Admiral Harriman Nelson saw the men come in, their dark attire contrasting strongly with the dress whites that filled the room, and dragged Lee behind a bank of potted plants. "Something's wrong," he hissed at the captain.
Lee peered cautiously through the leaves, anxiously assessing the situation. "They're armed. We need to get you out of here, sir."
Nelson shook his head impatiently. "They're not here for me…" He looked around, suddenly realizing that one of his officers was missing. "Where's Chip?" Damn it… This wasn't the time to be separated. He tried to think of when he'd last seen Chip Morton, scowling when he realized that they'd been separated at the receiving line.
Lee volunteered more information. "He was talking to Captain Howell, sir. They went out on the balcony."
Nelson growled, every nerve tight with anxiety. "Damn it, Lee." He kept his voice down, but his tension fairly crackled in the air. "These men are probably here for Howell." He darted a glance around, looking for an escape route.
"Chip will look after the captain, sir." Lee's voice was steady, but his expression told Nelson that he understood the precariousness of the situation. Still, the admiral felt compelled to bring his fears out into the open.
"I know that, Lee. And that's the problem." Chip Morton would understand instantly who these men were after, and he would do his best to get Howell to safety. But if they caught up to Howell while Chip was with him… The thought tightened the admiral's chest. If they caught up to them, his executive officer became expendable… "We have to get out of here…"
Lee shot a glance at him. "There's a door about eight paces to the right. I'll set up a diversion. Jackie Waters would be glad to help me…" He turned to face the admiral. "You can get out while we distract their attention."
Nelson didn't like the plan. He'd already been separated from one young officer. He didn't intend to end up separated from the other. Besides, Lee had skills he would need if he were to find Chip quickly. And Howell, too, of course, but at the moment, he didn't really give a damn about Howell… "No, lad. I'll need your help to find Chip. There has to be another way."
Lee returned to his vantage point, peering through the leaves of the bank of plants. "Admiral…" He beckoned the admiral down to look with him. "Watch Commander White. What's he doing?"
Nelson crouched down beside him and looked for Lieutenant Commander White… Howell's aide-de-camp, surely? He remembered being introduced in the receiving line. The man was tall and oily. Nelson had had the instinct to rub his hands clean on his uniform, but had resisted. He had not liked White at all, even though he'd only just met him, and they hadn't spoken but a handful of words to each other. He wasn't sure why, but the man reminded him of a reptile. Cold- blooded, with no emotion in those intense brown eyes. He spotted the aide-de-camp standing at the balcony doors, turning something in the locks – obviously a key – as he talked to two of the armed party crashers. It almost looked like he was giving orders, but… That couldn't be…
The armed men turned away from the balcony doors. Strange… It was the only part of the room they hadn't searched, though granted their search hadn't been exactly thorough. They hadn't even looked behind the potted plants where Nelson and Lee were hiding. In fact, oddly enough, they hadn't even looked for the admiral at all, and they must have known he was in attendance...
Nelson cocked his head, thinking about that. Why hadn't they searched the room more thoroughly? There were important men here besides Howell… Men who, in fact, were far more important than Howell. Yet, these armed men hadn't even bothered to search for them. Why shouldn't they look outside? The balcony was a good exit for anyone trying to escape. Yet they hadn't prevented Commander White from locking the French doors and steering them away. Had the aide-de-camp been able to convince them that Howell wasn't there? Or was Commander White giving orders rather than attempting to protect his commanding officer? Just what exactly was going on here?
He knew Howell probably wasn't on the balcony anymore… Chip would have gotten them both down into the garden. After that…
"They're leaving…" Lee's voice held a note of incredulity. "Why are they leaving? They haven't even searched the room adequately. They didn't find us, and we're not hidden that well… They're ignoring Admiral Stark, and Admiral Parker… COMSUBPAC and head of ONI, and they're ignoring them? And not even looking for you…"
"Howell's not here." It wasn't an explanation, but it was all he had to offer at the moment. He had to get a handle on what was really going on here before he could even begin to answer any of Lee's questions. Nelson noted the men sweeping through the room toward the ballroom entrance, but he kept his eye on Commander White; something about the man's demeanor bothered him. He should have been showing some kind of concern for his missing superior, but instead he almost appeared… smug. As if he knew something no one else did. He followed the men out the door, as if he were with them... Or sweeping them before him… Leading them?
The ballroom door swung shut behind the last of the gatecrashers. Nelson could almost hear the lock click into place. He strode out from behind the plants, heading for the balcony doors, feeling Lee fall into place behind him. As he approached, he contemplated Commander White's role in this mystery. Why had he gone with the men? Had they already found Howell? Was White a traitor?
"Looking for White?" Captain Jackie Waters of the SSN Virginia paused at Nelson's side. "That reptile. He went out with the others, and left us locked in here."
Nelson glared at Waters, exploding at the innocuous question. "Hell, no, I'm not looking for White! Why the hell should I be looking for White?" But his thoughts were almost entirely of White, as his mind shifted into high gear. Something read wrong, here. If White were involved, then he could track Howell and find him easily. Chip's only chance to get the captain away was to be totally unpredictable…
Jackie studied him; he could feel the shrewd, calculating gaze. "You're right to be concerned." The captain of Virginia measured his words slowly and carefully. "If White is involved, he'll be able to find Howell easily… No matter how ingenious our young Mr. Morton is…" He paused, as Nelson directed a hard appraising glare at him. "You don't know White. He's no submariner, but I remember him from the Academy. He didn't excel; no one has ever been able to figure out why Howell made him his aide-de-camp." He glanced at Captain Crane, watching as Lee paced impatiently. "White's an enigma… And not a pleasant one, either. But I can tell you one thing about him: He has never liked Mr. Morton… Not since they served together on the Ronald Reagan. And you must know what happened there."
Oh, yes, Nelson knew that story. It still burned him up when he thought about it. Why White hadn't been court-martialed for that offense he couldn't say, but if it had been left to him, the man would have been drummed out of the Navy. But Chip had declined to press charges, after a private conversation with his CO, and nothing Nelson had said had been able to budge that stubborn young mind once it was made up. "The bastard is in this up to his eyebrows," he growled at Jackie.
Lee, impatient with the unproductive conversation, perhaps not even hearing it, grabbed an empty tray from one of the waiters, and threw it through the glass of one of the French doors. Not the most direct route to the goal; there was no key to turn in the lock, once he reached it. Instead, he kicked the doors hard, bursting them open, and satisfying his need for activity. "Admiral!"
Nelson nodded at Waters, and ran for the balcony. Outside, the cool night air pierced his dress whites, but he barely noticed. Lee had picked something up: a white cover with a Navy submariner's cap badge. Chip's cover… Lee glanced at Nelson, then dropped the cover and scrambled onto the railing, balancing precariously. "Look here, sir. They went over right here. The hedge below has been damaged by the fall." He didn't wait for Nelson's answer. Instead, he dropped off the balcony rail himself. Nelson went after him, though he was no longer as agile as the younger man. He hit the boxwood hedge hard, and needed Lee's help to struggle to his feet. "Which way, now, sir?"
Nelson assessed the options. Chip would have figured that both ways out of the garden would be guarded. Where would he go? How would he get out?
A screech of tires almost directly in front of them, beyond the garden wall told the tale. Nelson ran toward it, but he couldn't make the leap to the top. Lee followed him instantly, offering a leg up. Nelson stepped into the captain's cupped hands and grabbed the top of the wall, but all he saw as he dragged himself onto it were two cars racing away down the alley, and a crumpled shape lying almost directly below. "Lee!"
Lee Crane had already clawed his way to the top of the wall, and now dropped down the other side, crouching beside the body on the sidewalk. As he turned it over, Nelson dropped down beside him, and stared into Howell's face.
"I don't understand…" Lee looked up at the admiral. "Did they make a mistake?"
Nelson shook his head, fighting the anger that was building inside. "They didn't make a mistake. How could they possibly mistake a thirty-two-year old lieutenant commander for a sixty-year-old captain? Their collar insignias are different, they're wearing different medals… Even their build is different! Look at Howell! He won't see fighting trim again. And his hair is dark, he's bearded. They couldn't possibly have mistaken Chip for Howell…" Nelson paced away from Lee, spotted a bright object on the ground nearby, and knelt to pick it up.
A Purple Heart. The pin had torn loose, ripping a piece of white fabric with it. He knew as soon as he picked it up and felt the familiar way it rested in his hands that he had held it before. Ten years ago, when he had personally presented it to a young Navy pilot who was still in the infirmary recuperating from his injuries. That pilot had been shot down behind enemy lines in Afghanistan, and made his way back to the coast, saving the lives of two other downed American pilots, and taking a bullet that had nearly killed him. Chip had earned not just a Purple Heart for that action, but a Bronze Star as well. Nelson closed his fingers over the medal, ignoring the pain of the pin digging into his palm. "They weren't after Howell… They were after Chip."
Lee glanced up at the Admiral and rose, his face mirroring his shock. Chip was so self-effacing; hardly the expected target of a kidnapping attempt. There probably weren't a handful of men outside Navy circles who even knew who he was…"But why?"
Nelson opened his hand, showing Lee the medal, ignoring the bloody streak from his wounded palm. He spat the answer out angrily, shuddering with his rage. White was in this up to his neck, but he would regret taking one of Nelson's hand-picked men. The admiral would personally crucify him. "Why? There are hundreds of reasons why! He designed the computer programs that run Seaview's systems! Suppose they want to know how to disable her?" He paced away, closing his hand over the medal again. It was cool in his hand, except where his blood warmed it. "He was on the design team for the flying sub. If they want the schematics…" He paused, considering, and closed his eyes. Of course… That must be it… "Only he and I are left of the team that worked on it."
Lee's gaze hardened. "He would never give anything away. You should know that."
Nelson looked down at the Purple Heart; the rich, dark purple ribbon was stained now with blood. The medal glittered bloodily in the moonlight, a reproach that struck home painfully. He should never have allowed himself to be separated from either of his young officers. He should never have allowed Chip to venture out onto the balcony alone with Howell… "I know… I'm more concerned about how they'll try to make him talk…" He turned back to Lee, his gaze resting on Howell's body. "We need to call someone for Howell." But he was fine… Breathing easily, no significant injuries, barely even a bruise…
Nelson's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. Given that they wanted information about the flying sub, why would they leave someone like Howell, who could give them so much more? His security clearance was high enough to make him privy to some valuable secrets; men who wanted information to sell would hardly have left him sprawled here in the alley, unless…
Unless he were in it, too.
Nelson's roar of outrage startled Lee, drawing his attention from his phone call. He lowered the phone, concerned. "Someone's on the way. What's wrong, sir?"
"Howell's in it up to his neck."
Lee glanced down at Howell, clearly puzzled. "But, sir…"
Nelson shook his head impatiently. "Listen to me, Lee. They wanted information. They wouldn't have left a man like Howell in this alley. He has a very high security clearance, he's privy to valuable information. No one who was looking for secrets to sell would have left him lying here. Unless he were part of it. Unless he were already giving them what they wanted…" He glared at the unconscious man, his anger rising into his throat in a growl. "I'm too hard a catch. If they did manage it, I wouldn't talk, and everyone would be looking for me anyway. But our Mr. Morton…"
Lee rose from Howell's side again, his eyes flashing, intent on defending his friend. "He won't talk, sir. You know he won't. If that's what you're worried about…"
"Listen to me!" Nelson bit the words off, feeling the tension sizzling in the air between them, a product of his anger and guilt at his own stupidity. Of course, it would have been up to Howell… Chip knew him, and could be reasonably expected to trust him. All Howell had to do was separate him from Nelson, introduce a hint of danger, and Chip would do what he was trained to do… It was instinct; it was in his blood. "Howell's job was to separate him from us. Once they'd done that, they introduced armed men into the mix… What do you think his instinct would have been?"
Lee looked down at Howell again; understanding dawned in his eyes. "He would have known that it was imperative to get Howell out of there… And he would have done his best."
"But not knowing Howell was part of it, he played right into their hands," Nelson finished, grinding his teeth on the words. Damn it… He should have known. Somehow he should have been able to prevent this…
Pacing away from Lee, he couldn't help but hear John Phillips' voice in his head. John had never had any qualms about making his misgivings heard; he would have been giving Nelson hell by this time, worried about the young man he had come to think of as a son. What the hell were you thinking, Harry, letting him be separated from you? You never trusted Howell, you should have known…
The worst of it was that John would have been right. Nelson never had trusted Howell or liked him. The man was sewer scum, leaving a bad smell in the air. The few times that Nelson had had any dealings with him, since he came to work at the Pentagon, had been unpleasant indeed. Howell had a sense of entitlement; entitled to more money, entitled to more secrets, entitled to use Nelson's submarine and all her men for his own ends… Nelson had thwarted enough of those attempts over the years that Howell had been at the Pentagon… It was no surprise that the captain had felt compelled to sell his country out. The only problem was that there was no proof of that.
He turned back to Lee Crane - an altogether better man than Howell would ever be. "I'll wait here for the ambulance. Go back to your room. Call Sharkey and have him bring a team here in the Flying Sub."
Lee nodded; unlike John he was in the habit of trusting Nelson completely. John had trusted, but had his own back-up plans ready just in case; they'd both been in too many situations where they'd only had themselves to rely on. John had, on the whole, been a quieter, less reckless captain than Lee Crane was, but John's contingency plans had nearly always involved putting himself in danger to save one of his crew. And he would have done anything to protect Chip, his surrogate son. This situation would only have become more volatile if John were here, involved, and on the warpath, as he almost certainly would have been by now. On the whole, for all that he missed John painfully, it would be easier to solve this problem with Lee's help rather than with John's…
It felt oddly disloyal to think that way… As Nelson watched Lee rush away, he offered a silent apology to the memory of his dead friend. If he were to be fair, John had always tried to find the safest way… And in any case, Chip was never the sort to get himself into trouble. The two of them had rubbed along so well, precisely because John was larger-than-life, and Chip was mathematical, methodical, precise, and, to a large extent, self-effacing. He didn't tempt fate; John, on the other hand…
Nelson had to smile… John had been incorrigible. He'd loved camping, for example… Despite the fact that his camping trips were uniformly disastrous, John had still insisted on them…
But now isn't the time to be thinking of John…
John was gone; there were more important things to worry about now… He turned a glare on Howell as the ambulance roared around the corner into the alley. If only he had proof that Howell was behind this… Without proof, no one would believe him.
It was a situation Nelson was more than familiar with. Always, he had had to argue men into believing him, because proof was lacking; no one ever wanted to listen to what was plain common sense anymore. He stood and watched as the paramedics worked over Howell prior to loading him into the ambulance. Within a very few minutes, Nelson was alone, contemplating the mess they were in… and searching actively for solutions…