need of a captain that has a little more… panache, let's say. Someone who can not only get things done, but will get them done my way."

Porter felt his world spin again. What was Pritchard saying? He had been the perfect captain. He had gotten the boat to where it was supposed to go and had been well on their way to completing the mission. He hadn't known about the industrial war that was evidently being waged between PritCorp and Nelson's Institute. How could he have even suspected that Lee Crane, now a reserve officer and captain of Nelson's private submarine, would do something so crazy as to stow away on the Tantalus as a cook? He had, of course, known that they were technically breaking the law by mining in the People's Republic waters, but he had been assured that the right people saw that as a temporary hindrance that had been enacted just to make the Administration look good. Pritchard's lawyers had been sure that all they needed was a test case to have it overturned. In any case, there were plenty of people breaking it every day with no consequences, and who would know anyway? Or at least so he had thought until Crane and Nelson had shown up.

Now, he was under indictment in the United States for violation of the sanctions and he could not return there without being arrested. He had almost come to a state of peace with that as he had told himself that he really didn't need to go back anytime soon and he was sure that Pritchard could pull the strings necessary to get the indictments overturned. And anyway, he would be commanding the submarine at sea and it would not make any difference. Now he was being told that he was fired, and what was he to do?

"But… but I'm a good captain. Everything was running smoothly up until Crane dumped the machines. We retrieved all of them but the one he used to escape in. We didn't even lose any time since the ore ships were all unloading. The techs say there was no damage that can't be fixed in a few hours. They should be done by now, as a matter of fact," he protested. This whole thing with Crane had been confusing. He had never known the man personally but he knew of him, and while he disdained the younger man for his seeming meteoric rise through the ranks – no doubt aided by Nelson – he knew deep inside that Crane would not have done what he did if something of great importance were not going on. From what he had heard, Crane was often called in when US security was at stake. He just couldn't figure out what that stake, that importance, was. Pritchard smiled in the sharkish way he had and Porter shifted nervously where he stood. He once again cast a glance at Williams, but the other man avoided his gaze again. Porter felt something like heartburn beginning to grow in his chest.

"Don't get me wrong, Captain. I believe that you were the perfect choice for the job as it was. As you say, you were ahead of schedule, and truly it wasn't your fault that Crane was aboard. But the mission of the Tantalus has changed. In fact she is being refitted even as we speak."

"Refitted!" Porter gasped. "But I saw no plans, no one said anything. Who…" he stopped as Pritchard smiled again. He was beginning to hate that smile.

"Not to be concerned, Captain. I authorized the refit. The Tantalus is going to be used for a far more important and different purpose than mere mining, hence my need of a somewhat more….aggressive captain. I am also replacing the crew; quite a few of them that have quit anyway. My friends in the People's Republic have been more than accommodating on supplying me with experienced submarine personnel."

"But..."

"No, Captain, I fear you are not the right man for THIS job. I would not ask it of you. Mr. Ortiz here has made… arrangements for you, since you can't return to the States right now. We'll take care of that in good time too. Of course you will remain on the Pritcorp payroll. We take care of our own. Who knows, we may have another position for you soon. All of your gear has been brought here from the Tantalus. That's all, Captain." He turned slightly away, reaching for a cigar and dismissing Porter. Ortiz rose to his feet and motioned toward the door. Porter looked between the two men, trying to marshal an argument but finding none. He started to follow Ortiz, and realized that Williams was not following. He stopped and looked back, only to see Williams slipping into one of the visitor chairs in front of the desk, one of the chairs Porter had pointedly not been asked to use.

"XO," he said in puzzlement, "Are you coming?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pritchard smile again, but it was the face of the man he had considered his friend, his loyal supporter, that he was focused on. Williams was looking at him coolly, as if…

"No…" he started to protest, stunned, only to be cut off by Pritchard.

"On the contrary, Captain. I am happy to announce that Mr. Williams, CAPTAIN Williams, has agreed to take over the job of commanding the Tantalus on her new mission. I'm sure you wish him every success. Now, if you will excuse us, we have some mission details to go over." The dismissal was explicit in the words, brooking no protest, though they rose in his throat. Williams had been his XO. Porter had known that Williams had resented the Navy not picking him up for CO but hadn't thought that resentment extended to him, Porter. He had done his best for Williams, picking him for XO even when his superiors had suggested others, allowing him free rein with the crew, but now, to see this… betrayal. He had not thought that greediness for command would make Williams stab the one CO who had supported him in the back. And he would have never suspected that the bitterness would allow him to agree to captain a boat filled with People's Republic sailors.

Porter cast one last look at Pritchard, who was studying some files on his desk, ignoring Porter completely and then back at Williams who continued to look at him with that cool unconcern. He then turned and followed Ortiz from the room, unconsciously straightening his back. He may have been replaced, but he would go with the dignity as befitted a submarine captain. He would show them all how a gentleman acted.

Chapter Three

Lee Crane stalked down the hallway from Nelson's office and passed up the slower elevator for the immediate escape of the stairs. He quickly moved down the thankfully empty stairwell and out onto the concrete pathway that ran between the buildings. As he moved he was cursing himself for his actions in Nelson's office. He had no right to be so strident in his refusal. He had caused this by his inefficiency. He could have at least been graceful in his refusal.

He nodded vaguely to those who spoke to him as he passed, not really seeing them. He was almost to the turn in the path that would take him to the sub pen where the Seaview was docked when he suddenly realized that he could not even find peace on his 'Grey Lady'. The maintenance crew was working on cleaning the ventilation system throughout the boat. Today they were scheduled to be working in the control room and the officers' quarters. He paused for a moment, undecided. Then his eyes fell on the dirt path that led down to the beach at the base of the cliffs. Because the Institute owned the property there was no public access, and since it was the middle of winter few, if any, of the Institute personnel took advantage of its proximity, not wanting to dare the high winds and tossed spray of the sometimes heavy sea.

For Lee Crane, the nearby beach had proven a haven in the past, a sanctuary from the world. He always thought better near the sea. The sound of the waves, even in the throes of a storm, comforted him. The winds, though cold, cleared the fog from his brain. He made his choice and headed down the path. He heard a familiar voice calling his name but he chose to ignore it, not being ready to explain what had happened even to Chip Morton. He didn't figure that it would matter anyway; Chip seemed to have built-in sonar where he was concerned. His friend had adopted him as a younger brother in their second year at the Academy, and he remained even now firmly in that same station when they were not on the job, then they were only captain and XO. Chip would find him, and he would try to help with whatever it was, he was just that kind of friend. Of course, right now that meant he wasn't going to have much time to brood on his inefficiency and uselessness.

He quickly stripped off his shoes and socks and, with a shrug, rolled up his pants as well. Maybe that would keep Chip at bay. The blond did not have his fondness for the winter cold Pacific waters. He left his shoes and socks at the base of the path and walked into the surf, feeling the cold water licking at his calves. He faced into the wind and started walking. In moments he could feel the roiling emotions that had started in the office calming. He walked steadily, not really marking the distance he traveled. Finally he came to the end of the beach where it was cut off by the huge cliffs that towered above it. He stood there for a while, watching the waves come in and beat at the rocks. Nelson had once told him how long it had taken for the surf to eat away at the cliffs, chipping off pieces of the continent over the slow march of geological time. He finally turned and started back down the beach.

He saw Chip well before he reached the area he had entered the water. His friend was seated in the sand above the waterline, leaning against a log that had washed ashore. He was looking out to sea, but Crane knew that he was also well aware of his progress down the beach toward him. He sighed. He was feeling better, but he still didn't want to talk about it. He knew what he had to do, and was prepared to do it; he didn't need to talk about it. He turned as he reached his friend and went to sit at his side. The shape of the log protected them from the direct force of the wind, and Chip had shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to enjoy the weak winter sunshine. Submariners took their sunlight when they could. He had also abandoned his shoes and socks.

They sat there in silence for several minutes, each seemingly lost in his thoughts. Crane was actually mentally counting the minutes, wondering how long his friend would wait. He made a mental bet with himself, and mentally celebrated when Chip cleared his throat and turned to look at him, right on time.

"You want to tell me what this is all about, or should I just guess?" the XO asked. Crane shrugged and kept looking out to sea. He understood that Chip felt he needed to talk, but he wasn't going to make it easy. He heard Morton sigh, and had to hide a smile. It was sometimes entertaining to mess with his friend's knee jerk reactions.

Chip Morton looked at his friend in frustration. He knew that Crane was upset; he had seen that when the younger man had simply marched past him at the sub pen entrance without a word. He also knew that Crane often sought the solace of the sea when he wanted to think. Not having Crane's tolerance for freezing water, he had sat down and waited for the return of the walker, enjoying the sunshine though it was not as warm as he might have liked. Crane had eventually reappeared and had sat at his side. Of course he couldn't make it easy and just spill whatever it was. No, that would not be Lee Crane. Clams had nothing on the man when it came to keeping things to himself. Morton thought about what could have set this off, and could only come up with one possible source, Admiral Harriman Nelson.

The relationship between his two senior officers was one that Chip usually viewed with complete approval, but that had changed in the last three months. Recently the give and take of that relationship had been strained to the breaking point, and it seemed that Crane had been on the bad end of it. Not that it had been a bed of roses for Nelson either, Morton acknowledged in all fairness, but his first loyalty was to the man who sat beside him. That Lee viewed Nelson as the father that he had never had Morton had no doubt, and he believed that Nelson considered Lee his son. As far as Chip was concerned, Lee had been taking the brunt of this war with Pritchard. Because of his professional relationship with Nelson the captain had always been at risk due to the secrets that he held. But this personal risk was something again. It was because of that relationship that Lee had been a kidnapping target in Costa Nuestra. It was because of that relationship that Lee was the focus of Nelson's drugged rage. It was that relationship that had become the impetus for Lee's leaving Seaview and going in harm's way aboard Tantalus.

Lee didn't blame Nelson for any of the things that had happened over the last year in the continuing war with Pritchard. Nelson's enemies were Crane's enemies, that was a given. Chip sighed. If Lee didn't blame Nelson, he supposed he ought to let the old, old man off the hook too. In any event, the problem now, at least as far as Morton could figure out, was that Lee blamed himself.

He had known Lee Crane for over fifteen years and he had learned better than anyone else just what went on in that convoluted brain of his. Crane was a highly intelligent, very skilled, and incredibly competent naval officer. Morton had never served under anyone that could compare to Crane when it came to commanding a submarine. However, when it came to his emotional and personal life, the man was sometimes a surprisingly complicated mess. As far as he knew, he himself was the single longest relationship that Crane had ever had. Always a solitary man, Crane had lots of acquaintances, many friends, a very few close friends, and a handful of people he considered family. Morton was honored to be among the last group. But in that came some difficulties; Chip was often frustrated in his efforts to be a member of Lee's family. Because he came late to family, Crane didn't have a normal perception of what was involved in beingpart of a family. He sometimes operated as if he was still alone, answerable to no one and responsible for everything that happened.

Morton had a feeling that the responsibility that was so much a part of his friend was what was causing this newest upset. Until he had met Lee Crane he hadn't realized that a sense of responsibility could be a flaw but Lee took responsibility for things beyond his control, sometime to his own detriment. Since Crane had returned from his undercover time on the Tantalus, things had settled down for the most part, but he had caught Lee brooding on several occasions. That in itself was not unnatural, but the few times that Crane had been willing to speak of his time away from the Seaview had been tinged with a bitterness that Chip had almost with astonishment realized was because the younger man blamed himself for not having found the information necessary to bring Pritchard to justice. In addition, he was blaming himself for being the cause of Pritchard having been out of the country when the forces of the law had come knocking at the corporate headquarters' door with warrants.

Just last night, sitting in the darkened nose after the maintenance crews had left, he had detailed for Chip all the things he could have done to get the information faster, the chances he could have taken to dig further into the corporate computers earlier before Pritchard found out about his mission and left the country. He spoke with regret of all the trouble and worry he had caused only to fail in his mission. Faced with this blatant guilt trip Morton had been struck speechless. Even for Lee, this orgy of self-blame was a stretch. Even now he felt his stomach twist at the thought of what Lee had done and the danger he had been in. If the People's Republic had gotten a hold of him…and to sit there and listen to him talk about what he HADN'T done as if he had FAILED...

He looked at his friend's profile, again noting the changes that had taken place in the months they had been apart. The face was thinner, the sharp planes almost painfully sculpted out of flesh and bone. There were dark circles under his eyes, just now starting to fade as Jamieson practically tucked the young captain into bed each night. The eyes themselves were haunted, shuttered even to his closest friends, as if the habits he had learned in the months away were hard to break. The secrecy, the solitary existence, living with the constant threat of exposure, they had all told on Crane. Morton tried to find the right words to say what needed to be said. The words that would make Crane see that he wasn't to blame. The straightforward denial wouldn't work, he knew; he needed something else…

"This whole thing would have been different if only Nelson and Hickock had kept their mouths shut. You could have gotten all the information you needed and Pritchard would have been none the wiser. You would think two men of their age and experience would have thought a little about security before they got to talking. Of course, I guess they tried to make up for it later, trying to buy off that private detective and all. Not that it helped any," he finally said, giving his tone the bite of sarcasm at the last. There didn't seem to be any response so he decided to twist it a little bit more.

"Really, though, it's all on Nelson. I don't know how you can let him off the hook so easily," he said. "This whole mess is a pissing match between two old alpha males and you got stuck in the middle. It isn't …" He broke off as Crane got to his feet and started to walk away. Okay, that wasn't working.

He rose to his feet and followed. "Damn it, Lee. What do you expect from yourself? Are you so impressed with your ONI skills that you think that there's nowhere you can't go, nothing you can't do? Lee Crane, spy extraordinaire! All you need to do is try a little harder, dig a little deeper. Forget that you were on the submarine of a man that we know has had people killed, in the territorial waters of a regime that would give their collective eye teeth to get you in their clutches; forget that through no fault of your own you were exposed and left to fend for yourself. Forget all that; let's look at what you DID accomplish," he said loudly, following the retreating form that seemed to not be listening.

"You got yourself hired aboard Pritchard's boat, you found out he was mining in People's Republic waters despite the sanctions. You hacked his computer and found evidence of more crimes than we had known about, and there have been indictments handed down to arrest Pritchard and his top management. The PritCorp headquarters has been seized and shut down by the Feds, along with a very large amount of money in the banks. You escaped from his submarine with the evidence still in your possession and got away without a scratch; he couldn't even prove you were there without implicating himself further. Now what part of that is bad? What am I missing, Lee?" he practically shouted the last. It got the desired effect as the younger man spun on him and with a few long strides came to stand face to face with him.

"What you are missing is that it didn't do any good!" Crane growled, his golden eyes flashing. "Pritchard's still out there. He still has access to money and all that it can buy. He can strike at Nelson at any time. What if this time he decides to quite messing around and just hires an assassin? We know he has before. No matter how many guards we put around him they can't stop a bullet any more than they could have foreseen the private detective with his hyperbolic antenna. Pritchard had been playing from a position of power before this. Now I've backed him into a corner and he's more dangerous than ever. Do you think he'll fight fair? I don't." He turned away again, looking out to sea. Morton could barely hear the words that came next. "Then there's that… machine in the nose of the Tantalus. It's a weapon, I can feel it in my gut, and do you think that he'll have any problem using it, against the Seaview, against innocent people maybe? I should have just ended it there on the Tantalus. I could have. I had the means. He was onboard. I could have gotten control of the computer easily enough to do what had to be done. I could have jammed open the watertights and not pressurized the machine deck. They removed the crew. I could have…" he broke off. Morton stood there for a moment, shocked at what he had heard, at what Lee had contemplated.

Of the many things that made up Lee Crane that made him the man he was, one of the most important was his reverence for the sanctity of human life, for all life. It was something he shared with Nelson. Morton knew that Crane had been forced to kill in his career with the Navy and with ONI. Even during his time on the Seaview, he had been driven to it, and he always regretted it deeply. To hear him now, saying that he wished he had killed not only Pritchard but also the rest of the men on the submarine, was a measure of how badly this had affected his friend, and just how far he would go to protect the man that had become a father to him. He stepped forward and put a hand on Crane's slim shoulder, feeling the slight tremble that had nothing to do with the cold wind. He searched for the right words.

"You couldn't have done that, Lee. It's not in you to do that. You are many things, my friend, maybe more than I know, but ruthless isn't one of them. If you had opened her to the sea, you would have been killing more than Pritchard. You would have killed everyone aboard her, and you would have killed a part of Lee Crane that I don't think you can live without. THINK about it, Lee, logically. Would Nelson have wanted you to do that, for any reason?" he asked the question that he knew would be the most effective. What Nelson thought of him was something very important to Crane, maybe the most important thing. Crane didn't look at him at first but the tremble became a shudder for a moment and then the golden eyes were turned his way. They were haunted, and more open than they had been since the younger man had returned. Morton could see all the doubts that Crane had been hiding, all the pain and uncertainty. Golden eyes searched blue for a moment then Crane shook his head.

"He would have hated it, hated me, for doing it, but maybe I should have had the guts to do it anyway," he said. "Maybe it would have been for the best, a small price to pay to rid the world of Pritchard, and whatever that weapon is. Nelson would be safe now…" Crane broke off as Morton grabbed his shoulders and shook him like a child. The very unexpectedness of the action made him simply stare in shock.

"Don't say that! Do you really think that Nelson would want you to sell your soul to the devil for his safety, or that he could ever hate you no matter what you did? It would have broken his heart if you had done it, but not because of Pritchard, not even because of the rest of them, but because of what it would do to you. He would have lived with it, but be honest with me, Lee, even if you won't be honest with yourself, could you have lived with yourself if you had done it?" Morton demanded with a final shake. He saw something flash in Crane's eyes then, and felt that twist in his stomach again. He couldn't stop himself from pushing the shoulders he still held, watching in an almost detached way as Crane stumbled back with the force of the push and fell on his rear end in the sand. The younger man sat there, still meeting Morton's eyes. "You son of a bitch," he almost whispered the words. "You weren't going to leave were you? You would have stayed on the boat, gone down with it." Crane didn't look away, his gaze almost defiant. Morton continued to glare at him for a moment then he blinked and looked away, letting the wind dry the sudden moisture he felt in his eyes. He dropped down on his knees in the sand in front of Crane and once again met his eyes.

"Lee," he said seriously, "You are NOT expendable. Not to Nelson, not to ME, not to anyone here. I can't stop you from feeling guilty, even if it is undeserved, but I will not stand by and let you do this to yourself, to Nelson, or to me. I don't know why you have to do this, always see the bad side. It's always what you didn't do and not all that you did. You did your best, and that's about a thousand times better than anyone else could have done, than anyone else DID." He was staring into Crane's eyes and was not seeing what he wanted/needed to see. He reached out and grabbed the slim shoulders again, leaning in to speak in a low voice. "If you had done that, sacrificed yourself, it would have killed him, and Pritchard would have won. Even if he survived it, he wouldn't have been the same. YOU kept his sanity by escaping in Costa Nuestra, YOU kept him alive on that DSV, YOU gave him the reason to fight Pritchard on his own battleground, and YOU gave him the ammunition to drive the man out of his corporate tower and on the run. He doesn't want you to die for him, Lee; he wants you to live for him. THAT is his triumph over Pritchard." He sat back on his heels, not letting go. He had a sudden thought about how odd this would look to anyone else who happened down to the beach, but he really didn't care.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Lee? Why are you so damn hard on yourself?" he finally asked tiredly, not really hoping for an answer to the question he had asked himself for years, but having to ask anyway. He was surprised to see something move in the golden eyes locked on his, and he straightened a little as Crane began to speak.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" He broke off with a shake of his head. He looked down and away from Chip's eyes. "I just… I feel like I should have done more. If I had just dug deeper, looked in the right place…" He broke off again with a sheepish look up at Morton then gave a shake of his head and a wry smile. "I guess it's just a knee jerk reaction with me. I don't know when it started. I really can't remember when I wasn't…"

"Hyper-responsible?" Morton suggested when Crane couldn't seem to find a word. "An overachiever? Guilt impaired? Egotistical? Unreasonable?" The two friends smiled at each other and shared a laugh. Crane shrugged.

"Well… maybe all of the above," he said, his eyes tracking out to sea. He shook his head again. "I guess it is an ego thing. I just didn't want to think about it in quite that way though, you know? I wanted to end this. I had it planned out, and it all went to hell too soon, I wasn't ready. There were other things I could have done with just a little more time. I wanted it to work so badly, and when I heard Pritchard got away it just…" He glanced back at Morton. "Have I been that bad?"

"Yes," Morton said baldly, knowing his friend could take it.

"Great. A failure AND a brat who pouts when the world doesn't go the way he's planned it; what's not to love?" the younger man said sarcastically.

"Don't do that, Lee." Morton snapped at him, not wanting to lose any ground. Crane was working his way through the funk he had been in for the last week, and he wasn't going to let him sink back in due to self-criticism. Crane gave him a startled look and then smiled slightly.

"Sorry… for just now and for the last week. I shouldn't take it out on you or the others. If I'm going to sulk, I should keep it to myself." He sighed.

"You know I am always here to talk to, and I promise not to give you too hard a time when you get a little too egotistical," Morton quipped. He got a bigger smile that time. He realized that this was the first time since Crane had returned that he had seen a true smile on his friend's face. He pushed up to his feet and looked around. They were still alone. He looked back at Crane who was still seated in the sand. "You want to tell me what happened?" he asked. Another sigh and another shake of the head seemed to be his only answer for a moment, and then Crane started to speak.

"The admiral and Pearson came up with an idea to make it harder for Pritchard to make trouble with the Institute or with the Admiral's own money. They want to add me as a cosigner on everything that normally the admiral has to sign; checks, contracts, everything."

"Sounds like sense to me. You uh… didn't take it well?" Morton suggested. There was a snort from the seated man.

"Yeah, I think you can say that. It was like seeing all of my failures there on one paper. All I could think of was that I had caused this. I had made it necessary by not doing what I had set out to do. You know how private the admiral is. Something like this is going to get out, you can count on it. There will be some media hack wandering around and he'll hear the story and start digging. The next thing you know there will be newspaper or magazine articles about how Harriman Nelson had to have a co-signer. Can you just imagine the speculation something like this would raise, especially after the incident with the drug?" he asked

"You'd end up in the article too, Lee. You're quite the media darling you know," Morton reminded him. Crane waved the protest aside with a hand.

"I don't care what they say about me," he said, dismissively. "I'm not the one it could hurt. The admiral hates publicity even when it's good. This is going to make it seem like he can't handle his own affairs. We can't exactly tell the media the real reason and any protestation will only make it seem like the truth. He has spent years building his credibility in scientific circles and in Washington. What do you think they are going to think when they hear about this? And you can count on them hearing about it."

"Lee..." Morton started only to be stopped by another waved hand.

"I know, 'it's not my fault.' I know that. I do! But, damn it, Pritchard's living high off the hog in Hong Kong or somewhere with no extradition treaty, he's got his money, and his company, and his goons, and what is he paying? Nothing! We hardly seem to be a blip on the bastard's sonar. We've made it inconvenient for him, that seems to be the best we can do, and it's not enough, not with what he's done! I want his ass, Chip. I want it bad, and seeing those papers, and realizing that this was just one more victory for him. It was too much and I... I didn't take it well, as you said."

Morton crouched back down to be on eye level with his friend. "You aren't looking at it right, Lee. Where you see an admission of weakness, I see a move to solidarity, a direct slap in the face of Pritchard and his people. The admiral trusts you, completely. He trusts you with everything he has, with everything he has built, with his future, hell, with his life. Pritchard may have his money and his company and his goons, like you say, but I can promise you he doesn't have ONE person he can trust that much. Everyone he deals with is looking for what's in it for them. He's alone, Lee, and when he finds out about this he'll feel that much more alone because Nelson has what he'll NEVER have, what all his money and power can't buy. Your plans might not have come to fruition, but I can tell you, this is going to hurt him like nothing else has so far. Nelson and Pearson know what they are doing, work with them, and we'll beat this bastard yet."

Crane could see the sincerity in Morton's eyes and the logic in his words. He felt the depression that had been dragging him down since his return from the Tantalus start to lighten. What was that old saying, 'a burden shared is a burden halved' or something along that line? He should have come to Chip before, talked it out. He could always count on his friend. Nelson wasn't the only one with someone to trust with everything. He watched Chip stand back up, evidently having seen what he was looking for. No one could read him like Chip. He looked around. The day was fast waning and the sun was making its way toward the far horizon. The winds had dropped a little as they talked, and it was pleasant here on the beach. He felt like he was seeing it all for the first time. He cast a glance up at Morton. He owed him so much; he would never be able to repay it all, not in a hundred lifetimes. But there were some things that could not go unremarked.

"What kind of XO pushes his captain?" he asked in an injured tone.

Morton smiled down at him, knowing that the conversation was over for now, and that if he needed to, Crane would come to him in the future. He shrugged. "The kind that can run faster," he said and took off down the beach with a whoop. Crane was instantly on his feet and in pursuit. You couldn't let discipline slide.

Standing on the cliff that looked out over the beach, Harriman Nelson took a final drag on his cigarette and watched as the two young men below ran down the beach. He smiled as the dark haired figure tackled the other and, though it was hard to tell from this distance, appeared to stuff a handful of sand down the back of his shirt. The dark haired man was quickly back on his feet and running. The blond haired man was up and running after in him in moments, and the two disappeared around the point. Nelson knew that the beach ended less than a quarter mile further down, and he imagined there would be a heated battle waged there.

He had been unable to stand it any longer in his office and he had left Pearson making phone calls. He had, almost without thought, headed toward the headland that had been adapted as a vista point with a concrete walkway leading out and a guardrail keeping the unwary back from the crumbling edge. He had watched as Chip Morton had sat waiting in the sand, finally seeing Crane come back down the beach and sit beside him. There had ensued a time during which the two had obviously been talking, and then Nelson had seen Morton give Crane a push, landing him in the sand. From the body language, whatever they were discussing was deeply serious, and Nelson could only hope that Lee had finally taken advantage of his friend's willingness to listen. Finally, Morton had stood away from Crane, and something in his posture had told Nelson that the XO was satisfied with whatever had been said. Then Crane had obviously remarked something, and Morton had taken off down the beach with a whoop that Nelson heard faintly carried by the wind, starting the chase.

He shook his head in amusement and dropped his cigarette butt in the container that had been put there for that purpose. He turned and started back toward the buildings. There was only an hour or so left of sunshine, and he knew the two men would return up the path before it got dark. He hoped that Crane would come back to the office whether he was prepared to sign the papers or not. Nelson didn't want this hanging between them. They needed to present a unified front to Pritchard, and even if it meant not doing what Pearson had proposed, so be it.

He could not, would not, ask anything more of Lee Crane. Not that he had asked the young man to take up his flag in the first place. The captain had simply seen what was going on and had acted. Nelson had never before realized the depths of the gift that Crane had given him. He had thought a lot about it recently. When exactly had his enemies become Lee's enemies? When had he earned that highest of honors from the man he considered his son? He couldn't really say when it had started. It seemed like from the start Lee Crane had been on his side, at his side. If he had only known so many years ago what he knew now. But this was not the time to allow Lee to follow his instinct to protect, to attack the attacker. Now he had to make sure that Lee was safe, physically, mentally, and emotionally. The young captain had done his part for the cause, more than his part, and it was time for Nelson to take up the charge himself. He couldn't keep Lee out of it that he knew for sure, but he could make sure that any future strikes were aimed at him, not at Crane.

He found Pearson still on the phone in his office, so he went to the built-in bar and poured himself a drink. After raising the bottle in inquiry to Pearson who nodded, he poured him one as well. After dropping the second drink on the desk, he retreated to the window and stood watching the sunset as he sipped a little of the family label. This seemed to be from a particularly good batch, strong and smoky. Only the best for the Nelsons, he thought, be it malt whiskey or… He held the thought as he watched two figures emerge from the growing twilight into the light near the sub pen entrance. They stood there talking for a moment, shoes back on, but each holding his coat over his shoulder. After a moment one figure went toward the sub pen, and Nelson caught a flash of gold as the light shone on blond hair. The other figure stood for a moment, seemingly watching Morton walk away, then turned and came toward the buildings. Nelson let the thought continue "sons."

He watched until Crane disappeared beyond the edge of the building, and he drank the last of his drink. There was always the possibility that the captain would simply go to the parking lot and get in his car. At this point, Nelson was not prepared to bet one way or another. Pearson put down the phone and looked at Nelson. The best the admiral could offer was a shrug and a shake of the head. Pearson rose and went to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk, taking his drink with him. Nelson got a refill and went to sit in his own chair. They sat in silence, enjoying the drink. Finally, there was a knock on the door. Nelson felt something very heavy lift from his heart.

"Enter," he called, and watched as Crane entered. The young captain had put his jacket back on, and except for the flush on his cheeks and a few slight smudges on his dark pants there was no sign of the chase on the beach. Crane came into the room, moved to stand in front of Nelson's desk, and stood almost at attention. Nelson started to feel uneasy at the formality, much more used to Crane sitting on the corner of the desk or at least sitting down in one of the visitor's chairs. Could he be…His negative speculation was cut off as Crane started to speak.

"Admiral, Mr. Pearson, I wish to apologize for my earlier outburst. Such conduct was inappropriate and I deeply regret my actions. I meant no disrespect to either of you," he said, meeting first Nelson's and then Pearson's eyes. "If you will give me the papers I will sign them right now," he added.

Nelson searched the golden eyes, trying to determine if Crane was simply offering to sign the papers out of duty, or because he really wanted to. The golden eyes met his head on, but he could not read them. Pearson was sliding the papers toward Crane, along with a pen, when Nelson spoke.

"Don't do this just because I asked, Lee. It's not compulsory. It will make no difference to me if you sign it or not." He wanted, needed, everything to be clear.

"Harry!" Pearson protested, seeing the opportunity to get the papers signed going out the window. He truthfully didn't care how it got taken care of, though he understood Nelson not wanting to force the issue.

"No. He signs it because he wants to or he doesn't sign it at all!" Nelson retorted, glaring at his old friend.

"We have to do this, Harry! You're leaving us wide open if you don't. There're too many opportunities to take advantage of the system without it. He's willing to sign; let him," Pearson argued.

Crane found himself standing there with his head moving back and forth between the two men as if he were watching a tennis match. The two older men continued to argue the point as if he were not there for several minutes finally ending up glaring at each other, entrenched in their own side of the argument. Crane ducked his head to hide a smile and cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him.

"I've had some time to think it over. I WANT to sign the papers. It is a wise step, and something that needs to be done." He paused, not sure of how much of his inner conflict he wanted to reveal. He was pretty sure that Nelson understood, but talking about it was something else all together. "I, uh, I was having some problems with my attitude earlier," he finally said. "I had a talk with a friend, and I think I managed to get myself straightened out for now. I want to sign, if you still want me to. I'll understand if you want to appoint someone else." He addressed the last to Nelson who started shaking his head immediately.

"No. If it's not you, it's not anyone," he said and moved around the desk to stand in front of Crane. He reached out to rest a hand on the taller man's shoulder. Crane had a moment to consider that, despite the difference in their heights he always felt that he was meeting Nelson on an even footing, or even at a disadvantage. His stature was so much more than physical. Clear blue eyes searched his. He could feel them searching his mind and soul, seeing to the very core of him. He had no secrets from that gaze. Nelson must have been satisfied with what he saw because he nodded, and his hand tightened for a moment on Crane's shoulder.

"Very well, sign it," he said. "Sign it and to hell with Pritchard and his machinations." He went back behind the desk and sat watching as Pearson showed Crane where to sign on the numerous papers. The younger man signed each, listening as Pearson described what each was and what they meant. Crane asked some pertinent questions which Pearson answered. Finally they were all done and Pearson started putting the pages into his briefcase.

"These will be filed tomorrow as soon as the courthouse opens. My office will issue a memo regarding the new policy as soon as they are filed, and from that point on everything will require two signatures. Also, it will forbid the use of any name stamps or computer generated signatures. It means a lot more paperwork for the two of you, and we'll have to work out something for when you are out on a cruise if it goes on for a long time." He finished getting everything in his briefcase and closed it with a snap, satisfied with the day's work even though it had taken longer than he had thought it would. He glanced at his watch and winced. "I've got to go. If I am not home in thirty minutes the wife will come and drag me there. We are having a dinner party tonight for her gourmet-cooking club and I get to play the jolly host. Goodnight, Captain, Harry." With that he took his briefcase and headed out the door.

The two remaining men listened to the diminishing sounds of his footsteps. Nelson was seated back behind his desk, and Crane was sitting in one of the visitor chairs. Nelson glanced toward the window and saw that darkness had fallen. It was almost 1800, and while he had not been busy, it had been an emotionally draining day. He was hungry, and he wanted to relax. He looked at Crane who seemed to be studying the carpet.

"I'm sorry I forced you into a corner with all that, lad. I didn't consider how you might view the proposition when Jules presented it to me," he said, feeling that the subject needed to be addressed. Crane's head came up and he met the admiral's eyes.

"You didn't force anything," he said.

"In a way I did. We presented it as a fait accompliand expected you to comply. It was ill done. Blame it on the hubris of old men. We think we know what's for the best, and expect everyone else to believe it too," Nelson said, not wishing to be absolved. But Crane was shaking his head.

"No, it wasn't that. For the man that you are, you are surprisingly unimpressed with yourself," Crane said, smiling at the amusement he saw spring into Nelson's eyes. "Not that you don't get a bit overbearing sometimes, but it isn't hubris," he added, and watched the mock scowl come and go on Nelson's face. He had missed this, the teasing between them.

"Thanks, I think," Nelson said wryly and then became serious again. "Lee, son, I cannot emphasis enough that I trust you completely, and not just with this. I know you aren't interested in the money, or the power it can give you, but it is part of the package. Part of what I have to leave you, my legacy. I never really thought about what I might be asking of you by leaving it to you. If it is too much of a burden, I can make other arrangements, some kind of trust that will simply pay you a salary and provide for the Institute or something like that," he offered in all sincerity. It wasn't what he wanted for Crane, or for himself, but he had come to the realization that he needed to think about what Lee wanted above his own wishes.

Crane again shook his head, dropping his eyes to study the carpet again. "I haven't been very gracious about that, have I? Here you are giving me more then I ever thought possible and I gripe about it." His eyes came back up to meet Nelson's. "You're giving me a legacy, Harry. It's a gift of your effort and intelligence, a gift of your life's work. You are leaving me part of yourself. Despite my… fears, I will honor it for what it is, and accept whatever YOU choose to leave. It is not my decision. All I have to do is be grateful for it and follow the example that you have set. Do what YOU want to do. Whatever you decide is fine with me." Nelson could not doubt the sincerity of the words. He nodded slightly.

"I'll leave it as it is then," he said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each contemplating the day. Nelson glanced again at the clock, then at Crane. "Do you have any plans tonight?" Crane shook his head. "How about dinner at Alberto's? We'll get some of the Chianti, see what tonight's special is and just relax."

"Sounds good, do you want to just take my car? I can drive you home and pick you up in the morning. We can let Hanson know when we leave the restaurant so he can have his men do the sweep," Crane asked, getting to his feet. He had not been looking forward to going home alone. He knew Chip had a date tonight, and he was currently in between woman friends, so there had been little prospect of company in that quarter. It was seldom that their busy schedules allowed them to both be free at once, so he was happy to agree.

Nelson agreed to the plan and they left the office, discussing their favorite dish at Alberto's as they went.

Chapter 4

Ortiz slid the coded plastic card that would allow him access to the top floors of the building into the slot in the control panel of the elevator. The machine accepted the card and started upward as he pressed the penthouse button. He looked down at his wristwatch. After noting the time, he saw a stain on the cuff of his snow white shirt. He frowned at it. That was going to be difficult to remove, and he had no time to change now. Once it set, blood was hard to get out. No one should notice, however, as it was usually covered by his jacket. With a shrug he consigned the shirt to the mercies of the local laundry and waited as the elevator came to a halt. The doors slid open and he entered the small but well-appointed foyer. As he took a step toward the door, it opened and the aged houseman, Tsang, bowed low to him as he entered.

"Miss Lucinda dressing. She ask you wait in drawing room, take drink, be out soon," Tsang said in his Pidgin English.

Well familiar with the layout of the penthouse, Ortiz went in to the drawing room and allowed Tsang to pour him a drink. He went to stand in front of the huge windows that looked out over the city. It was an impressive sight. There were few buildings to match the height of this one, and the city seemed to roll like a lighted carpet from the base of the building, covering every inch of space to the far horizon. He had finished his drink and had started a second when he heard a light step behind him. He turned and watched Lucinda Pritchard make her way toward him. She too was an impressive sight.

She was dressed in a red dress of some shiny material. It clung to her figure as if painted on and emphasized her breasts and hips. It left little to the imagination, as did the look in her eyes. She moved across the room smoothly and took his drink from his hand. She finished the drink in one shot, and set the glass to the side. She moved until their bodies touched, and she stretched against him like a cat. He could feel no indication that there was anything beneath the dress but warm flesh. She raised scarlet lips to him, and they kissed; a long passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

He found the woman intriguing, though he knew he was not the only man that warmed her bed. She had a voracious appetite for sex, and was not shy about satisfying it. In fact, shy was not a word one associated with Lucinda Pritchard. She was the vice president in charge of the pharmaceuticals division of PritCorp, and she had built it up to a point that it was one of the more profitable subdivisions. She was business savvy and she knew how to get what she wanted with a fine disregard for rules and laws. Theirs was a relationship of convenience he knew, each using the other for what they wanted. She wanted sex and the opportunity to gain more power over her father's company. He wanted the power and money that her father could give him. She had allowed him entrance into Pritchard's world, and if that association allowed him the opportunity to deal with certain male needs, so be it. She reached up and wiped the lipstick off his lips and walked over to the bar, scooping up his empty glass as she went. She mixed them both a drink and came to stand next to him at the window as they sipped the drinks. She shot him a sideways glance.

"I thought you'd be joining Daddy and Bunny at their big soiree tonight. All those ambassadors and presidents, it's not like you to miss the opportunity to make… friends," she said.

He shrugged in that elegant Latin way that she found so attractive. "There are certain ambassadors attending that it would not be… politic for me to run into at this time and in connection with your father. I would prefer that they know nothing about my actions until it is too late," he said.

She was well aware of Ortiz's purpose in attaching himself to her. He wanted to return to that backwater little country of his and take over. She had no illusions about any personal devotion he might have for her, though she knew he was attracted to her. She was willing to allow him his petty little revenge. It didn't matter to her anyway. PritCorp had an annual income well in excess of the entire country he coveted, and it would be hers someday. Of course she had to make sure that her father didn't throw it all away before she could get it.

This ongoing war with Nelson was threatening to do just that. While she understood the need her father felt to take revenge on the man for his ongoing interference in PritCorp business, she heartily disapproved of the results. It was becoming an obsession and all because Nelson had refused to cooperate years ago. It seemed that one attempt after the next failed. Mistakes had been made, and covered up, badly in some cases. And this latest fiasco with Crane sneaking aboard that damned submarine, that was just inexcusable, though the mining had proven profitable. Of course while they were mining Republic waters, the assets in the US had been frozen, so the trade-off was not in their favor.

That it had been Crane was a sore spot with her. She had met him almost a year previously for the first time. She was impressed with him despite the results of that meeting. The report her father had on him was exhaustive, and very informative, but the picture had not done him justice. The man was delicious. She could still remember the feel of his body against hers, slim, but muscular, and that face… Handsome was not descriptive enough. She had found herself wanting him, wanting to see the admiration in his eyes for her that her lovers always had, but he had refused her. Despite some…very forceful foreplay on her part, he had refused her, HER, Lucinda Pritchard. Men vied for her attention, women envied her, and a nothing, former navy captain, a common wage slave for Nelson, had refused her as if she were some whore off the street trying to get his attention. He had to pay for that.

The fact that he worked for Nelson was an extra bonus now, that and the relationship that the two men seemed to share. It seemed that Nelson cared about Crane, perhaps even loved him. She wasn't sure of the exact nature of the relationship they seemed to keep it under wraps. Perhaps it was a father-son thing, or perhaps it wasn't something so socially acceptable. Whichever it was, it would be convenient. When she made sure that Crane regretted his actions in Costa Nuestra, she would destroy Nelson too, ending this silly war, and preserving what was left of the Corporation. Then she would take steps to take control of things in the United States.

A new Board of Directors needed to be appointed, - the others being under indictment -and they would be looking for someone to lead the company back on track, someone who wasn't facing multiple criminal indictments and civil suits, someone with a stake in the company who was willing to do what was necessary, someone who didn't risk it all for revenge, someone like her. Once Crane was gone, so would the possibility that she would be recognized and indicted for her actions in Costa Nuestra. He was the only witness left, Ortiz having dealt with the men who had been assigned her in his home country. She would take this company back to its former glory, back into profit, back to the power it was meant to be.

Her father wasn't the only one who had friends in high places. She knew men in positions of power, and had power over them. They desired her, and she could make them do what she wanted. Indictments could be dropped, evidence lost, investigations sidelined. She would see to it. But first she would need to deal with Crane and Nelson. Perhaps this latest plan of her father's would actually work. It seemed like a good enough plan, and unlike his previous efforts, it looked to be profitable as well as useful. Her father would deliver their enemies unto their reward for daring to defy the Pritchards, and she would be on hand to take the credit. Perfect.

She finished her drink and looked at the clock. It was approaching eight. She went and picked up her wrap and the small evening bag that was with it. She raised her eyebrow at Ortiz. "Are you ready?" she asked. He nodded and followed her from the room. Tsang waited for them in the inner foyer and opened the door to let them out. The elevator was waiting for them. "Don't wait up, Tsang," she said as they passed him, "and don't wake me in the morning. I'll ring for breakfast when I am ready." The small man bowed and closed the door behind them. They got into the elevator.

"I think you may find you enjoy this evening in spite of the slightly less high class company. Our host is a former Judge of the New York superior court. I understand he is on the fast track for the next appointment to the Supreme Court. He has a lot of friends in New York and Washington, friends that will be very helpful in our current ... difficulties there. It seems he has a certain hobby. One he can't practice in the United States. He makes frequent visits to Thailand, Laos, and Indonesia where they are a little more open- minded about these things. I have certain pictures and videos that he would rather not see made public. He's being very cooperative," she said as they entered the elevator. Ortiz pushed the button for the lobby. Tsang would have alerted the limo that they were coming and it would be at the front door, waiting.

"You have a particular purpose in cultivating this individual I am sure. Should I be surprised that you have not brought this man to your father's attention?" Ortiz replied, leaning casually against the wall of the elevator. She smiled at him in a way that reminded him of her father. He was aware of this woman's ambitions. No woman in his country would have been so bold as to move against her father the way this woman seemed prepared to do. Family loyalty was paramount, and a woman's place was in the background, allowing the men in the family to make the decisions. But the Pritchards were a product of another culture, and this woman felt no loyalty to her father. She was determined to control the business, the money, and the power.

Had she any patience she could have simply waited until Pritchard retired, or died, and it would all be hers anyway, but she was not a patient woman. She wanted what she saw as hers NOW, and if she had to climb over her father to get it, she had no problem with that. He had yet to determine which Pritchard would end up on top in this family fight. He would continue to watch and wait. It really didn't matter to him who it was in the end, either way he would have what he wanted-revenge against Crane for his own humiliation at his hands in Costa Nuestra and for his cousin. Revenge against Nelson for his part in making sure that he was driven from his country in shame. Revenge for the time lost when he should have been in control. He would have it all, despite these Pritchard fools and their petty games over money. He would take what he needed and leave them to it. He straightened as the elevator slid to a halt. He offered his arm to Lucinda and they went toward the door leading to the pick up area. The limo waited there for them and they slid into the roomy seats. Lucinda's hand caressed his leg as they drove, sometimes moving higher than was prudent in the circumstances, but the drive was short, and they were soon disembarking. They stood in front of one of Hong Kong's most expensive restaurants, very popular with the local 'in' crowd. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"The man comes 9000 miles to Hong Kong and chooses to entertain in an Italian Restaurant?" he asked. She smiled.

"I'm afraid he really only likes one thing about Asia as a whole, and it's not the food." She took his arm and they entered the restaurant. They checked Lucinda's wrap at the coat check, and went toward the dining area. The maitre'd instantly rushed from behind his podium to greet them, and indicated he would take them personally to their party's table. As they entered the dining area, at the top of a small staircase, Lucinda paused, and looked around the room, making sure that she was the cynosure of all eyes. After all, the dress was very expensive, and you never knew whose attention you might gain. They continued on toward the largest and best table in the room, and were greeted heartily by their host, a distinguished man in his mid sixties. There were many other guests and introductions were made. They were the cream of Hong Kong's business world.

The host had the waiter pour each person a glass of wine, a deep red. He stood. "I think you'll all enjoy this, it's a very good Chianti, from Italy. I'd like to make a toast." He raised his glass, and the others at the table did so also. "Here's to you all. May your future endeavors bring you everything you wish and may your enemies be weak. Salud!" Lucinda and Ortiz locked eyes over their glasses as they sipped at the tasteful wine and exchanged knowing smiles.

Five miles away and in the hills above Hong Kong, on the cantilevered balcony of the house that the Corporation maintained for his use, Jason Pritchard III looked out over the view of the city below. The lights were like diamonds in the blackness, rivaling all but the brightest of the stars in the heavens above. He could hear the strains of a waltz being played by the small orchestra that had been hired for entertainment. His wife, Bonnie, who had flown in from New York after closing several personal accounts under various names, had arranged the party with her usual flair. It was part of the reason he had remained married to her. Pairs and groups of people wandered the balcony and grounds of the house. He leaned one hip against the balustrade of the balcony and sipped at his drink.

He was wondering what Nelson was doing right now. It seemed everything that Pritchard threw at him just bounced off, temporary inconveniences at best. What did he have to do to bring the man down? Frustration and anger burned in him as if he had swallowed hot lava. He had not counted on Nelson's retaliation being so… efficient. It had been a well planned and well executed strike, and it had hurt. Even now Pritchard felt his face flush in anger at the thought of the humiliation of having to flee the country one step ahead of the law. His offices seized, his assets frozen. Even his family home was closed to him. Never had a Pritchard been brought so low, not without striking back. And he was going to strike back. The plans had been made, and set in motion. He lifted his glass toward the West where he suspected Nelson was at his Institute, with his damned 'son', and his submarine, and all his friends in Washington, comfortable in their minor victory no doubt.

"Enjoy it for now, Nelson. It won't last. I swear it," he said, and drank the last of the liquor. He then threw the glass as far as he could into the night, not caring where it landed, and spinning on his heel went to join his wife and his guests.

Chapter five-

In Santa Barbara, Nelson leaned back in his chair and swirled the last of his Chianti in his glass. They had dined on the night's special, a seafood linguine in an exquisite, heavy cream, high calorie, artery blocking Alfredo sauce that would have made Will Jamieson tear what was left of his hair out, and now were replete. He looked around the small, quiet restaurant. For all the quality of its food, it was not pretentious or fancy. Small, intimate tables were set at discrete distances with candles burning in the ubiquitous Chianti bottles on red and white checked table cloths. The first time he had visited the place, over three years earlier, he had been doubtful about such a clichéd appearance, but one taste of Alberto's marinara sauce had made him a devotee. The food was fresh, plentiful, and very good. It was a restaurant that families came to, and friends. He turned his attention to the man across the table from him.

Even Lee Crane ate well when they were at Alberto's, though Nelson was never sure if it was the good food or the fact that the owner's mother, well into her eighties and still cooking most nights, would come from the kitchen and berate anyone who did not seem to be enjoying the food. The scolding that she did in fast, idiomatic Italian was lost on most such unfortunate diners but Lee had the advantage, or in this case perhaps, the disadvantage, of understanding her. The first time he had failed to clean his plate she had lowered a barrage upon him that was truly impressive. When he had shamefacedly apologized to her in her own tongue, and evidently with just the right accent, she had instantly adopted him as one of her own.

Chip always said that when he went there without Lee his portions weren't quite so big, or the greeting quite so happy. When Lee was there, however, there were exceedingly generous portions, smiling and personal service even on busy nights, and usually a special desert specially made by Mama's own hands and delivered by the formidable woman herself. The thought of turning such away was not to be considered. Crane had stood it all with admirable fortitude, given his usual small appetite, but he had drawn the line at dating the grand and great-granddaughters. Finally the old woman had gotten canny and had begun having the girls serve their table. In the course of this evening alone, four different young women, ranging in ages from nineteen to around thirty, had alternately filled their water glasses, served their antipasto, brought the main course, and refilled their wine. Crane had smiled through it all, polite, if distant. He had told Nelson that at last report there were ten women of marriageable age in the family, including the widowed youngest sister of Mama. Nelson had grinned at the blush that he could see under the olive complexion.

Crane was sitting back in his chair gazing out the window at the lighted garden that was part of the restaurant. During the spring and summer there were tables outside, and a strolling violinist. Nelson had brought several dates here for that particular ambiance. Now in the cold winter, the garden had been cleared of tables and only the spotlighted fountain remained, the water dancing in the colored lights. Nelson put his glass down and leaned forward.

"Penny for your thoughts," he offered. Crane started as if he had been many miles away and turned a grin on Nelson.

"Technically, we'd both have to sign off on that and I'm not sure that you wouldn't be overpaying. I think it's my duty to advise against that particular deal," he quipped, and Nelson was glad he could look at the situation regarding the signatures with humor. "I don't know that I was really thinking of anything. I was just watching the water, and… enjoying the peace. It seems like a lifetime ago that we did this. Just sat and ate and talked like normal people, I mean. It feels… good," he said.

Nelson thought about it, and he too realized that it had indeed been a long time since they had last taken the time to simply be together. Not because they had to be, or because there was business to conduct, but simply to spend time in one another's company. To speak of normal things: friends, cars, politics, religion, anything but the business of the Seaview, the Institute, of staying sane, and staying alive. It had felt good, and Nelson let the feeling he had hardly recognize roll over him, and he sat back in his chair with a gentle smile.

"You're right, Lee, I didn't even realize what it was I was feeling until you mentioned it. A sense of peace," he said almost wonderingly. He stopped, and let the feeling grow within him. He nodded. Yes. Peace. Despite the ongoing war with Pritchard, for this moment they were all right. He, Nelson, was here, and in control of his faculties. Lee was here, alive and well. The Seaview was in fine shape and her crew was ready to sail at his whim. They had taken steps to assure the Institute and his own finances were safe from interference from outside forces. All was right with his world at this moment, and he was enjoying it. He pushed back his chair and stood, pulling his wallet from his pocket. He dropped enough money to cover the meal and a fine tip for their beauteous wait staff. Crane rose to his feet and looked a question at him.

"I've got a hundred year old bottle of brandy at home. The fireplace will be lit and the moon should be rising up over the horizon in about thirty minutes. I'm thinking the view from the sunroom should be rather spectacular, as should the brandy. Could I talk you into staying for a while when you drop me off?" he asked.

Crane smiled again. "With that kind of offer you'd have a hard time keeping me out. Especially when the trade off is a cold apartment with a bottle of beer and a view over the pool," he said accepting the invitation. He had been in the process of having the hardwood floors redone in his beach house when he had gone undercover months ago. When he had disappeared the contractor had simply stopped work, so he was still living in one of the Institute apartments. Chief Hanson had been happier in any event since it was less of a security problem than the beach house would have been. He didn't want the peace to end either, and it seemed the perfect ending to a perfect evening. Nelson nodded and they went toward the exit, stopping to get their coats from the rack where they hung. As they headed for Crane's car, Nelson put his hand on the slim shoulder and squeezed.

Yes, a sense of peace, one they could share together, and that was the important thing, that they were together again.

The end…..for now.