Chapter Two
On a Wing and a Prayer

Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the nuclear submarine the USS Montana, was on deck, inspecting a work detail of his boat. After three months sea duty, his crew was welcoming some much-needed R&R, while routine maintenance was being performed on the sub at the San Diego Naval Base.

"Feels good to be home doesn't it, Dave?" he asked of his XO and good friend, Lt. Cdr. David Walker.

Walker nodded his agreement, but added, "You're also supposed to be taking in some downtime, Lee."

"I will, but—"

His Executive Officer finished his CO's thoughts: "She's your baby, and you just can't let her out of your sight."

"Shows that much, huh?"

Walker nodded. "You're only a few months into the big chair. Cut yourself some slack."

Cdr. Crane shook his head: it was easier said than done. At age 34, he was the youngest man to Captain a US submarine since World War II, and had a lot to prove not just to himself, but to those in the DoD who felt he was too young to handle such responsibility.

"Captain, urgent message coming through for you on scramble from COMSUBPAC." The radio man came from below deck to hand his superior the notification.

"All right, Sparks, I'll take it in my cabin."

"Aye, sir." He saluted his Captain, and went back below to handle the communications relay.

"Never a dull moment with you, is there?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Crane shrugged. "You have the conn, Dave."

"Aye, sir."

*.*.*.*.*

Sitting behind his desk, Cdr. Crane switched on the vid-phone, and hit the scramble signal button, before taking the call.

"Crane, here."

The Admiral on the other end of the line didn't waste time with pleasantries. "ONI believes you're the best man for this job."

I'm flattered, he thought ironically, but avoided saying it aloud. Prior to becoming the Montana's Captain, Crane had performed several assignments for the Office of Naval Intelligence—and had the scars to prove it. "What's my mission, sir?"

"You'll be briefed en route. A plane's been prepped for you at North Island, which will take you to your final destination."

"I'll have my gear together in about ten minutes," he replied.

"Negative. You'll leave the Montana in civvies. A taxi will be awaiting you at the main gate. Number 256. To all outward appearances, you're taking some well-deserved R&R. Everything you need will be provided for you."

"Sir, what do I tell my XO?" As Captain, Crane was used to sharing information with his Lieutenant Commander.

"Nothing He'll be duly informed that you were called away for temporary re-assignment."

"Aye, sir."

"Carpenter, out." And with that the vid-phone was disconnected.

They're not wasting any time that's for sure, he thought, as he shut off his own vid-phone. Whatever mission they assigned to him must be important. Getting up from his desk, he went to his wardrobe to choose something suitably neutral to wear. Deciding on a pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt, he hurriedly changed his clothes.

*.*.*.*.*

"Well, that must have been a real important call," said his Executive Officer, as he looked at his Skipper's informal attire.

"Yeah, it was," laughed Lee. He brought Walker conspiratorially close to him, "I've just been ordered to take some much-needed R&R."

The XO rolled his eyes. "Nice to see my tax dollars at work."

"Some bean counter at COMSUBPAC, making certain he keeps his tail out of a sling." He was making idle conversation for the benefit of anyone who might be eavesdropping: it always paid to remain on guard.

"He's right, old man, sometimes you just can't be pried from duty."

Crane winked at Walker. "I've got some free time and spare cash. How much trouble can I get into?"

Walker laughed, "If I recall that time at the Academy "

"And if you recall, Mr. Walker," Lee stressed his XO's rank, "I've got crew evaluations coming up; so, we'll just forget that time at the Academy."

"Aye-aye, sir."

They both laughed heartily. "I'll see you later, Dave."

"Enjoy yourself, Lee. You deserve it."

*.*.*.*.*

As he flagged down taxi number 256, anyone looking at Lee Crane would have believed him to be little more than an off-duty sailor, out for a little fun and good times. They'd be hard-pressed to see the steely determination masked behind his ostensibly laughing amber-coloured eyes.

Getting into the cab, he mumbled something about downtown, knowing full-well it was for the benefit of anyone listening. Besides the driver, there was nothing inside the taxi: no manila envelope with his orders; no folder with information concerning his mission. Whatever assignment he'd been given, they intended to keep him in the dark until he reached the North Island Naval Air Station, and even then, he wasn't certain how much they intended to reveal. These kinds of assignments were never covered in field training, and you were left to take the job on a wing and a prayer.

*.*.*.*.*

The drive to North Island was without incident. While Lee made a mental note of his driver's face via the rearview mirror, the man hadn't said anything since he got into the cab. Just as well, he thought, it gave him the opportunity to steel himself for the mission ahead without being interrupted by useless conversation. All he knew for certain was that a security blanket was on, which likely meant trouble with a capital "T".

Surprisingly, security wasn't as tight as he expected when they finally reached the NAS. The SPs had reviewed his and the driver's IDs, doing nothing more than a routine spot-check. Ever vigilant, however, Lee spotted two undercover operatives strategically placed to target the cab should it be necessary.

"Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice," he mumbled.

"Did you say something, sir?" asked the driver.

"Nothing that bears repeating."

"Aye, sir."

With their IDs checked, the taxi made its way through the gate, and headed directly to the jet that was awaiting him.

Crane was a bit surprised to see that it wasn't a Navy fighter jet or transport, but an unmarked civilian Learjet that was to be his means of transportation. It appeared they were bringing him in under deep cover, with nothing connecting him to his Navy roots.

The taxi stopped on the tarmac, near the plane's ramp. Everything seemed to have been arranged to keep his mission as low-key as possible, which bothered him. Just what the hell am I letting myself in for this time? he wondered, as he stepped from the cab and headed into the jet.