Chapter Two
(Waiting)
A bright light greeted a splitting headache as Harry groaned, followed by a bout of nausea that only partially settled as he instinctively reached for his stomach.
"Easy there, Admiral. You've had quite a jolt," a familiar voice replied.
Harry moaned while flailing a weak hand to deflect the blasted light pen currently piercing like lasers beams into his now open eyes.
"Jolt?"
"You took a hard hit to the head, compounded by a second one when you fell. It's a good thing it wasn't concrete you landed on," Jamie explained to Harry's tightened forehead as he screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple.
"What?" he replied, his lucidness barely catching up to his wakefulness.
"Is he going to be all right?" another voice joined in.
"Yes, the confusion is normal and to be expected even with a minor concussion."
By now Harry was fully awake and equally annoyed by both his headache and Jamie and Chip's discussion, as if he were incapable of understanding their not-so-complex conversation.
"Would you two stop talking over me like I'm not here and tell me why my blasted head is splitting in two right now?" Harry bellowed, though at much lower decimals than he was normally capable when not lying in Sickbay.
"Of course, Admiral," Dr. Will Jamieson replied, his bedside manner never wavering despite his patient's outburst. "First, you know the routine."
Harry swallowed back the gripe too readily available to roll off his tongue just now and answered dutifully.
"Harriman Nelson, Admiral, retired," he answered specifically while demonstrating that his mind was operating quite efficiently despite his headache.
"And the last thing you remember?" Jamie continued.
This thought took a moment to process before Harry was able to grasp the memories completely. "Finnegan's," he recalled. "We left Finnegan's and were heading for a late dinner."
"You and Lee?" Chip clarified to Jamie's frown.
"Well of course me and Lee," Harry returned grumpily while reaching for the sore spot on the back of his head.
"What else do you remember, Admiral?" Chip probed as Jamie reluctantly allowed the inquiry.
"Just talking with Lee as we…"
Harry stopped himself mid-sentence when he realized that while he expected to see these two particular faces upon wakening in Sickbay, that there was one noticeably missing.
"Where's Lee? And you haven't answered my question. What happened?" his questions fired off in rapid succession.
"You don't remember any altercation?" Chip continued.
"Blast it, Chip! I remember Finnegan's, walking on the boardwalk, and then…" he paused to draw the next memory. "A blinding pain and then nothing else until I woke up here," he finished, much calmer and taking a noticeable glance about Sickbay's other bunks, which were currently empty.
"Kowalski and Patterson discovered your service cap on the boardwalk and found you in a nearby alley." Harry's insistent glare urged him to continue. "Lee was nowhere to be found. He's gone. There's no trace; no clue what happened to him except for this," he said, referring to the service cap he'd been holding all along at his side, something Harry hadn't noticed until this very moment.
"Gone? You mean abducted?"
"Aye sir, that's what ONI thinks. We've already checked the hospitals, police station, all the 'usual' places," he said, inferring that the morgue had also been checked.
Harry frowned, realizing that a lot had happened between his last memories and waking just now. "How long have I been out?"
"We can't say for sure, but Kowalski found you about 2230."
"We left Finnegan's around 2000," Harry recalled, lowering his eyes before raising them slowly. "How much time have I lost?"
"It's 1400, the following day, Sir. You were in and out of consciousness, but not lucid enough for questions," he explained to Jamie's affirming nod.
"And that questioning is now weighing heavily on my patient, Chip," Seaview's doctor chimed in.
"That's all right, Doc," Harry placated, his face holding all the concern of a man whose best friend had just vanished. "You said you contacted ONI?" he asked reaching to rub his temple. He had caught the fact that Jamie described his concussion as minor, and reasoned that his three rather large beers the night before had combined with the concussion to keep him out this long.
"Aye Sir. I spoke to Admiral Johnson personally. He's already been in contact with the island officials and has confirmed that there was no known threat against Lee, as least as far as they know."
"How about the boardwalk? Didn't anyone see what happened?"
"We've done a little leg work, but nothing was reported. I'm sending teams and guessing that any potential eyewitnesses might be more available during the evening hours."
"Yes… of course," he said, trying to rise out of bed.
"Where do you think you're going, Admiral?" Jamie asked rhetorically, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and easily maneuvering his patient back down.
"Blast it, Jamie! I've got to do something!" he bellowed while simultaneously trying to fight back nausea and a spinning head.
"You are doing something," Jamie countered firmly. "You're lying in that bed and giving that hard head of yours a chance to recover!"
It wasn't often that Jamie lost his cool, and even in Harry's compromised state he realized that. He waved Jamie's restraining hand off and reached for his head, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to abet the growing headache.
"I want to be kept in the loop on your findings, Chip," he said instead, surrendering to both the doctor's medical rank and the fact that he privately doubted he could stand without help at the moment anyway; the latter not something he was willing to admit openly, mind you.
"Aye, Sir."
"What else have you learned, Chip?" he asked, not quite able to hide his discomfort.
"We don't know if he's still on the island or not. The port master has provided a list of vessels sailing last evening, but you know there are half a dozen harbors for smaller vessels that don't require the port master's assistance or a float plan for that matter. ONI is checking on the airport, but we're hoping he's still on the island."
Harry breathed deeply, his forehead wrinkled with deep lines of both pain and concern. "Ransom note?" he asked in a noticeably short sentence.
"No Sir, only…"
Harry's eyes brightened. "Only what?" he demanded impatiently. His headache was getting worse and he needed all the information he could get before his body demanded and received, the rest it was currently insisting upon.
"There was only one set of drag marks into the alley, it looks to me that Lee was the intended target and probably loaded straight into a waiting vehicle. But Sir, anyone trying to abduct an officer for ransom would know that an admiral is worth more than a commander and why not take both of you for that matter?"
"What are you saying, Chip?"
"I don't believe Lee was abducted for ransom. I think this was… personal."
Harry sighed in agreement. It was no surprise, Lee's ONI work had garnered him some serious enemies, not to mention a few from the last year aboard Seaview.
"Admiral," Jamie interrupted, "I must insist you rest now."
Harry acknowledged with a small nod. "Keep me informed, Chip."
"Aye Sir," Morton replied stepping away, his own worry masked behind a well-practiced command face, yet easily read in his expressive blue eyes.
Harry settled back, reluctantly surrendering to Jamie's medical order. He needed a few hours to rest and get past the splitting headache. After that, he fully intended on being right in the mix of things to find out just what had happened to his captain and friend.
# # # # #
"Is he still out?" the grey-haired man asked coldly.
"I gave him another shot. I told you he'd be out for at least another eight hours."
He ignored the attitude of his much younger accomplice, much more interested instead in the prize that lay before him as he lightly nudged the shoulder of his bound captive with his boot to test for himself. A soft breath indicated that his prisoner was still unconscious but much too aware of his surroundings for his captor's taste. He stood a moment watching for signs of wakefulness before suddenly drawing his boot back and issuing a swift kick to his side. Though the heartless action invoked an uncomfortable groan from the man whose hands were tied behind his back, his prisoner remained inanimate for the blow he had received.
"I don't want him waking just yet," the man replied; his dark black hair had turned grey years ago, and his face was noticeably aged beyond what was normal, even for a man in his sixties. He watched without a hint of compassion as his accomplice administered a second hypo. His brown eyes had lost the luster and vitality of life years ago, as his uncaring gaze bore down upon his prisoner. Though he was close to achieving his hard-earned revenge, the bitterness in his heart could not be satisfied until his plan was fully accomplished. He had no intention of killing Crane outright; that would be too easy a death for him. He had something else in mind. The thought brought no comfort or satisfaction, but only fueled the darkness in a heart that had lost its respect for life years ago.
"He won't," the younger man assured and stepped back, his mood even darker than before.
"Good," he replied coolly, silently contemplating the final steps to a well-thought out plan.