"Try it again." Lee Crane ordered, checking his watch as Kowalski rang the doorbell once again. No answer. Lee stepped forward and tested the knob. Locked. The door looked to be solid oak, something he didn't cherish having to break down but he would if he had to. "Chief, check around back. There might be another way inside."

Sharkey nodded and disappeared around the garage while Lee checked the admiral's car once again for any signs of foul play. Nothing. All doors were locked, the engine cold. Everything seemed to be in order—including Dr. Manning. The report from DISCO could as well have been on the First Lady, it was that clean.

Sharkey crept around back, his heart pounding at what he might find. Hearing movement on the veranda, he felt himself tense as he slowly lowered himself to the ground. Peering through tall fountain grass, he was relieved to see a big gray tabby leap onto the chaise and begin its methodical bath. "Ah, geez," he huffed, feeling slightly foolish as he stepped away from his makeshift cover. Bounding up the steps to the veranda, he gave the cat a quick scratch behind the ears as he tried the French doors, surprised to find them unlocked. Cautiously opening the doors, he stepped inside. "Admiral?" he called. "Dr. Manning?" Something brushed against his leg, making his heart skip. Looking down, he found the big tabby. Scooping up the cat, he crept cautiously through the house to the front door.

Kowalski, followed by a scowling Crane, rushed inside. Catching a look from the captain, Sharkey put the cat down and explained the situation, "The doors to the porch were unlocked. I called out but no answer."

Lee systematically checked each room, pausing at the bedroom door. It was the only untidy room in an otherwise immaculate house. With an idea forming in his head, he went to the kitchen, glancing at the two empty glasses on the counter, and opened the door to the garage. His eyebrows knitted as a deep frown formed on his face. He had hoped to find the garage empty. At least it would have given him the optimistic theory that the admiral and Dr. Manning had just gone out for breakfast. But, much to his chagrin, the sight of the pearl Thunderbird instantly dashed that thought.

"Skipper!" Kowalski called from the veranda. "Look here." Kowalski pointed out droplets of dried blood on the wooden floor. "Someone's been hurt."

Crane scanned the area, looking for any signs of a struggle. If there had been one, it was almost impossible to tell.

Sharkey joined the two men. "Sir, I found the admiral's hat, coat and tie in the closet…and this." The chief held up a black handbag.

"What's that, chief?"

Sharkey smiled rather sheepishly, "It's a woman's handbag, sir. Alligator, if I'm not mistaken. I think this almost proves something happened to the admiral and Dr. Manning."

Crane cocked an eyebrow curiously, "What makes you think so?"

Sharkey shifted uncomfortably, "Sir, do you have sisters?"

Crane was really in no mood to hear one of Sharkey's stories. "No, I don't."

"Well, sir, I do. And let me tell you, they never go anywhere without their handbags. I think they carry the secrets to the universe in this little thing."

"What's your point, chief?"

Sharkey sensed the captain's growing impatience and quickly got to the point. "Well, sir, I think that if Dr. Manning and the admiral left here of their own accord, she would have taken it with her."

As outlandish as his theory seemed, right now it was the only thing Crane had to go on. "You might have something, chief."

Sharkey's smile widened. "Thank you, sir."

Crane let out a deep sigh and rubbed his chin. The nagging feeling was beginning to transform itself into a monster headache.

~oOo~

Nelson clutched his left shoulder and fell to the ground with a grunt, his face at once registering surprise and pain, the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers and covering his hand. Silently chastising himself for his gross error in judgment, he never expected such a brazen response from Briere.

Absorbing the shock of what had just transpired, Kate lunged towards him only to be held firmly in place by Marco.

"The next shot, Dr. Manning," Briere replied icily, "and fishermen will be picking what's left of the admiral out of the water." He looked at his watch. "You have 15 seconds to make up your mind."

Nelson studied the resigned look in Kate's eyes, the lost expression on her face, and knew she would do as Briere asked. He couldn't blame her really. Had the position been reversed, had he been put in the same predicament, he would have had no qualms complying.

Defiance was no longer an issue to Kate. If Briere wanted the prototype, he could have it. "I'll tell you but I want your word, as a gentleman, that no more harm will come to him."

If Kate was looking for the right button to push, she found it. Briere smiled nobly, adding a slight bow. "You have my word as a gentleman."

"Near the Lower Otay Reservoir. There's a private road off the main highway-you can't miss it. Follow the road approximately 2.5 miles and you'll see what looks like an aircraft hanger. The prototype is there."

"And what's security like?"

She glanced furtively at Nelson, at the pain etched on his face, and felt the need to continue. "There are two or three full time guards at the hangar, another three or four that travel the perimeter."

Briere turned to Karl. "Get on the phone to Bowers. Tell him exactly what the woman said—near the Lower Otay Reservoir, private road off the main highway, aircraft hangar. He'll know what to do." Karl nodded curtly and quickly departed.

Regaining a portion of her bravado, Kate bolted from Marco's grasp and went to Harry, kneeling by his side, wrapping an arm around him for support. They did not speak, choosing instead to exchange glances, hers apologetic, his understanding.

The color had drained from his face and a thin veil of perspiration covered his skin as he remained on the ground, his hand still tightly gripping his left shoulder. Blood saturated his shirt and trickled off his hand, making Kate's stomach lurch at the sight. She never had a particularly strong stomach and had more than once passed out at the sight of a bleeding cut. This time she was determined to maintain her composure.

Briere strolled over, casting a shadow on them. Having attained what he desired, his demeanor was once again accommodating. Speaking as one might expect of a gracious host, "I wonder if you and the admiral wouldn't be more comfortable in your accommodations, Dr. Manning."

Shrugging off assistance, Kate helped Nelson to his feet, allowing him to lean heavily on her while he steadied himself. "Can you make it?"

"Yes." His voice was strained yet adamant. As he took his first step, his head swimming, he wondered if he had spoken too soon.

~oOo~

Lee Crane climbed up the ladder from the FS-1 and into the observation nose where Chip Morton was waiting to greet him. His dark eyes a mirror to his mood, Lee didn't have to say a word.

"Nothing?" Chip asked.

"Nothing but a strong feeling that something's very wrong," Lee answered, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to Sharkey. "It's obvious he was there but his car's still sitting in the drive and Kowalski found traces of blood on the floor."

"You think maybe the admiral and this Dr. Manning might have been kidnapped?"

In an expression of the exasperation he was feeling Lee ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to think, Chip. I've contacted Security but I really don't know what they or anyone else can do at this point." For the first time, Lee noticed the charts on the table. "What time do we sail?"

Pacifying Lee's apparent memory lapse, Chip answered, "0830 hours." The exec knew what was coming next. "You want to delay it?"

Lee was preoccupied, his mind thinking past the mission. "Yes. Contact Professor Byers and tell him we've got a problem here and won't be able to sail until 0830 Thursday."

"He's going to want a reason."

"Tell him…" Lee rubbed the back of his neck, "I don't know. Tell him I've taken a leave of my senses and it'll be that long before they return!"

~oOo~

"I don't suppose you have a cigarette?" Under Marco's watchful eye and with Kate's assistance, Nelson had managed to carry himself rather steadily into what he rightly assumed to be her cabin aboard the Falconer.

Kate glared at Marco, daring him to take a step forward, and then closed the door. "I seem to recall you quit smoking a year ago," she replied, scouting around the cabin for something to use as a bandage.

Nelson sunk into a chair, cringing as the movement jarred his arm. "Circumstances deem it necessary that I start again," he replied dryly as he leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

Before she could admit that he had a point, a light knock had her scurrying to the door.

Briere entered the room. "I trust you find your accommodations comfortable, Dr. Manning." Briere regarded the admiral briefly. "I apologize for not having a doctor available, admiral. I suppose I was being optimistic in my hope that Dr. Manning would cooperate without having to resort to violence. I do so abhor guns." Setting a clear plastic bottle, a roll of waterproof adhesive tape, a clean shirt and white towels on the table, "I brought a few things that might be of use to you. If you require anything else…"

"A pack of cigarettes," added Nelson, looking up.

Briere nodded. "I'll see what I can do, admiral. Dr. Manning, I leave you to your task." With a nod the man exited the cabin.

Kate wasted no time. Ripping a pristine white towel into strips, she examined the bottle Briere had left on the table. "Isopropyl alcohol—not much to work with. I think about all I can do is clean it out as best I can and hope we can stave off any infection." Watching him closely as he again rested his head against the back of the chair, "Won't you be more comfortable on the bed?"

"Probably but it'll take too much effort to get myself out of this chair. Besides, I don't want to bleed all over your bed." As he spoke, he realized he was presently bleeding all over the chair.

"That doesn't matter," she answered, running a second towel under the faucet in the small lavatory. "Can you get your shirt off?"

"I think so," he answered, working the buttons with a shaking, bloodstained right hand. The menial effort of unbuttoning a shirt seemed to drain him, his face taking on an unnatural paleness.

"Are you okay?" Noticing his obvious discomfort, she came to his aid, helping him slip the shirt off his injured shoulder.

His face contorting with the pain the action caused, he nodded vaguely, his chest rising laboriously. "Just a little light-headed and tired. I'll be fine."

Examining the dime-sized, penetrating hole in his shoulder for the first time, she cringed at the sight. Tissue, already swollen and bruised, was raw and still oozing blood. She had never seen a bullet wound before and hoped to never see one again. In was infinitely more horrifying than anything TV had ever portrayed. "Well," she observed dryly, "the good news is that Karl appears to be an excellent marksman."

As near as Kate could tell, the bullet hit the fleshy crease just above his armpit and exited just to the side of the scapula. There was bound to be muscle, ligament and tissue damage but thankfully, Karl had missed the bone and, more importantly, the subclavian artery. As gently as possible, she slipped the watch off his left wrist then cleaned away drying blood from his arm and hand. Dousing a cloth strip in alcohol, "This is bound to hurt."

He didn't answer but the set jaw and placid expression told her he was ready. Even if it had hurt, she doubted he would have flinched. She had seen the scars; she knew he had been through it all before. She could only surmise that he had been too conditioned against pain to react openly to it.

He sat still and stoical, letting her do what was necessary without complaint. Only when the neat dressing was applied did he allow himself to relax.

Kate helped him ease into the fresh shirt. He looked so pale and tired. "I really wish you'd let me help you to the bed."

He gave it a moment's thought then acquiesced. He hadn't the heart to mention to her that he seriously doubted Briere would let him stay here but he was so tired, the thought of crashing onto the soft bed seemed infinitely inviting for as long as it might last. Leaning heavily on Kate for support, he extricated himself from the chair and, on legs that felt like limp spaghetti, staggered across the room, falling onto the double bed with an audible grunt.

His head barely touching the pillow, he was already on the edge of sleep. Pulling the blanket up, Kate brushed dampened hair off his forehead letting her hand linger, feeling the heat that accompanied a low-grade fever. Bringing up the chair, she hovered nearby, keeping a watchful almost protective eye on him while trying to repel her own fatigue.

She was scared. She tried not to let it show but now, relaxed and with her shield down, she couldn't fight the innate fear that lurked inside her. She wanted to cry but couldn't; she wanted to scream her way out of the nightmare but wouldn't. Trying to find some kind of respite, her mind drifted to the peaceful serenity of the previous night. Was this to be their penance? As bad as she felt for herself, she felt worse for Harry. He had been the innocent one in all this and yet, he had taken the brunt of the torment. And it was only bound to get worse. She was well aware that Harry had served his purpose to Briere: he had been a pawn to get her to comply and now she was a willing participant. Other than his word as a gentleman, there were no more guarantees that Briere would keep him alive. And somehow, Kate knew it was wise to doubt his word.

A brisk knock at the door startled her from the brief bout of reverie. Casting a glance at the still sleeping admiral, she went to the door, steeling herself for what she knew was the inevitable. And Briere's serpent smile told her the time was now.

~oOo~

Seaman Patterson let out a low whistle. "And there was no sign of him, Ski?" he asked slightly incredulously while checking the gauge on the nearest air tank, finding it satisfactory, tagging it and moving it aside.

Kowalski set the diving suit on the rack and paused to answer, "Well, sorta. We could tell he was there—his car was in the driveway and his hat and coat were hanging in the closet but the place was empty."

"You figure something happened to him?"

Kowalski nodded, "I found some blood on the floor. Skipper called all the hospitals thinking maybe there was an accident of some sort and either the admiral or this Dr. Manning had to go to the hospital but that was a dead-end. I'm telling ya, Pat, something funny's definitely going on."

"Think that's why we've delayed the mission for a day?"

Before Kowalski could answer, Chief Sharkey, eavesdropping on the tail end of the conversation, burst into the middle of the two crewmen. "Don't you two goof-offs have something better to do?"

"Sure, chief," Patterson goaded, "but we're checking this diving equipment like you said."

Kowalski stifled his amusement as Sharkey's eyes narrowed, the remark passing stealthily over his head. "Well, sounds like you're flapping your gums to me."

"Gee, chief," Kowalski chimed in, "we were just talking about the admiral disappearing and all. I don't suppose the skipper's heard anything yet?"

Sharkey's demeanor noticeably softened. For reasons known only to him, the chief was very protective of the admiral. "Nah," he answered grimly, shaking his head. "The skipper's been on the phone all afternoon with security. So far, there's no sign of either him or this Dr. Manning." Sharkey looked at the two men watching him in earnest. "Aw right you two goldbrickers. Get back to work before I put the both of you on report." The chief turned on his heel and headed quickly out of the missile room leaving Kowalski and Patterson alone, each exchanging a disbelieving grin as they continued to check suits and air tanks.

~oOo~

Nelson woke with start. He had been in the midst of an exhaustive dream that ended with a bright flash of light knocking him painfully to the ground. The persistent throb in his left shoulder reminded him that it wasn't completely a dream. Glancing at the vacant chair to his right, he had the disconcerting feeling that Kate was no longer in the cabin. A brief look around the small room told him his feeling was right.

A nagging sense of urgency prompted him into action but the acute pain in his shoulder that ran the length of his arm when he made a sudden move held him in check. He tried to lift the limb, to cradle it more comfortably against his chest, but the movement nearly made him pass out. Biting his lower lip and fighting against the pain, he grabbed on to his belt with his left hand then struggled upright, swinging both feet around and planting them firmly on the floor. Finding his watch on the stand next to the bed, he was surprised to find he had been asleep nearly four hours. Rising off the bed he had to wait several minutes for the nauseating dizziness to pass before taking his first steps toward the door. By the time he tested the handle and found to his surprise that it was unlocked, he felt remarkably steady.

Marco greeted him as soon as he opened the door. Thinking at first that he wouldn't be allowed topside, he was slightly perplexed when the big man motioned for him to pass then followed closely behind. Feeling much weaker than he anticipated, Nelson struggled with the stairs to the Boat Deck, grateful for the support the sturdy railing provided. Stopping at the landing to catch his breath, he was immediately greeted by the very heated strains of Kate Manning's voice.

"I just don't agree," She was saying, "The Wimshurst Generator simply cannot produce enough volts. At least with the Van de Graaf Generator there is potential energy as high as 400,000 volts. To achieve the desired power, the only viable solution is the Van de Graaf."

"But the current prototype was designed with the Wimshurst Generator," Emil Carag argued. "To change now will cause undue delay."

"I'm well aware of the current prototype's design and its limitations—I built the damn thing! The Van de Graaf may cause some delay in its acquisition but the impact to the prototype is non-existent. Both use high-speed non-conductors and brushes to create the static electricity, both provide extremely large currents and both have very low amperage. The prototype will not be affected at all by the change."

Seated under a blue canopy, engrossed in what appeared to be a silent battle of wills with Carag, Kate didn't notice Nelson's presence until Briere intervened, "Admiral Nelson, it's nice to see you are once again ambulatory." Kate quickly turned away from Carag. "It seems Dr. Manning has provided you with excellent medical attention although I must say your color still appears a bit off. I would imagine some time spent in this enjoyable sun will do you a world of good."

As much as Nelson hated to agree with the man, the bright, warm sun with the accompanying light, sea breeze did feel most welcome.

Briere reached into his coat pocket and handed the contents, a pack of Viceroy filters, to the admiral. "I didn't take you for a menthol man. I hope these will suffice."

Accepting the pack with an uneasy nod, Nelson eased himself into an available chair nearest to Kate and fumbled with the wrapper. Kate plucked the cigarettes from his hand, tore open the wrapping and offered one up. He pulled it free with his lips, accepting the lit match, and then settled back in the chair with a long, therapeutic drag.

"You've missed lunch but I did have Daniel save you a cold sandwich."

Nelson took another long draw off the cigarette, smoke wafting through his nostrils as he spoke, "No, I'm fine." Admittedly, he really was quite hungry but stubbornness made him refuse the offer.

"Really, admiral. As I'm sure Dr. Manning will confirm, you must keep up your strength."

"I said I'm fine," he answered emphatically, vaguely aware of the concerned look from Kate.

Briere waved his hand in absent dismissal. "As you wish, admiral. Perhaps you'll find your appetite by dinner. I'm told Daniel is preparing a delightful Chilean Sea Bass."

Nelson set his jaw firmly. He was finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate this man and his annoyingly cavalier attitude.

"Before you arrived, admiral, Dr. Manning was just explaining why it would be beneficial to acquire a Van de Graaf Generator. Dr. Carag believes the Wimshurst Generator would suffice. I'm inclined to agree with Dr. Manning, however, we are under a bit of a time constraint." Turning his attention to Kate, "Dr. Manning, how difficult would it be to modify a Wimshurst Generator in order to achieve a volt capacity equal to or greater than the Van de Graaf?"

"It's a matter of increasing the voltage on a generator that is simply not capable of accepting the higher voltage. I could do it but the generator would burn itself out in a matter of minutes."

Briere looked at Carag for accord. "And do you agree?"

"Yes," he nodded, "what she says is true."

"It would be a simpler task to just create our own Van de Graaf Generator."

"But you would need a list of supplies, no doubt?"

"Well, yes, but they aren't that complicated. Some PVC pipe, fabric and a length of fine wire for the electrostatic generator and a capacitor such as a Leyden Jar."

A sickeningly sweet smile crossed Briere's lips. "And while we work to acquire these items, you and the admiral will have devised a plan of escape. I believe I now understand your motives, Dr. Manning. Let me just say, stalling won't help. We'll proceed using the Wimshurst."

"Can't blame a girl for trying," she answered with a shrug.

"Tell me Briere, just what do you have in mind once Lightning Bolt is complete?" Nelson knew the question was bold but he also knew that Briere wouldn't hesitate to answer it. Experience told him men like Briere always liked to boast.

And Briere didn't disappoint. With a broad sweep of his hand, Briere spoke defiantly. "I shall sell Lightning Bolt for a large sum of money to a small country that wishes to become a significant player in world domination."

"So, you'd sell out your own country for money?"

"I am a profiteer, admiral. I have a scarce commodity and a very interested party. The fact that they are not the country of which I am a citizen is of little concern to me. I've never been one to believe in strong allegiances."

"So it would seem," Nelson muttered. He leaned forward, his elbow resting heavily on the table. "You have no regard for the lives that will be lost when this country unleashes Lightning Bolt?"

"Why should I? I don't know these people. They mean nothing to me. Whether they live or die is of no importance to me."

"You make me sick," Nelson hissed, his voice laced with the contempt his expression conveyed.

Briere leaned forward and for a moment, Kate saw the dark flash in the narrowing eyes. "I make you sick?"

Nelson didn't back away, his unflinching gaze remaining unflappable.

"You're just like Mankin," Briere proclaimed in a raised voice, "passing your sanctimonious convictions on me. Idealistic fools the both of you! You exist for the betterment of society and the world. But I ask you, what has the world given you? It gives you nothing; it merely takes at every juncture. Do you not think that each and every person in the United States would turn away the opportunity to prosper on something like this? A gift horse staring him right in the face and Mankin turned away the opportunity to prosper. The idiot!" Briere was on a tangent now, his voice climbing louder and louder, his face turning a bright shade of red. "He was well aware of Lightning Bolt's potential and still destroyed the machine! He claimed he didn't want it falling into the wrong hands; didn't want it used for subversive purposes. Can you imagine that? He created a machine capable of decimating cities then destroyed the damn thing!"

"You asked what the world has given me," Nelson began, his voice deep and steady. "Unlike you, Briere, I don't ask for society or the world to give me anything. Yet, it has. It has given me more than I could ever dream possible: knowledge, endless opportunities to explore and discover, answers to innumerable questions. For society or the world to give to you, you have to give something back." Nelson leaned back in his chair. "But I wouldn't expect a megalomaniac like you to ever understand."

Darkness clouded Briere's eyes, instantly exposing the evil behind his casual, cavalier façade. Tearing the gun away from Karl's hand, he pointed the weapon at the second button on Nelson's shirt. "You've insulted my character, admiral. I don't appreciate that."

Kate heard herself gasp, her eyes darting between Nelson's defiant expression and Briere's wounded pride. They were playing chicken and neither man was willing to back down. The only trouble was, Nelson was in the position to lose everything.

Reaching out her hand and placing it over Briere's, feeling the cold, clamminess that permeated his skin, "you gave me your word as a gentleman," she reminded him in a forcibly calm voice.

Briere looked away from Nelson to Kate, a loose grin crossing his face. "So I did, my dear. And fortunately, I am a man of my word." He lowered the gun and handed it back to Karl. "You are a very lucky man, admiral. Very lucky indeed. Karl, find some out of the way place down below to keep our friend here. Someplace where he can contemplate his own fate as well as that of the world."

Karl nodded then jerked the admiral up by his injured arm, eliciting an involuntary cry as pain screamed in rebellion to the sudden movement. Grabbing his shoulder, Nelson nodded his compliance, slowly leading the way to the stairs. By the time they reached the passageway leading to the storage locker, Nelson found he barely had the strength to lift his foot over the threshold.

"Come on!" Karl ordered, losing his patience and giving Nelson a hearty push forward. In the darkness of the room, Nelson didn't see the I-beam until he crashed into it. Unforgiving steel making hard contact with his left shoulder sent a consuming jolt of pain through him, stifling any sound that might have escaped as he fell to the floor.

Nudging him repeatedly with the toe of his shoe and satisfied he offered no threat, a wry smile crossed Karl's pale lips as he exited the room, pausing to secure the door before he rejoined the others topside.

Hearing the door close and knowing he was safe, Nelson rolled onto his back, soon feeling the soothing relief of the cold floor through the thin cotton fabric that clung to his dampened skin. The room was dark. So dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face or the blood that seeped through the makeshift bandage and onto the fresh shirt. His breath coming in short, deep rasps he laid still, waiting, praying the agonizing pain would soon subside.