Chapter Three

Welby leaned over as his patient passed an airy groan and tossed his head. He'd been a SEAL long enough to recognize the distress and lightly touched Lee's shoulder.

Lee's eyes popped open as the combat medic's touch penetrated his dream, pulling him to the waking world, but leaving him momentarily confused as he stared straight ahead waiting for understanding to catch up with his wakefulness.

"Easy there, Chaser. You're safe and heading home now," he encouraged.

He swallowed and then turned his head to see the military-cut, brownish-blond hair of the young man, leaning over him.

"Welby… right?" Lee asked, not that he recognized his rescuer from the dark warehouse, but he did remember his voice.

"Yeah, it's me," he answered, smiling slightly but still concerned.

Lee sighed and looked around. "What boat am I on?"

"The Spadefish, sir; SSN…"

"…668," Lee said, finishing the boat's number. "Chet Wilson's your Skipper?" he asked with a small smile, basking in the feel of a US Navy submarine surrounding him just now.

"That's right, sir," Welby replied, noting his patient's jaw tightening and his forehead crinkling. "I've got you on a morphine drip, how's it doing for you?"

Lee breathed in and swallowed again, his splinted arm elevated on a pillow beside him with his hand resting lightly on his taped side. "Taking the edge off," he answered wearily.

"It should be doing better than that," Welby said, standing to adjust the IV. "I'm going to release a bigger drip," he said, explaining his actions and watching for Lee's reaction. A moment later he noticed Chaser's face muscles relax and sat down beside him.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"So, we're about twelve hours out from our rendezvous with a flattop and full medical services for you. Your fingernails are a little discolored; I expect I may have to insert a tube to aid your breathing. I think you've got a rib pressing against your lung."

Lee nodded slightly, an assessment he had already privately made.

"Is there anything you need to report before the tube goes in?" Welby asked, simultaneously taking care of both his patient and the mission.

"Still got my shoes?"

"We're packrats around here, everything that comes in with a Spook goes out with one," he joked with a grin, while conveying a very real rule that went along with espionage extractions.

Lee smiled weakly, his body feeling heavier with the new dose of pain-relief the IV was providing. "Would be good if Captain Wilson could make his way here first," he said, his eyes closing quite unwittingly.

"I'll see to it, Chaser," Welby promised as Lee nodded, not bothering to open his eyes before drifting off again.

He listened as his patient's breathing indicated he had found sleep once again and placed a hand to his fevered brow. He had done everything he could to make Chaser as comfortable as possible, but he was well aware that the damage inside was continuing to wreak havoc on the injured operative. He sighed and headed for the mic to inform the Skipper of Chaser's request, all the while hoping that the rib didn't do any more damage before he could ensure a steady flow of oxygen to his patient.

# # # # #

Lee pushed himself up into a sitting position, faltering when he moved to his hands and knees as Rocco approached. It wasn't hard to feign a weak and broken body, as he held his side protectively when he stood. His legs wobbled until he found his footing, while blood and sweat threatened to obscure his vision.

Ryker's henchman continued forward, not hurrying his steps and apparently enjoying the fact that his victim intended on fighting back.

"Lucas said to make you pay, Richards, and that's just what I'm going to do," Rocco threatened.

"Listen to me, Rocco; do you think that three hundred grand is all I've got? There's a lot more where that came from. Let me walk and I'll cut you in," Lee bargained. He didn't think it would work, Rocco loved his job breaking bones too much, but it was worth a try.

"You surprise me, Richards. I would have thought you'd been smarter than that," he answered, his tone darkening as he continued. "When I'm through carving you up, everyone will know what happens to men who betray Mr. Ryker."

Lee steadied his footing, this wasn't going to be pleasant, especially when the brute out-weighed him and wasn't compromised by broken ribs attempting to suck the air out of his lungs just now.

"And it's going to be slow, Richards," Lucas continued, closing the distance within five feet of his intended victim.

Lee readied himself. He was going to have to use the only self-defense weapon he had left. He had a broken wrist, and a compromised rib cage that couldn't take the abuse of the full range of motion he needed to throw a punch with his good hand, so he only had one choice left.

He was banking on Rocco's promise to inflict pain before killing him, so he was going to have to let Rocco get close enough to do just that. He steeled his nerves, hoping to pull this off as the large man took one more step; it was all Lee needed. Though Rocco was heavier and was bulked in muscle, they were roughly the same height; Lee's arm reach, however was longer. So, when Rocco lunged with the knife, Lee reached for his neck and pulled him close enough to deliver a devastating head butt. The result was two-fold, with both men staggering away as Rocco fell heavily, unprepared for the heavy blow; while Lee ended up on the concrete floor again, curled in pain with the knife stuck in his side.

"Damn you, Richards!" Rocco yelled. "You're going to pay for that!" he yelled, rising to his feet and rushing forward, intending no mercy once he got his hands on the traitor as blood flowed freely from his forehead.

Lee stayed curled, moaning and writhing in pain as Ryker's henchman barreled forward to finish him off. Rocco threw himself over Lee, ready to pound his life away with unrelenting fists; but as Rocco committed to the attack with his full weight, Lee thrust the knife deep into his chest, aiming for the heart, and then using the last of his strength to roll away to clear himself from the brute's fall.

Lee's roll came to stop, but he was done in. He had nothing left to give as he nursed a new knife wound in his side. His breathing labored even more, the rib now pressing directly against his lung; tearing it, though not puncturing completely. Incredibly, Rocco pushed himself to his knees, the bloody knife he'd dug out of his chest now in his hand and raised high to attack. His rattled breaths were joined with a flow of blood from his mouth and revenge-filled eyes seeking to make Richards' pay as painfully as possible.

This is it, Lee thought, he'd used the last of his strength… he couldn't fight anymore. Suddenly, the warehouse went unexpectedly black as the lights were mysteriously cut. He heard Rocco shuffle while trying to stand, and then heard a clink as something fell to the ground, followed by a thud. The last thing he heard was an ominous breath heaved out, almost like a balloon deflating. It was too dark to see anything, and Lee hoped with everything in him that it was Rocco's last breath he heard, because he had reached his end. He fought to stay awake as the fringes of unconscious beckoned him, but his eyes unwillingly closed to welcome the darkness and a reprieve from the pain.

# # # # #

"Lee?"

Lee groaned before opening his eyes then smiled in recognition at the sub commander sitting beside his bunk.

"Hey Chet," he said almost sheepishly.

"Don't 'hey' me. You bled all over my deck you know," Chet Wilson teased and then shook his head regretfully. "Damn it, Lee. When is being a sub commander going to be enough for you?" he admonished unfairly.

"When the bad guys… stop threatening our freedom," Lee replied, full of conviction but not delivered angrily.

Wilson sighed loudly. "All right, that wasn't fair of me. It's just… well, seeing your friend's sorry six being hauled down the ladder looking half-dead…"

"Geez Chet… did you and Chip… work this little tirade out… ahead of time?" Lee asked squeezing his eyes shut at the headache he still sported, even medicated.

Wilson chuckled and sat back. "He still giving you a hard time about ONI?" he asked, making a concerted effort to lose the intense emotions he had harbored ever since seeing Lee's condition when he was brought aboard.

"Right before I left," Lee answered with a smile. "Only… he's my Exec… so he was much more… diplomatic," he finished, having to take even more breaths between his words.

Wilson's countenance changed to one of concern. "So, Welby tells me he might have to insert a breathing tube."

Lee nodded and swallowed. "I need you… to… secure the Intel."

"All right, where did you stash it?" Wilson asked, going all navy and ready to help Lee complete his mission.

"Heel of… my shoe."

Wilson headed for the duffle bag stowed with Lee's gear. He reached down and pulled out a bloody shirt, a wallet whose contents supported Lee's cover identity, and finally his shoes. He fiddled with one heel, but it was solid; then moved to the other one, fiddling with it until it swiveled and a small round disc the size of a quarter dropped into his hand.

"Hell, Lee. I thought only James Bond had secret compartments in his shoes," he quipped with a grin.

Lee grinned weakly. "Works… every… time," he jested back.

Wilson's brow tightened, his concern now heightened. Lee was taking even more breaths between words, and his lips were starting to turn a sickening shade of blue.

"I'll take care of it, Lee," he promised, before turning for the hatch and calling Welby back into sickbay.

Welby took one look at his patient and flew into action. A few minutes later, the tube was inserted while his exhausted patient barely held onto consciousness.

"No more grief from me, Lee," Wilson promised to Lee's attempt to smile. "You just rest, I'll get both you and the Intel to the flattop," he said, his words offering both concern and validation for Lee's mission.

Lee nodded slightly and then closed his eyes. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

# # # # #

It wasn't until Welby showed up whispering the call sign and insisting he answer with the counter sign, did Lee realize that the lights had been cut by the SEALS just before entering the warehouse. All of which meant, that the team had been called in ahead of time. Their arrival so soon after Lucas left, indicated they were in position and waiting for the rest of Ryker's men to clear out before entering. It was all a very well-played and dangerous game designed to keep the special ops involvement secret. Once the SEALS arrived, Lee had gladly allowed the well-trained ops team to fulfill their mission; the emergency extraction of an injured operative. His condition, in fact, wasn't unexpected, since he'd accepted it with full knowledge of the DF5 rating. He supposed that was why Chip had been so ticked-off at him.

# # # # #

Three Weeks earlier...

"Status Mr. Morton," Lee said, rounding the spiral staircase and walking towards the chart table.

"We're running at 200 feet; standard speed; on course and meeting check points as plotted," Chip answered efficiently.

"Very well, steady as she goes."

"Aye, aye, Skipper," Chip replied as Lee checked the running time to the next check point. "Lee, I need your signature to extend FS1's next scheduled maintenance."

Lee laid down the compass and straight edge and reached for the clip board Chip was holding out. With the Admiral away in Washington, they had no choice but to postpone the standard maintenance check. It was rather mundane, but a required detail that necessitated the captain's signature. Neither officer was concerned. FS1 was kept in top flight condition and her maintenance would easily fit into the schedule next week upon the Admiral's return. Lee had just finished signing the extension when Spark's voice was heard over the Com.

"Captain Crane, could you and Mr. Morton please come to the radio shack?"

A quick look toward the Communications Officer's smiling face told Lee and Chip he had good news of some sort.

"What do you have, Sparks?" Lee asked upon approach.

"This just in from Miss Watson," he answered with a grin.

Lee took the message and grinned. "A message from Angie," he said, clueing Chip in. "It looks like the Admiral scored those tickets to the Army Navy game."

Chip smiled broadly. As it turned out, Seaview was in between voyages and this year, for the first time since Lee signed on with Seaview three years ago, they were going to get to attend the game. With the game only four weeks away, it was considered a major coup to snag the tickets.

"Go Navy," Chip recited.

"Beat Army," Lee replied, finishing the well-versed cheer as the two exchanged smiles. "Ah… one thing," he continued to Chip's raised brow. "Full dress…"

"Of course," the blond interrupted.

"…Because we'll be the Admiral's guests in the Box… along with…"

"Admiral Starke," Chip finished with just the smallest of noticeable cringes.

Lee's cringe however, was quite noticeable and without much attempt to hide his displeasure, until he shook it off with a grin; as long as Navy won, Starke was bound to be in a good mood.

"Veteran's Stadium, Philadelphia. I hear it's state of the art," Sparks added, joining in the light mood the news afforded.

Lee nodded; it was the first year that the new stadium would be utilized, and with a seating capacity upwards of 65,000, it was sure to be a grand event. But it was also somewhat bittersweet for die-hard fans to leave behind JFK Stadium and the nostalgic memories the old horseshoe stadium had provided over the years; particularly, for Chip, who had played running back for the Midshipman during his Academy years.

"That ought to be some game," Sparks continued, with the win/loss record tied at 37 wins for Navy, 37 wins for Army, and 6 ties, this year's game was hyped to be one of the biggest in the Services long football rivalry. It had taken Navy a long time to make up the deficit of games lost, winning six of the last seven ballgames.

Lee smiled openly as the three briefly discussed the Mids' roster for the year, before patting the Communication Officer's shoulder good-naturedly. "Thanks, Sparks," Lee said waving the note in a good mood and turning back toward the chart table with Chip by his side. They only got three steps away before Sparks called them back.

"Wait a minute, Sir," he said, his brow tightening as he listened to an apparent incoming message while writing busily.

Lee waited patiently, the tone of their earlier conversation lost immediately to the boat business Sparks was now receiving.

Sparks tore off the coded message and handed it to Captain Crane.

"From ONI, Sir," he informed.

Lee's eyes dropped briefly to the message, perusing it before stuffing it into his pocket.

"I'll be in my cabin," he informed his first officer and headed straight for Officer's Country to decode the message.

Chip pursed his lips while exchanging knowing glances with Sparks, each man well-aware of the precursor to an ONI mission. He left the radio shack without saying a word and headed to the chart table, barely holding back his irritation.

# # # # #

Chip positioned himself at the chart table with a straight shot to Sparks' domain. He busied himself with the charts in front of him but picked up on the activity in the radio shack as the Communication Officer put through the expected call, no doubt to ONI.

He tossed his pencil down and conducted a quick assessment of the situation lights, then returned to position himself on the opposite side of the chart table, staring out Seaview's windows blankly.

He had done this so many times he could almost begin a countdown for the expected hail. Any minute now, he would be the recipient of an order to either ready FS1 or to attend a briefing. He was particularly irritated, because the last time ONI requested Lee's services he had come back with a bullet in his shoulder. And here Lee was getting ready to do it again, go on another mission. Oh, he had no doubt Lee would say "yes".

Such was his mood when the expected hail was heard.

"This is Captain Crane; Mr. Morton, please report to my cabin."

Chip reached for the mic. His mouth pursed tightly and looked up at the speaker, muttering silently and quite sourly, "Again!" He reigned in his attitude, successfully managing to keep his current mood to himself as he clicked the mic and responded. "Morton here; on my way, Sir."