Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 2: A Strange Prison

Nelson drew a deep, gasping breath as the sack was pulled from his head. The heavy, humid air that filled his lungs was as sweet as any he'd ever breathed. Patterson lay in a semi-conscious heap beside him, his face pale. Nelson wondered how much blood he'd lost and how long his wound could go untreated before it became infected. The dousing in salt water had probably done it some good, but a quick glance around showed they'd been deposited in a room that was less than clean.

He'd felt the skiff bump softly against the moorings as they docked, then the quick jerk of a knife severing the rope that tethered them together. They were dragged to their feet and he'd heard Kowalski's quiet but colorful curses and Patterson's moans, but nothing from Lee. He hoped the captain was bearing up stoically and his silence didn't have a darker meaning.

They'd made their slow, stumbling way onto land, guided by their surprisingly jovial guards. Nelson could only conclude their captors had been promised a good reward for procuring such important prisoners.

He thought about the last time he'd been in Colonel Wilson's presence, two days before. It had been a difficult, unpleasant meeting. The team of UN inspectors had questioned Wilson about allegations of stockpiling chemical weapons. Nelson, no expert on the topic, had been asked to attend for a very different reason. Satellite images indicated Wilson had recently constructed a large facility near the shore. Reports from agents hinted that the dictator had found a viable method of extracting gold from seawater. Nelson had been asked to discover whether that was indeed the purpose of the facility. Diplomacy and probing questions were to be the first step. When they didn't yield results, ONI ordered Crane to get the admiral in for a closer look.

Now that had failed miserably, too, and Nelson had been weak enough to allow himself be captured. It was one thing to face Wilson as an unwanted but official guest. It was quite another to be caught sneaking around the island in civilian clothes in the dark of night. The relationship between the United States and its small neighbor in the Caribbean was already tense enough. Nelson hated himself for making it worse. And he hated involving Lee. Between the two of them, they protected a wealth of scientific and military secrets just waiting to be mined. To their friends cooling their heels anxiously at the rendezvous point, it would seem Nelson and Crane had simply disappeared without a trace. Wilson would be free to take his time finding out everything he wanted to know.

We'll worry about the rest later, Crane had said. There's a fine line between "later" and "too late," Nelson thought, looking around the small, dark room that was to be his prison. If he cared for Lee a bit less, perhaps he would have done his duty. But his death would have left the captain alone with Wilson. He couldn't bring himself to take the easy way out and leave Crane holding the bag, even if that was what ONI expected.

Nelson looked up at the guard who stood above him, calmly folding the sack he'd removed from the admiral's head as if it were a piece of laundry. The man seemed to be an ordinary islander, dark skinned with a wiry strength Nelson knew he shouldn't underestimate. His captor smiled down at him. "Where are the others?" He wasn't in a position to demand information, but he didn't care. The game was up anyway.

"The big one's over there." His guard gestured to the corner, where Kowalski was slowly rousing himself. "The hurt one's lying on your foot. Try not to kick him when you get up." He grinned at Nelson's stormy expression.

Nelson felt his heart skip a beat as he realized only the three of them were in the room. "Where's our companion? What have you done with him?" He surged to his feet, ignoring Patterson's moan at the abrupt movement.

"I told you to be careful," his guard chided. "You want to know about Crane?" If Nelson's heart skipped before, it did a jig this time. He fell back in shock, bumping into the edge of a small table. He'd expected Wilson to recognize him, but how did the dictator know Lee? Before he could speak, the guard shrugged. "Boss wanted him. When the boss is satisfied with what he finds out, your captain will be back."

As the man withdrew, Nelson sank back against the table, deflated. If that was the condition for Crane's return, Nelson doubted he would see his captain alive again.

X X X

"We're not just gonna sit here while the Skipper's tortured, are we?" Kowalski asked.

"No, we certainly are not," Nelson said. As soon as the guard left, the admiral dropped to his knees and checked Patterson. The crewman's wound was bleeding sluggishly, not enough to cause immediate worry, although Nelson knew it was painful. "Sorry, Patterson," he said quietly, not sure if the injured man could hear him.

"It's OK, sir," Patterson murmured. "You were worried about the Skipper. I heard everything you said. He's gone, isn't he?"

"We'll get him back," Nelson said with more conviction than he felt. "Ski!"

"Sir?"

"Let's see if we can get our hands untied."

They stood back to back, each trying to unloosen the other's bonds. The ropes were thick and tight, and it was a long while before they began to give. As they worked, sweat rolling down their faces, Nelson and Ski listened to the quiet sounds of the jungle night. At one point Nelson heard a voice raised in anger, followed by silence. At least, he mused grimly, he didn't hear any screams. Not yet.

"Admiral?"

"Yes?" Nelson was sure his wrists were raw as he twisted them again, his sore fingernails digging into the rope binding Kowalski.

"I don't know much about Colonel Wilson, but doesn't this place seem kinda strange to you?"

"Now that you mention it," Nelson grunted, "it does." He felt the rope begin to give and flexed his wrists again. "It's not a prison." He cast his eyes around the room as he worked. In addition to the small table, there were a number of chairs and a couple of cots in the corner with mosquito netting hanging over them. "It doesn't even seem very secure."

"That's what I was thinking. And they didn't search or separate us. Even Marcel's men were more thorough than these guys. Isn't Wilson supposed to be a pro?"

"That's his reputation," Nelson said. He wiped his face against his shoulder and gave a final, desperate pull. Kowalski's hands came free and he turned and braced Nelson as the older man stumbled. Released from his own bonds, it was easy for Kowalski to finish untying the admiral.

Nelson hurried across the room to Patterson's side. He checked the crewman's pulse while Kowalski quickly and efficiently untied him. "Easy," Nelson murmured. "We'll get you out of here."

"Don't worry about me, sir," Patterson said without opening his eyes. "Just get the Skipper."

"You can count on it." Nelson said, resting his hand on the injured man's shoulder. "Ski, do you see anything that could be a weapon?"

"Not yet." Kowalski prowled around the dark room, peering into corners and hefting a chair to check its weight.

Pushing himself to his feet, Nelson went to the door and gently tested it. It was locked but made of such flimsy wood he felt certain he and Kowalski could break it down if they had to. The sound of feet approaching made him draw back, signaling the crewman to suspend his search. They moved to the shadows on either side of the door, ready to pounce as soon as it opened.

The door swung inward and in the sudden flood of light, Nelson and Ski saw Crane walking slowly and unsteadily between two of Wilson's men.

X X X

The guard on Crane's right side turned and looked at Nelson disapprovingly. It was the same man who had removed the sack from the admiral's head. "If you jump on me, your captain goes down," he warned. "I don't think he can stand on his own right now. It's up to you, though," he shrugged.

Nelson abandoned any attempt to rush the guards as he and Ski moved swiftly to Crane's side. The admiral gently touched Lee's face, lifting it for a better look. The captain's eyes were only half-open. His lip was split and a dark bruise spread across his cheekbone. Although he was unbound, Nelson had to agree with the guard's assessment: Lee looked like he would fall over at any moment. His anger rising, the admiral wondered what other injuries he would find when he examined his friend.

"Put him down on the cot," he ordered, his voice rough.

"It's OK," Lee said softly. "I can walk."

"He says he can walk," the first guard said.

"He's lying," said the other, a massive man whose bulk filled up the doorway. "I'll bet you two dollars American."

"Cot!" Nelson roared.

"It's a deal," said the first guard, and they both released Lee at the same moment. Nelson and Ski, taken by surprise, didn't have time to catch the captain before he crumpled on the dirt floor at their feet.

"Why, you…" Ski growled.

The first guard eyed Crane disdainfully. "I should have known better than to put money on this one. He didn't last long with the boss, either. Spilled. His. Guts." He toed Lee's side gently to emphasize each word.

"I didn't even hit him all that much." The large man shook his head sadly, then appealed to Nelson and Ski. "Try to do something with him, will you? The boss wants to see him in the morning and it's gonna go best if he's cleaned up. We'll be back soon. OK, got it?"

They turned and left, locking the door carefully behind them. When they were gone, Nelson and Kowalski stared incredulously at each other. The admiral shook himself, trying vainly to make sense of what had just happened. "Probably drugs," he said, returning his focus to the captain. "Check his arms for punctures. I'll look at his neck."

Crane stirred weakly as Ski pushed his sleeves up. "No drugs," he slurred, pushing the crewman's hands away. "I never touch the stuff." He tried to sit up, then moaned and sank back, abandoning the attempt.

"Lee," Nelson took the captain's face in his hands and searched his eyes, his expression serious. "Did you talk? We have to know. What did you say?"

"I told him about the gold," Lee said. His eyes drifted shut again.

Nelson inhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. That was it: the beginning of the end. "Lee," he said, his voice pained, "how badly are you hurt? What did he do to you?"

Crane opened his eyes at the concern in the admiral's voice, visibly trying his best to rally. "I'm not hurt at all. Well, not enough to matter," he amended. "I just shouldn't have had that third cup of rum. Not on an empty stomach. Bad idea." He let his head drop back and closed his eyes again.

"I don't believe this," Nelson said. "I don't believe it!"

"Well, it was either drink the rum or arm wrestle with Wind, and he bragged about crushing his last opponent's hand." Lee yawned, wincing as the motion stretched his damaged face. "Since I knew we were safe, I thought it was better to be drunk than maimed. I'm going to try for the cot now." He pushed himself to his knees, then wobbled and fell forward onto his elbows.

Wordlessly, Kowalski picked the captain up and half-carried, half-dragged him to the cot. Carefully, he eased Crane down onto it.

"What do you mean, 'Since I knew we were safe'?" Nelson said, refusing to let go until he understood what was going on. "How can we be safe when we're Wilson's prisoners?"

"We're not. We're being held by Lord Hurricane." Lee focused with difficulty on Nelson's face. His expression was vaguely hurt. "I didn't forget my duty. I wouldn't. They'll take care of Pat, don't worry. Try to rest." He closed his eyes again.

"I feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole," Nelson said to no one in particular. "Who the hell is Lord Hurricane?"

"My father," said a voice from the doorway.

Nelson spun around to face the newcomer. He had been so focused on Crane, he hadn't noticed the guards had returned. Between them stood a boy about twelve years' old, watching him with dark, doubtful eyes.