The Wish King

By Kate

Special thanks to Liz and Theresa for all the input, suggestions and beta work. Any remaining goofs are mine. This is my first story after returning to Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea after a four year absence. I’m sure I have some things out of whack with this, but my goal was to focus on character relationships and tell a good story with an entertaining plot. Hopefully I’ve succeeded! J Comments are always welcome at veniceplace12@verizon.net

The last sound Lee Crane wanted or expected to hear was the distinctive click of a revolver, especially at his back. He froze in the act of retrieving the jade statuette, mentally debating his options:  act stupid and hope for the best or own up to his mission and look for a quick way out. He could still hear voices and music drifting from below, Dimitri Anton’s guests making the most of the swank reception. With the hour well past midnight, security a little laxer than it had been when he’d first arrived, he’d considered it the perfect opportunity to stealthily make his way to the upper level of the chateau and wrap up his mission. Unfortunately, either he hadn’t been all that secretive about it, or Dimitri had been playing him all along. ONI had warned of a potential leak, the possibility of having his identity compromised.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe I got lost?” He slid his hand from the desk drawer where the statuette was kept and turned to face the man behind him.

As expected, Dimitri Anton stood just inside the door. If he was going to get caught in the act of stealing, who better to get caught by than the man who’d lifted the statue originally? Lee had known exactly where to look for the figurine as Dimitri had made a point of gloating over the bauble just three days ago on Lee’s initial visit. 

Unobtrusively, he did a visual sweep of the room, trying to gauge his best avenue of escape. The door was worthless - - Dimitri’s proximity made it out of the question - - but a sprawling bank of windows intersected the far wall, overlooking an ornamental garden below. He did a quick calculation of the height and drop, trying to weigh the damage. His left arm still troubled him from his last ONI mission in Venice. As long as he kept the impact off that side of his body, he stood a chance. With a little luck, he’d land in one of the softer beds of greens.

Anton chuckled. “What an interesting word, Captain Crane - - lost.”

So his cover was shot. Anton was no longer buying he was Shane Delacore, collector of rare antiquities.

For the first time since the older man had entered the room, Lee took a good look at him. Anton didn’t look remotely like the arrogant aristocrat who’d greeted him three days ago or even the suave host who’d opened his doors for a celebratory gala just earlier that evening. This man was drawn, his face the dull gray of dishwater as if he was recovering from a terrible shock. 

With a resigned smirk, Anton shook his head. “Commander Lee Crane. If you were my only problem, I’d count myself fortunate. One bullet and our association would be over.” He waved the gun almost absently, closing the door and moving deeper into the room. “I’ve heard of you, of course, along with your Admiral Nelson and the mighty Seaview. As an enemy of your government, I make it my business to stay informed, but I never factored on your age. You’re considerably younger than I’d expect for a submarine commander, which explains why I bought your cover so readily. That, and the fact I was distracted by Grigor’s miraculous recovery.”

Grigor Anton, Dimitri’s oldest son. Like his father, he was an enemy agent in a covert network of spies, mercenaries and hired assassins who’d made it their business to thwart U.S. interests across the globe. Both Antons had questionable value in that many of their enemies were also adversaries of the U.S. Whereas Ford’s Whitehouse had to remain above reproach, Dimitri and his son had no such ethics. Common enemies were often neutralized without any U.S. involvement, making the Antons a necessary evil. Lee was of the opinion this particular evil would rise up and bite them one day, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots. He was just the ONI operative who’d been asked to undertake another mission when he hadn’t completely recovered from the last. The admiral would have hit the roof, but the admiral didn’t know. Like the rest of Seaview’s crew, Lee was officially on shore leave. It was an absence he was beginning to fear might become permanent should Dimitri decide to pull the trigger.   

The older man moved past him to the desk where he opened the drawer and retrieved the jade statuette. It was an ugly looking thing -- half goat, half ox with encrusted rubies for eyes and slivers of gold for hooves. It stood upright, forelegs folded over its chest like arms, embracing a sheave of wheat. Though crafted of precious stones and metal, Lee thought it resembled a cheap bazaar trinket - - the kind of garish bauble sold to unsuspecting tourists in tacky shops and marketplaces.   

In reality, it was the sacred treasure of a hostile nation that had embarked on the road to peace with a longtime enemy across the border. The U.S. was acting as mediator between the two realms, a process that had gone smoothly until the statue was stolen. It had been intended as a gift between rulers, an offering of sincerity to resolve past differences. Before the treaty could be signed, the statue was stolen, the theft blamed on the U.S. Headlines shrieked that by acting as mediator, President Ford’s government had secretly hoped to ruin the negotiations all along.

Underground information had traced the theft back to Dimitri, and Lee had been contacted as the operative most likely to pull off the job. His cover was that of an antiquities dealer, a profession that would put him close to Dimitri. Anton’s legitimate trade revolved around the buying and selling of rare artifacts, particularly at the elite level. Lately, with the exception of the theft, he’d been keeping a low profile.

Four months prior, Dimitri’s oldest son, Grigor, had been horrifically injured in a car accident, paralyzing him from the waist down. Despite flying in specialists from all over the world, Dimitri was told the damage was permanent and that Grigor would never walk again. 

Yet just a week ago, Grigor had rebounded, recovering so completely the transformation was nothing short of miraculous. It had left doctors stunned, making headlines across the world. Tonight’s celebration was in honor of the young man and his phenomenal recovery. 

Dimitri had been floating on a cloud most of the evening, greeting guests, mingling and smiling during the lavish reception. The amount of food, hors d’oeuvres and drinks was overwhelming, enough to supply a small third world nation. No expense had been spared, the overindulgence and pomp almost revolting in its excess. 

And yet Dimitri Anton no longer looked like a man who had cause for celebration. He stared down on the statue, his face drawn into a tight, dismally bleak mask. “Do you know the legend behind this, this . . . thing?” His lips curled in a snarl of distaste, his expression shifting from despondency to sheer loathing.

Lee thought about the window again, but by moving to the desk, Dimitri had positioned himself midway between his escape route and the door, making either exit risky. That his host appeared in no hurry to kill him had Lee content to play along.

“It’s supposed to embody the soul of a dead king.” Hooking a finger beneath the stiff collar of his starched white shirt, he adjusted his bow tie. He would have willingly traded the immaculate tuxedo for something more practical like combat fatigues, or even his officer’s uniform. The tux was form fitting, crisply tailored, which would likely hamper him when he made a break for the window.

“Not just any king.” Dimitri seemed more absorbed in the statue than the fact he’d been trying to steal it. Lee knew it was worth a small fortune, but its true value lay in what it could do - - healing a long-standing rift between nations - - not the price it would bring.

“It is said to harbor the soul of Armandek Trae, a practitioner of ancient magic,” Dimitri continued. “His people called him the Wish King because he freely granted favors to those who pledged loyalty to him. Not common favors, but gifts of unimaginable and fantastical excess. When he died, legend says he willed his soul into this statue. Whoever possesses it controls the power of the sorcerer king . . . the power to have any wish, however extraordinary, fulfilled.”

“A little like a genie,” Lee commented, deciding he stood a better chance of escape if he kept the conversation going. He didn’t understand Anton’s rambling any more than he did the man’s sudden and strange melancholy.

“Not quite.” Dimitri smiled bitterly. “Unlike a genie, there is a curse attached, payment if you will. For every wish that is granted, something of value will be taken from the man or woman making the wish. I had assumed that meant something of monetary worth.”

“You stole the statue,” Lee said, deciding to put his cards on the table.

“Yes. But not for the reason you think.”

“You wanted to stop the peace negotiations.”

“Fool!” Dimitri’s voice cracked on the air. “Do you think I care about two squabbling nations, neither large enough to make a blip on the world economy? Blaming the theft on your government was just a convenient way to keep the focus elsewhere. I wanted the statue for my son . . .” His anger drained as quickly as it came, remorse taking its place. “I wanted it for Grigor.”

Just that quickly, the pieces fell into place. Grigor had been grievously injured with no hope of recovery. Anton had stolen the statue in a last ditch effort to heal his son. Insane or not, he had banked on the legend of the Wish King.

And Grigor had recovered. Without explanation, with all hope gone, defying every nuance of medical science.

“You understand now.” Dimitri managed a wan smile. “I see the realization on your face, Commander. Whether you choose to believe in superstition or not, the fact remains I made a wish for my son’s recovery while holding this statue.” He tightened his fist around it, giving it a hard shake. “Two days later it was as if he’d never been injured.”

“Coincidence.” There had to be some other explanation.

“You think so? And is it also coincidence that while celebrating just an hour ago I received a phone call about my youngest son, Viktor? He is on holiday with some friends. Only sixteen-years-old and he died like that.” Dimitri snapped his fingers. “His death as unexplainable as Grigor’s recovery.” He shook his head, frazzled, distraught. “I have not told Grigor yet, so I let the celebration continue. How can I share such horrible news with him now? He will think he is responsible when I know it is really my fault and the wish I made. Viktor gone . . .”

Lee hesitated, uncertain what stance to take. He didn’t believe in superstition and legends. Yes, Viktor’s death was a tragedy, but it was also probably explainable. A weak heart, an undetected medical condition. There were countless reasons, none of which he was about to explain to a grieving father. Dimitri Anton might be an enemy agent, but at the moment he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man. Of course, the gun in Anton’s hand made that sympathy short-lived.

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

Dimitri snorted. “As if your sympathy makes a difference.” Rage contorted his features, his eyes going black with the suffocating burden of grief. “It is the statue. I hate the cursed thing. I detest ever having set eyes on it. Here…” He thrust it at Lee. “Take it and be gone. I have no wish to kill you. No wish for more death. I just want this abomination out of my house before it brings more grief to my family! Let it be your problem, your curse.”

Was it really that simple? Dimitri was just going to hand over the statue and let him waltz out of the chateau without a scratch? Lee reached for the figurine, but before his fingers could brush the surface, the door burst inward, spilling Chip, Sharkey and Kowalski into the room. In the span of a single heartbeat, all three dropped into a defensive crouch, training their guns on Dimitri.

“Don’t move,” Chip ordered.

“No! Hold your fire!” Snatching the statue, Lee stepped in front of Dimitri, shielding him with his body. “I have no clue what the three of you are doing here, but put your guns down. There is no problem.”

“Sir . . .” Sharkey looked bewildered. “He had a pistol leveled on you.”

Dimitri chuckled. It was a hollow, bitter sound. “He’s right, Commander. Perhaps I should turn it on myself.”

Lee half-turned to face the older man, noting the acute misery in his eyes. “You’re not thinking clearly. You need to go downstairs and end this reception. Get these people out of here, so you can grieve properly. Find Grigor and tell him what’s happened. I’ll find him for you if you prefer.”

“No.” Dimitri shook his head. “I just want that damn statue out of my house, the sooner the better. I’m not sure how your men got past my bodyguards, but I suggest all of you leave now. You are an enemy agent, Captain Crane, but in this instance, I must rely on you to bring about justice. Take the statue . . . destroy it or drop it in the deepest pit of the ocean, but dispose of the vile thing quickly. Make sure no one ever suffers its curse again, and perhaps Viktor’s death will not have been in vain.”

Shouldering his way past the men at the door, Dimitri left the room without another word.

Lee focused on his crewmembers, feeling an irrational spike of anger. When he’d flown out of Santa Barbara, it had been with the knowledge Seaview wasn’t scheduled to leave dock for another eight days. “Where did the three of you come from?”

“Seaview,” Chip supplied simply. “ONI contacted the admiral, said that you were on a mission and that your cover had likely been compromised. They didn’t want to leave you hanging with no avenue of escape. Uh . . .” he hesitated, plainly uncomfortable. “Especially after what happened in Venice. The Admiral rounded the crew up a few days before our scheduled departure and…”

“…you rushed to my rescue?” Lee finished a bit too condescendingly. He knew he should feel grateful but was already anticipating an ugly scene with Nelson. He’d wanted the mission kept on the QT, which was why he’d taken it while on shore leave. Instead, his crew had been dragged back early, cutting short their personal time. Most wouldn’t complain. They were staunchly loyal to him, an allegiance he valued highly, but the Admiral was different.

They’d already butted heads after Lee’s Venice assignment when he’d been shot and nearly killed. It hadn’t been the first time Nelson had taken issue with his ONI missions, but it had been the most explosive. In retrospect, he knew most of the admiral’s fury was really concern masquerading as anger, but he still couldn’t find it in him to say ‘no’ when ONI came calling. He was a top-level operative, one of the best, and he knew it, priding himself on that skill. His father would have understood. His father had risked his life daily for people he didn’t even know until fate had intervened in a cruel and totally unexpected way.

Sharkey shuffled his feet. “Skipper, we didn’t know you had it under control. ONI was pretty certain they’d dumped you in a pickle. The admiral brought the boat here at flank speed. We were half afraid we’d be too late.”

Great! Flank speed. More reason for Nelson to jump down his throat, lecturing about how his mission might have jeopardized the boat. It was bad enough Seaview was forced to depart ahead of schedule, but holding her at flank speed would mean closer monitoring, possibly course adjustments on the way back - - not to mention an impromptu detour to return the statue to its proper home.

“All right.” He’d deal with the admiral and whatever dressing down Nelson intended to dish out later. The important thing was he had the statue and a clear path back to Seaview. In a few days, the figurine would be back where it belonged and the fragile peace negotiations could resume. 

“Let’s get out of here before Dimitri changes his mind.”

Slipping the statue inside his tuxedo jacket, Lee headed for the door.

**********

Nelson left instructions that Lee was to see him the moment he stepped onboard. Thus, still dressed in his immaculate black tuxedo, the statuette tucked inside his jacket pocket, Lee headed for the admiral’s quarters. He knew there was no avoiding the confrontation, didn’t understand why he was so edgy about it. ONI was a thorn of contention between them and would probably continue to be as long as Lee allowed himself to be pulled in both directions.

The admiral had been more understanding, even actively supportive of his missions in the beginning, but now he wanted a full-time submarine commander, not a part-time spy. The Venice assignment had pushed him over the edge. Although Seaview had played her part and Nelson had been fully informed of the operation and its potential risks, he’d been against Lee taking it from the start. When it had gone haywire, it had just been more fodder for him to lob at Lee:  You could have gotten killed. You could have compromised the boat. Worse you involved a civilian - - a schoolteacher, for crying out loud! It took me, Sharkey and Riley to get you out of there. What would you have done if that woman had been killed? How would you have explained that to her family?

Maybe that was part of the problem, the reason Lee was so eager to put his neck on the line. The only family he had left was his mother. His father was dead, and his step-father had never been more than a harsh and bitter authority figure.

True, he had Seaview, a close friendship with Chip and a strange mentor/father-son relationship with the admiral when it suited Nelson, but there was nothing to keep him from taking chances. A psychologist would probably have a field day with that one. Was he tempting fate, shaking his fist at the cosmos, daring destiny to take his life the way it had taken the life of his father when he was only eight? 

Grayson Crane had been so proud of his assignment on the lavish Carlisle Maine. The mission of a lifetime he’d said, one of only three undercover police officers chosen to ferret out a crime syndicate. Four of the key players were said to be on the ship headed from New York to London. Two days out, the luxury liner had gone down, caught in a vicious nor’easter, all passengers and all hands lost, her wreckage never found. Two years later, his mother had remarried and Lee’s life had taken a greater nosedive. Being dropped in military school was probably the best thing his disciplinarian stepfather had ever done for him. Only four years older than Nelson, the man had none of the admiral’s brilliance, compassion or patience.

And what of Nelson himself? 

The contention between them was greater these days. The admiral seesawed as it suited him: one moment superior officer, the next mentor, surrogate father and friend. It was sometimes hard treading those lines between relationships. If he were honest, Lee was tired of the constant shifting. Since Venice, Nelson had been stuck in superior-officer- mode, admiral to captain. 

Two could play at that game. He was hardnosed and he knew it. He was used to speaking his mind, yet even in his most heated arguments with the admiral, he remained respectful. Occasionally his temper got the best of him. He just hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those times.

It was late, he was tired and his left arm was starting to throb. The bullet wound still bothered him, especially when he’d been too long without sleep. He’d been up since 0400 the day before, pouring over every bit of intelligence ONI had sent him on the layout and security hazards of Dimitri’s chateau. It was now nearly 0200. Almost twenty-four hours without rest. It was something he’d done countless times before, but his body, still healing from Venice, took exception to the sleep-deprivation. The low-level pain gnawing from his shoulder to arm made him irritable.

Pausing outside Nelson’s cabin, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a disembodied voice instructed.

He found Nelson seated behind his desk, the only light in the room coming from the illuminated globe situated in the corner. Made of clear acrylic, each continent and land mass detailed in variegated colors, it cast a soft wash of light over desktop and floor, leaving the rest of the cabin wrapped in shadows.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Yes, yes.” Nelson waved him forward, scowling as he took note of Lee’s tuxedo. The ashtray at his elbow overflowed with crushed cigarette butts, a tell-tale sign of his restless agitation. “You’re not in uniform, Captain.”

So this was the game - - rigid protocol and reprimands.

“I’m officially on shore leave.”

“Consider it officially cancelled.” 

“By whose authority?”

“By mine,” Nelson snapped sharply, dispensing with protocol as his anger bludgeoned through. “If I had to haul this boat across the globe to rescue your tail-end from yet another ONI fiasco, you can bet your captain’s bars I expect you at the con come 0600, Mister!”

Lee stiffened, automatic defensiveness giving rise to his temper. “Intelligence was misinformed. I didn’t need Seaview or her shore party. I had the situation well in hand.”

“Like you did in Venice?” 

It was a cheap shot, and they both knew it. The situation in Venice had been beyond his control, making Nelson’s cutting remark a slur on Lee’s proficiency. He bit his tongue, forcing silent a belligerent retort.

Nelson blew out an angry breath and shoved to his feet. Planting his hands on the desk, he leaned forward, confronting Lee across the top. The half-light from the globe distorted his features with deep crevices and planes of shadow. “Do you realize what these continual shenanigans of yours have cost me in valuable research and time? Do you have any idea the price to me, this vessel and her crew when we’re forced to take a backseat yet again to your gallivanting and clandestine assignments?”

“Gallivanting?” Lee felt his temper spike.

“How dare you not tell me what you were up to!” Nelson moved past anger into outright antagonism. “In case you’ve forgotten, Commander, I am your superior officer. It is your responsibility to inform me of anything - - come hell or high water, ONI be damned! - - that may impinge on the operation of this boat or her crew.”

“There was nothing I did that put Seaview at risk.” Furious, Lee stepped forward, just inches from the desk. Heat crept up the back of his neck, washing over him in crushing waves of disbelief. He’d argued with Nelson before, but this was turning ugly, damaging. He knew if he didn’t back out soon, he was likely to say something that would harm their friendship and their working relationship permanently.

“You question my motives in keeping this mission to myself - - doesn’t that tell you the risk was mine alone? It was supposed to be over and finished before our next cruise. How can you possibly think I would intentionally risk the safety of my crew?”

“Your crew? This is my boat!” Nelson pounded his fist against the desk, violently driving home his point. “While you’re on my vessel, you’re part of my crew, answerable to me, Mister! I hired you to be a submarine captain, not some pale-imitation James Bond, getting his kicks by playing spy when it suits him. There are plenty of other ONI operatives, just as there are plenty of capable commanders who’d jump through hoops to get a chance at Seaview. If you’re not interested in being captain of this boat, I suggest you tell me now.”

Lee recoiled as if slapped. For a moment, it felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Had Nelson truly just threatened to replace him? This from the man he’d long considered a mentor and friend? Over the last two years as they’d worked closely on Seaview, there had even been occasion when he’d looked to Nelson as a surrogate father. He’d done his best to keep those thoughts to himself, but he’d often imagined Nelson felt the same, responding to Lee’s unspoken need. 

He should have known none of it was true. All Nelson really cared about was having a capable, efficient commander for his boat. The very best, like another piece of equipment that would operate at peak efficiency and keep everything running smoothly. And, like any apparatus or gear, when it started to malfunction it was time for a replacement. 

For a moment, he felt rage. Seaview was his! Nobody knew her like he did, could maneuver her with such precision. He was the best damn man for the job, and Nelson knew it. He’d even once overheard Kowalski and Patterson talking about how uncanny his connection to the boat was . . . how, as much as they had admired and respected Captain John Phillips, the older man hadn’t come close to matching Lee’s intuitive connection with the vessel.  

Just that quickly, pride stiffened his back. He could walk away from Seaview and have his pick of commands tomorrow. And there was always ONI who’d pile laurel wreaths at his door in an attempt to woo him into full-time service. He knew he was tired, knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but it sounded damn plain that Nelson no longer wanted him. “Maybe you’d better check that list,” he said stiffly.

Pained shock washed over Nelson’s face, but it was gone too quickly for Lee to truly register it. “Speak plainly, Captain.”

“Your list of replacement commanders,” Lee clarified. There was no room for hurt in his voice. Command didn’t allow for such weakness, but the damage ripped through his gut. He didn’t know which hurt worse - - losing his ship and crew or the admiral’s friendship. Wounded, he fell back on aloof correctness, sealing himself in the emotionless shell that had been his haven from the time his stepfather dumped him in military school. “It’s probably in the best interest of the crew if we make no mention of this for now. I’ll take Seaview home for you, Sir, after which time you can replace me with the commander of your choice. As you said…” The words threatened to stick, but he forced them past his throat. “…there are plenty of capable candidates to take my place.”

“Lee…” Nelson faltered, looking more than a little shaken. 

He was too hurt to realize it was the first time the older man had addressed him by his first name since he’d stepped into the cabin . . . too wounded to hear the regretful note of sadness in Nelson’s voice. 

Looking past him, Lee stood stiffly. “Will that be all, Sir? I’d like to get some sleep since you expect me at the con at 0600.”

“Yes. I . . .” Nelson gave a defeated sigh and nodded, his eyes dipping momentarily. “That’s all, Captain.”

Never making eye contact, Lee left the room. It was only when he’d reached his own cabin that he folded back against the closed door, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. In three more days, Nelson was going to take Seaview from him. In three more days, he’d lose his boat forever.

**********

Damn it, the whole blasted thing wasn’t supposed to unfold remotely how it had played out. His own notorious temper and Lee’s foolhardy pride had succeeded in backing them both into a corner, neither willing to yield.

Agitated by the turn of events, Harriman Nelson paced from behind his desk, far too keyed up to contemplate sleeping. Was he out of his mind telling Lee he could be replaced? He’d pulled a power play - - back off from ONI or else - - and Lee had called his bluff. He should have known his willful, sometimes arrogant commander wouldn’t bend. Wasn’t that one of the things he admired most about Lee? Wasn’t that what made him such an exceptional submarine commander, the best and only commander for Seaview?

He needed to have his fool head examined pulling rank, thinking he could bulldog Lee into curbing to his wishes. His young captain respected lines of protocol and position, but he was also opinionated as hell and wasn’t above sharing those opinions, with or without permission.  

All Harry really wanted was Lee safe, Lee out of danger, but he’d never quite worked up the courage to say the damn thing plainly. The famous Admiral Harriman Nelson - - brilliant scientist, respected leader, acknowledged genius, and he couldn’t work up the guts to tell Lee how he really felt about him. Coward. So instead he did what came naturally, what he thought Lee would understand. He threw his four-star rank around, foolishly thinking the naval officer in Lee would respond.

Idiot! How many times had he verbally backed Lee Crane up against the wall only to have the younger man turn defensive or rigidly correct? It just wasn’t in him to yield. Engaging in a test of wills with a man like that was inviting disaster. True, he could order Lee to do as he wanted, but Lee held the higher card in that he could resign and walk away. 

“Bloody spine made of steel,” Harry muttered, pacing briskly to his bunk where he slammed his hand against the wall. It did nothing to offset the hot burn of self-condemnation. The stark reality was that he’d overreacted. When the call had come in from ONI that Lee’s cover had been compromised, all he could think of was how close he’d come to losing his friend in Venice. His gut had been in knots ever since. When he’d gotten word from Chip that Lee was safe and they’d be boarding Seaview relatively soon, his fear had given way to anger - - how dare Lee risk his life yet again? If he didn’t know better, he’d think his brash captain had an inborn need to place his neck on the line, almost as though he took grim satisfaction in tempting fate. 

At the time, he’d been so certain if he held Seaview over Lee’s head, his captain would fall in line. But he’d done it all wrong, resorting to anger and threats rather than telling Lee how valuable he was. He should have admitted that Lee was irreplaceable, both as Seaview’s commander and his personal friend. Instead, he’d basically implied he had a list of replacements, willing and waiting in his pocket. What a colossal ass! 

Lee Crane wasn’t just a damn fine commander and friend; he’d crossed the line into a territory Harry had previously allowed no one else. He had never out-and-out admitted he thought of Lee as a son, but the foundation had been laid. Neither spoke of it, neither acknowledged it, but it had been there all the same.

Until now.

Now, Harry was afraid he’d destroyed it permanently. Lee intended to walk away from Seaview, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. He dreaded even contemplating the reaction from Chip and the crew. Morton was Lee’s closest friend, had been since their days at Annapolis. And the crew, as much as they’d been skeptical, even resentful of Lee when he’d first come aboard, Harry couldn’t see them working for anyone else. Certainly, they’d never have the same loyalty to another commander they had for Lee. He’d won them over with patience, understanding and skill, his excellence as a captain erasing all doubt about his age or ability. Hell, he’d have an outright mutiny on his hands if the crew thought he was going to replace Lee on a whim. He could hear Sharkey, Kowalski and Patterson now, and they were just the tip of the iceberg.   

The only thing left to do was hope that Lee would cool off and they’d find common ground. ONI was still a thorn in Harry’s side, and he had no intention of meekly backing away. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to lose the best commander and friend he’d ever had. Somewhere in between there had to be an alternative.

He just prayed he’d find it in time.

**********

Four hours of sleep and he’d be expected on the con. Lee supposed it was better than nothing, just one more example of the admiral throwing his rank around. 

Biting back a groan of pain, he eased from his tuxedo jacket, feeling the bulk of the statue in his pocket. Its weight, though trivial, pulled on his injured left arm reminding him he was still a long way from healed. Okay, so taking a mission when he was still recovering hadn’t been his brightest idea, but it had worked out in the end.  

Except between leaving Dimitri Anton’s chateau and arriving in his cabin, he’d surrendered his command of the Seaview. He knew part of it was his own stubborn pride, unwilling to bend when the admiral backed him into a corner, but the sting went deeper. He’d had heated arguments with Nelson before, shouting matches that had become the scuttlebutt of the boat for days afterward, but during all those outbursts, neither of them had intentionally crossed a line that would hurt the other.

Nelson had known damn well what he was doing holding Seaview over Lee’s head. Apparently the rift in their relationship had grown so great the admiral no longer cared what he felt. It was almost like saying, “I gave you this boat and now I’m going to take it away. Watch me.” This from a man he’d considered a surrogate father . . . and all because of a spur-of-the-moment mission and a jade statuette.

Lee pulled the ugly thing from the pocket of his jacket, holding it in his hand. Hideous and gaudy, yet it held the balance of two nations in sway. Didn’t the admiral realize how important its retrieval had been? 

The answer was there immediately - - of course he did; he just didn’t want Lee always being the one who was summoned to do the fetching, to take the risks. There was a time Lee had thought that stance was rooted in concern, that Nelson fretted and paced each time he risked his life. Now he understood what Nelson really wanted was a compliant and docile captain who would do exactly as told, when he was told. Seaview was what mattered, not Lee, and as much as he loved the boat, he couldn’t help feeling hurt by the admiral’s unyielding position.

Absently, he rubbed his thumb over the statue, feeling the cool smoothness of jade against his skin. He’d grown used to making his own way in life, rarely having anyone he could turn to for advice. Over the last two years, the admiral had been that person, but that bond was severed now. It made him wish his own father was still alive, that he could turn to Grayson Crane for answers. “If I could just see you again, talk to you again,” he whispered out loud.

He smiled a bit ruefully. What would a cop know of admirals and military decorum, or even care? He often thought his father would be shocked at how his life had turned out. His family had bled blue three generations back. As a child, it had been his dream to become a police officer. But all of that had changed with the tragic sinking of the Carlisle Maine.

With a resigned sigh, Lee placed the statue in his wall safe, then finished undressing and crawled into his bunk. 

Four hours of sleep.

He’d existed on fewer. At the very least, he wanted all the time in Seaview’s control room that remained to him. In a few days, he’d be saying goodbye to her forever.

***********

Lee was exhausted. 

All it took was one glance for Harry to realize his sometimes too-competent captain was feeling the fatigue of his last assignment plus the punishing toll of a bullet wound that still hadn’t healed. He hovered in the hatchway of the control room, watching as Lee mapped out a course change on the plotting table. Even in profile, the strain on the younger man’s face was evident. The logical part of him reasoned there was no need for Lee to remain on duty - - the boat was in calm seas, under no duress. Chip was fully capable of assuming command. The compassionate part of him agreed, noting it was now 1030 hours and Lee could definitely use the rest. A tired captain could easily make mistakes that might jeopardize sub and crew. There simply wasn’t any legitimate need for Lee to remain at the con when he was so obviously worn out.

Except that Harry knew his brilliant commander too well. Lee was far too much of a perfectionist to make a mistake that would put others at risk, even when he was operating below par. He was also willful and aggravatingly defiant, which meant he’d stick at the con until ordered to leave, simply to prove a point. Nelson had made an issue of insisting he be there, knowing full well Lee would be operating on little sleep. His always-in-control captain would stick it out until the bitter end, fighting pain, fighting exhaustion, determined to come out on top of their internal power play. ‘Weakness’ just wasn’t in his vocabulary, at least not as it related to him personally.

Odds were Chip had already attempted to get him to leave. Seaview’s executive officer was not only highly capable, he was also Lee’s closest friend. One glance at the exhausted captain, and Chip - - not realizing the rift that had erupted between Harry and his commander - - would have offered to take the con. 

Harry could easily visualize Lee’s cool refusal and Chip’s descent into irritation at his stubbornness. In the end, military decorum would have held sway and the exec would have had no other course but to concede to his commander. Lee Crane simply didn’t yield. 

And this is the man I threatened to replace, Harry thought, experiencing a sharp pang of regret. He hadn’t gotten much sleep either, tossing and turning when he’d finally managed to crawl into bed several hours after his blow up with Lee. He’d made the blunder of a lifetime, and was still feeling the remorse.

“Lee.” He approached the plotting table as if nothing ugly had happened between them. He was done addressing his friend as captain, commander or worse yet, mister, hoping his more personable tone would make Lee receptive to working out their differences. “You’ve changed course.”

He got a cool glance for the observation, so annoyingly professional and composed it set his teeth on edge. 

“We experienced a few seismic tremors about an hour ago,” Lee explained neutrally, his voice showing no hint of frost or fatigue. “Nothing to warrant concern, but I felt it best to err on the side of safety. When we get closer to the drop off for the statue, I’ll take the Flying Sub.” He hesitated briefly, just enough to make the pause noticeable to anyone who happened to overhear. “Unless you have an issue with that - - Sir.”

Nelson bit his tongue and counted to five. No one pushed his buttons like Lee Crane did. Half of him wanted to call the younger man on his attitude. The other couldn’t help noticing the tired creases at the corners of his eyes or the way he held his left arm stiffly as if pain pinged from his shoulder to his fingertips.

“It’s your boat, Captain.” Damn. Any other time, his choice of address wouldn’t have mattered, but after last night it felt like a slight. “Lee,” he corrected.

Another cool glance. “Very good, Admiral.” 

Blast, but the man was infuriatingly good at being chilly and professional at the same time. Yet despite that unflinching façade, Harry knew everyone in the control room could feel the underlying tension between them. No one glanced in their direction, no one stared, but he could sense the entire watch crew listening. 

Normally the control room was relaxed. Lee didn’t run a spit-and-polish boat, allowing more freedom and casual ease, even among the control room crew. Yet there was no question when called on to perform that every man would give 110% to the boat and her captain. Now, however, postures were erect, ears straining to hear. Harry could feel the change as if it were tangible. Even Chip Morton, who struggled to appear preoccupied with the day’s reports, shot occasional worried glances in their direction. There was nothing worse than an admiral and captain at odds, especially when both were intrinsic to the smooth operation and morale of the crew. Worse, Harry knew every man in the control room could sense the double cocktail of pain and fatigue Lee pretended to ignore.

Lowering his voice, Harry stepped closer to the plotting table. “I think you should get some rest. Now.”

Lee kept his head down, his attention on the most recent computer printout. “You ordered me here for 0600. My watch isn’t up.” Thankfully, he kept his voice low this time so their conversation wouldn’t carry.

Still, Harry felt his hackles rise. “Don’t be difficult,” he hissed, immediately regretting the sharpness. “It’s obvious you’re tired and in pain. Have Jamie check out that arm.”

“My arm is fine.” A slight pause followed by a barely acknowledging glance of long-lashed hazel eyes. “Sir.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or bellow. Lee was making him pay for last night’s altercation as only Lee could. His barely veiled arrogance reminded Harry of something Jiggs Starke had once said. On first acquaintance, the other admiral had deemed Lee insolent, lacking respect for his superior officers. 

“You just don’t like him because you can’t scare the pants off him,” Harry had returned. 

“True,” Jiggs replied, “But he’s not my problem.”

For a crusty seadog and old school Navy, Jiggs had been right about that. Lee was Harry’s problem . . . had been his problem from the moment he’d first stepped on Seaview. If they weren’t butting heads, then Lee was engaged in doing something dangerous which usually ended with him being hurt. If someone had to take a risk on a mission, then Lee was going to be the one to do it. Harry had always known his young captain was good, but he’d meant every word when he’d told Jiggs “Crane’s the best there is.” A man made exceptions for a commander like that, even if he had to grit his teeth while doing it. On this issue, however, he just wasn’t going to give.

“I think you need at least eight hours of solid sleep,” he countered. “You can either relinquish the con or I’ll order you to your cabin. Your choice, Captain.” 

Gauntlet thrown. He didn’t care. Lee needed sleep, probably a few pain pills too but the odds of the latter were slim-to-none with the younger man being so difficult. Harry just wanted him to rest. Even more, he wanted to peel away the last twelve hours as if they’d never happened and start over fresh. 

This time the glance that met his was dark, smoldering beneath the obvious fatigue. Lee tossed a pencil onto the table, never taking his eyes from the admiral. “Mr. Morton, the con is yours. I’ll be in my cabin for the next several hours, but you are instructed to wake me in the event of anything out of the ordinary.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.” Chip’s response was automatic, but the worried glance he cast between captain and admiral carried the combined tension of the crew.     

Harry watched as Lee headed for the topside stairs in the observation nose. Getting the younger man off the con was a hollow victory especially when their relationship remained in tatters. He’d wait until Lee had a good eight hours of sleep under his belt, then he’d talk to him again, saying what he should have said last night. Apologies didn’t come easy for him, but good captains and cherished friends were far harder to find.

He’d learned long ago life and circumstance mandated there were certain things he had to surrender, but Lee Crane would never be one of them.

**********

Last night it had all seemed so clear:  he was young, he was in demand, he could write his own ticket. So why did the thought of surrendering Seaview feel like he’d been stabbed in the gut and left to bleed to death?

Lee stood in front of the mirrored door of his wardrobe closet, wincing at yet another failed attempt to knot his tie. It was a simple task he should have been able to perform in his sleep, but he was fumbling through it for the third time. He’d slept for six hours but still felt drained emotionally. It wasn’t just losing Seaview, but the rift in his relationship with the admiral. Although they’d known each other professionally for nearly fifteen years, their bond had transitioned into something Lee was loathe to replace. Was his commitment to ONI really worth losing Nelson’s friendship? 

Irritated, he jerked the tie into a crisp knot. He knew he should just buckle under and do what the admiral wanted, but it was important to him that he continue in the espionage field.

Why, he wondered, as he closed the closet. Because he enjoyed the thrill, the danger? Because by acting as a spy, he was honoring his father, who’d spent the bulk of his career as an undercover detective? As a child, Lee had wanted to be a cop. As an ONI operative, he’d far exceeded that dream. Was it impossible to walk away from espionage because it was somehow tangled up with the residue of a childhood dream . . . a dream that linked him to his father? He believed in what he was doing, knew the risks that he took preserved the security of his nation, sometimes the world. He did it because he believed he was making a difference.

But what of his relationship with the admiral? Nelson’s friendship had become irreplaceable. Was he willing to throw all of that away because of pride and an allegiance to a way of life that constantly put him at risk?

“Morton to Crane.” Chip’s voice came over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts.

Lee walked around his desk to activate the speaker. “Crane here. What’s the problem, Chip?”

“We’re picking up readings on sonar I think you should see. Can you come to the control room, Lee?”

Immediately, his mind shifted from personal issues to duty. “On my way.” With everything else on his plate, the distraction was welcome. He left the cabin at a brisk pace, blocking everything from his mind except what awaited him in the control room. If there was something unusual in the mix, the admiral was likely already there. They might be at odds personally, but if something was amiss, he wanted Nelson in his corner. 

He found the admiral in the observation nose, gazing out the view windows, hands on hips, his face rapt with attention. He could feel an edge in the air - - not anxiety, but restlessness underscored by excitement. Chip was bent over Kowalski’s shoulder as the seaman monitored the sonar panel, both studying the readout intently.

“Give me an update,” Lee said, stepping to his exec’s side. He took a quick look at the monitor.

Chip straightened, all business. “We’re picking up something large just ahead. No visuals yet but sonar indicates it’s massive.”

Lee frowned, narrowing his eyes on the readout. “An echo?” he queried.

“No, Sir,” Kowalski shook his head. “Whatever is out there, it’s longer than a sub and double the bulk.”

“Activate outside cameras,” Lee instructed. He turned his attention to the screen, feeling the admiral come up behind him. At first there was nothing, just the peaceful serenity of the ocean bottom, plankton, random sea life and ridges of coral visible in the panning sweep of the lens. Then in the distance, he saw the bulk of something massive jutting from the sea floor. 

“Dead stop, hold trim.” Lee strained to see, his attention riveted by the sight. He’d seen shipwrecks before, even large ones, but he’d checked their course thoroughly and there was nothing indicated on the charts. He’d been through these waters countless times and knew there were no shipwrecks at the current coordinates. If something this large had happened within the last few weeks, he would have certainly heard about it.

“What do you make of it?” he said aside to the admiral, their earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Nelson appeared just as perplexed as he was. “It looks like a passenger ship,” he commented, noting multiple decks, cabins and balconies. 

Lee felt something cold skitter up his spine. “Get the spotlights on it,” he ordered, moving to the observation nose for a better view. The vessel was massive. Judging by the size of the stern, he would have placed it at nearly 1000 feet in length.

Nelson, Chip and Sharkey joined him in the observation nose. He could feel the restlessness of the crew behind him, each man knowing the wreck shouldn’t have existed, not in the waters where she lay. By nature, sailors were superstitious, the wreckage of any downed ship considered a bad omen. More practical than most, even Lee felt a passing chill knowing he was looking at a communal grave.

“Forward dead slow,” he commanded, “Hard right rudder.” The correction would bring them closer to the bow. As they shadowed the starboard side, he counted twelve decks, including the promenade. She would have been gorgeous in her day, her design marking her as old and outdated. “Chief, check the charts against the latest computer updates.”

It took only a moment for Sharkey to come back with a reply. “Nothing in the area, Skipper. She just plain shouldn’t be there.”

The confirmation intensified the sensation of unnaturalness that wrapped around Lee’s spine. As the outside spots panned over the vessel, more of its bulk was defined in the murky amber glow. Heavily encrusted with brine and the white silt of the ocean, the ship seemed part of the seafloor as if rooted there. She lay dead and still, an eerie monument to lives lost.

“There’s a breach in her hull.” Nelson pointed to a jagged rupture just behind the bow. Punched inward as if made by a massive fist, the hole was wrapped in whorls of dense shadow. “She must have been hit by something huge to suffer that kind of damage.”

“Another ship?” Chip guessed.

“Then where is it?” Lee muttered. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified, warning him to pull Seaview away from the derelict ship as quickly as he could. But the explorer in him was stronger, the part that hungered and thirsted for knowledge, that had become enraptured with forays into the unexplained. Nelson was responsible for that. He’d loved the sea and adventure, but the scientific end and the quest to canvass new frontiers were appreciations learned from the admiral.

Slowly the letters on the bow became visible. Part of the “M” had been eroded away and one of the “L’s” was mostly obliterated by grime, but it was easy to piece the name together - - Carlisle Maine. Lee felt shock boomerang from his head to his gut.

“She looks like she’s been here for twenty years,” Nelson whispered.

“Twenty-six,” Lee responded automatically.   

The admiral shot him a sharp glance. “You know this ship?”

He wet his lips. His heart felt like it would jackhammer through his chest. He wasn’t ready to admit the truth, to acknowledge the impossible. “She shouldn’t be here.” Hell, she shouldn’t even be close. It would be easier to convince himself he was dreaming than to believe he was looking at his father’s grave. “She sank off the New England coast in 1950, caught in a nor’easter.”

“But we’re more than four days travel from there,” Chip protested.

“And that hull damage doesn’t look like anything a storm would do,” Nelson countered. “More like she was rammed.”

Lee wasn’t listening. “Chip, I want a diving party. Five men, I’ll head it myself. Have them meet me in the missile room. Hold present position and trim.”    

“Lee, wait.” Nelson caught his arm as he readied to move away. “I’d like to check the computer first . . . research her background and find out what happened to her.”

“I told you what happened to her.” Lee jerked his arm free. “Do all the researching you want, but as long as I’m still captain of this boat, I command the crew. Chip, get that dive party to the missile room on the double.”

“Wait - - Sir.” Sharkey took a jerky step toward the planning table. “Look at that . . .” He pointed toward the observation windows and the other three men followed his direction. Lee could practically feel the dead hush that fell over the control room. For the span of a single heartbeat, everything stopped - - movement, instruments, breathing.

“Not possible,” Chip whispered.

“Light from a dead ship.” Again, Lee felt an instinctive sense of urgency to pull Seaview back. Again, he resisted. Every man in the control room was riveted to the intermittent flash just aft of the rupture.

“Could it be a reflection?” Sharkey wondered aloud.

In a matter of seconds, the series of short and long bursts fell into a familiar pattern every man could read.

“It’s an S.O.S.” Anxious, Nelson dragged a thumb and forefinger over his bottom lip, his mind moving into overdrive. “Lee . . . the flying sub. That rupture in the hull looks large enough to serve as an opening.”

“Right.” For once they were in agreement. “Chip, forget the diving party.” Lee felt a surge of adrenalin. The situation defied logic - - an S.O.S. coming from a ship that had lain at the bottom of the sea for over a quarter century. A ship that was thousands of miles from where she’d sank and that just happened to be carrying his father as a passenger when she’d gone down.

The vessel was dead - - a graveyard, a tomb, as black as the ocean around her. Yet someone or some thing was signaling for help. If he stopped to think about the improbabilities, he’d convince himself he was crazy. 

“Kowalski,” he called. “Run a systems check on FS1. You’re going with me.”

“Aye, Sir.” 

Kowalski quickly surrendered his station then moved forward to the hatch for the Flying Sub. Several minutes later, Lee joined him.

“Exactly what do you expect to find out there, Skipper?” Kowalski asked as Lee took a seat in the pilot’s chair.  

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to acknowledge what the ship meant to him. There’d never been a grave for his father, just a memorial of marble and brass in a cold Rhode Island cemetery. His mother still visited the shrine regularly, but he couldn’t do it. Too often he’d felt angry and cheated, staring down at an impassive stone slab. Was he looking for closure - - a tomb, the scattered relics of another age and a past life? Even now, twenty-six years later, he still needed healing from the loss he’d suffered as a child.

Deliberately, he shoved the thoughts from his mind. “I’m more worried about what might have found us.”

**********

Already the news was spreading through the crew. Several off-duty personnel had wandered into the control room, hoping for updates on the wreckage or to get a glimpse of the ship. Chip tolerated it for all of sixty seconds before ordering anyone who wasn’t manning an active station packing. With control restored to order, he rejoined the admiral in the nose.

Nelson was glued to a large wall monitor that presently received a relay from the flying sub’s main camera. “Lee’s just entering the rupture in the hull,” he said with a distracted glance over his shoulder. 

Chip nodded, fully aware there was something wrong between Nelson and Crane. He’d sensed it the moment the two men were in the same room together, as he was certain everyone else in Control had sensed it too. If he had his guess, he would have bet his last dollar they’d had a major blow-up over Lee’s commitment to ONI. He could still hear the admiral ranting when he’d thrown the crew together on a moment’s notice. But unlike his stubborn friend and commander, he’d never doubted Nelson’s belligerence was deeply rooted in concern. Lee might be too bullheaded to see it, but Chip knew Admiral Harriman Nelson valued and respected his young commander over and above everyone else. 

“Lee, we’re getting mostly shadowed images over the monitor,” Nelson spoke into the hand mike. “Do you see anything?”

“Negative. It’s too dark.” Lee’s voice came back a disembodied thread, his precise diction somehow sharper over the air. “I’m not sure how much further I can take FS1. The damage is massive but sonar indicates the breach is narrowing.”

“What about the light?” Nelson persisted.

“Kowalski’s tracking as best he can. Sir, I think…” Lee’s voice stopped abruptly. 

Chip exchanged a quick glance with the admiral. In the background, they could both hear Lee saying “Are you sure?” to Kowalski. A moment later, he came back on the intercom, his voice stronger as he spoke directly into the mike. “Sir, Kowalski thinks he’s pinpointed the source of the light, three hundred yards off our port side. We can’t be certain from the instrumentation, but there appears to be a watertight air pocket beneath the promenade level. I’m going to go in with scuba gear and see if I can reach the source.”

“Sir, the light’s stopped,” Kowalski interjected quickly.

It took Chip only a minute to confirm the same with a visual glance out the observation nose. The Carlisle Maine lay as empty and still as she had when they’d first come upon her. He wasn’t certain which felt more unnatural - - light from a dead ship, or its sudden chilling absence.

“Lee, if what you told me is true, then that ship has been at the bottom of the ocean for twenty-six years,” Nelson spoke into the microphone. “FS1’s instrumentation must be malfunctioning. An air pocket simply can’t exist.”

“And neither should the Carlisle Maine or that light,” Lee said sharply. “But both of them are here. Ski…” They could hear him in the background again. “Get her as close to the source as you can then hold her there. I’m going to suit up. If there’s any problem, the least indication of danger, return to Seaview.”

“But, Sir…”

“That’s an order, Kowalski.”

“Damn fool.” Hearing enough, Nelson tossed the mike down and turned away. He was just as curious as Lee about the wreckage and the light, but his normally thoughtful captain was reacting impulsively and that felt wrong. There was no question Lee had gotten the lion’s share of courage; Harry just wished he wasn’t so damned rash on top of it.

“Sir.” Sensing his agitation, Chip lowered his voice. “I think there’s something you should know.” He hedged, uncomfortable and uncertain. “About that ship . . . about Lee.”

His curiosity piqued, Harry turned his full attention on Seaview’s exec. If Lee held something close to the vest, Chip was the most likely candidate to know. He’d always envied the two men their comfortable friendship. Even with rank separating them professionally, they still managed an effortless relationship, easily separating command and personal issues. As much as Harry tried, somehow he could never completely erase that line between himself and Lee. As a four-star admiral, it would always be there, their division in rank never allowing Lee to be fully and completely relaxed with him. 

“What is it?”

“It didn’t register at first, Sir.” Chip cleared his throat, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. “The ship . . . the Carlisle Maine. Do you know how Lee’s father died?”

The question caught Harry off guard. It was an odd topic, but he knew Chip wouldn’t have brought it up unless he felt it was important. 

Something stirred to life in the back of his mind. Why did Lee know so much about an old cruise liner, and how had he been able to rattle off the year she’d sank like he knew it by rote?

The younger man had always been closely guarded with his personal life. There had been the usual routine background checks and psych profiles necessary for his high-level security clearance, but those hadn’t delved into his childhood. Even Chip hadn’t known him then, but as close as he was to Morton, Lee had probably told him a few things that weren’t in his personal file. It suddenly irritated him that he didn’t know how Lee’s father had died, just that he’d passed away when Lee was still a child. He knew his friend had been raised by his mother and a stepfather he didn’t really care for. Yet another situation Lee Crane avoided talking about. If Harry had a guess, he’d wager there was a lot more between Lee and his stepfather than just cool indifference. “No.” It irked him to admit the truth. Why hadn’t he found out? Why hadn’t he cared enough to find out?

“That doesn’t surprise me. Lee’s like a clam about his past. He doesn’t give anything up unless you pry it out of him.”

If Chip was trying to make him feel better, it was working.

“Back at Annapolis, I managed to get him drunk once, another thing that just doesn’t happen.” Chip flashed a grin at the memory. “The man is definitely not a drinker. I took him to a bar and had him doing shots of tequila. The other guys were riding him pretty hard - - first in class, first in this, first in that - - hell, they had a bet going whether or not he was even human. He was damn cold and distant in those days. I know sometimes his reserve is mistaken for arrogance, but trust me - - he was one unapproachable bastard. Rarely smiled, rarely laughed.”

Harry winced, both at the thought of Lee separated from his classmates by brilliance and drive, and the thought of him downing hard liquor. If and when Lee drank, he usually stuck to beer or wine. Tequila was just plain nasty, especially if you had no stomach for it.

“I got on him about how he needed to loosen up . . . stop being just a hard-assed perfectionist,” Chip continued. “Somehow that led to his past and he told me about his father. Sir…” The exec was back to looking uncomfortable again. “Grayson Crane was an undercover cop. He died while on duty on a passenger ship in 1950. Lee was eight years old at the time.”

Harry felt something cold scuttle up his spine. He knew the answer even before he asked the question. “What ship?”

Chip looked out the observation window to the black bulk jutting from the ocean floor. “The Carlisle Maine,” he confirmed with a nod.

Nelson blew out a long breath. “Get me the passenger manifest,” he said. “Get me every scrap of information you can on that ship, I don’t care how deep you have to dig.” His mind already in overdrive, he turned back to the monitor where the flying sub hung stationary.

No wonder Lee was so anxious to get a diving party on board, why he was determined to reach the air pocket and the source of the light. Neither should have existed, yet both were clearly there, defying logic, defying science. As unlikely as the situation was, it reminded Harry of a quote from Sherlock Holmes: When you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

He wasn’t exactly certain what that truth was, but in the end he was positive it would circle back to Lee Crane.

**********

Lee surfaced in darkness as black as the licorice-laced shadows of deep water. The air pocket was huge, a space that could have easily fit FS1. He thought about having Kowalski maneuver the Flying Sub into the area but decided to wait until he had a better understanding of what he’d blundered into. A quick check of the air quality on a hand-held detection device determined the levels were within acceptable range. 

Heaving himself from the water, Lee crawled onto a shelf of metal decking. The darkness made it impossible to see, but he had the distinct impression of open space, a large and cavernous area. Stripping off his headgear and diving mask, he dropped them onto a pile with his flippers and air tank.

A cool draft danced across his face, swirling upward to skim through the wayward curls of his hair. He flipped on a flashlight, letting the narrow beam bob ahead of him into the inky blackness. From somewhere in the distance came the steady drip of water, a constant pinging echo.

Lee followed the halo of yellow light as it weaved its way among towering walls, soaring arches and the shattered framework of a sweeping staircase. He was a good thirty feet into the room when he saw the body - - a man crumpled against the outer wall, his limbs folded in a contorted corkscrew. 

Moving quickly, Lee knelt by his side. He grabbed the man’s shoulder and forced him over onto his back. “Sir?” The body rolled beneath his hand, limp and unresponsive, his face caught in the beam of the flashlight.

Lee sucked down a jagged breath, his heart catapulting into a jackhammer beat. It simply wasn’t possible. Not in this lifetime or any other. For a quicksilver second, time stood still.   

“Dad?” He choked on the name, the flashlight falling from his suddenly slack grip. 

The light winked out and a greedy rush of darkness swallowed him whole. 

**********

Lee paced outside of sick bay, dragging a hand through his hair. Still wet from his dive, it had morphed into the usual riot of curls across his brow. He’d changed back into his uniform, but he’d done it hurriedly, not bothering with his tie. The top two buttons of his shirt gaped open at the collar and his cuffs were unbuttoned. 

The pain rooted in his shoulder and arm was growing worse, but it was inconsequential compared to the snarl of knots in his gut. A bullet wound was something he could relate to even if the steadily mounting pain made no sense. But the Carlisle Maine and the man he’d found there…

He swiped at his face, wiping away beads of sweat. He didn’t know if the perspiration was from pain or nervous agitation. With Kowalski manning the controls of FS1, feeding him coordinates every few feet, he’d found the air pocket where the S.O.S signal had originated. But the man he’d found there . . .

Alive and unconscious, the other had looked much like he’d stepped from an upscale dining room. Though unfashionably out of date, his suit was neatly tailored and creased. He’d had a revolver strapped beneath his arm but no wallet or I.D.

Neither mattered, because Lee knew the man in a single glance. Recognized him as the father who’d walked out of the house when he was eight-years-old, never to return. Part of the job, an undercover assignment. 

He slowed, sucking down a deep breath. Was he hallucinating? How could the man in sick bay possibly be the father he’d lost?

He and Kowalski had gotten the Flying Sub back to Seaview where Lee immediately summoned men to take their unconscious guest to Jamieson. News spread like lightning throughout the crew and he posted orders no one was to go near sick bay or speak to the man without his permission. Unfortunately, that didn’t include the admiral or Jamieson, both of whom were with the unconscious man now. 

Lee had made it as far as the corridor outside of sick bay, where his agitation had given way to pacing. What if he walked in the room and it was someone else? Maybe he’d just imagined the man looked like his father. Wouldn’t that make more sense? They’d stumbled on the Carlisle Maine where she shouldn’t have been. His mind was probably just playing tricks on him, conjuring up memories from his childhood. He could still recall the horrible grief and loss he’d felt when he’d gotten word the ship had gone down, that his father would never be coming home again. Coupled with the pain from the bullet wound, wasn’t it possible he’d just seen what he’d wanted to see - - his father?

But no one should have been there, his mind argued. The ship shouldn’t have been there, and certainly no one should have been alive. Irritated, he braced his good arm against the wall, palm flat as he lowered his head. His left shoulder throbbed, pulsing heat and pain to his fingertips. Why the hell did the damn thing have to act up now?

Straightening, he rubbed his hand over his shoulder, trying to mute the sting. He was tired, that was all. Tired, and little worn out. He just needed to bear with it a while longer and eventually it would go away. Maybe he’d swallow a few aspirin when he got back to his cabin. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Jamie for pain pills. Just the mention of needing something narcotic and Seaview’s hawk-like doctor would have him under a microscope.

He wished his head was clearer, that he was in better shape mentally to question the man he’d found on the Carlisle Maine. The pain was a distraction, but he’d get through it. Raking his fingers through his hair, he made a last ditch effort to tame the disorderly curls then paused to button his cuffs.      

Composure restored, Lee pushed open the door and stepped into sick bay.

*********

Chip had been able to unearth a passenger manifest for the Carlisle Maine, but there’d been no mention of a Grayson James Crane. Harry had scanned the list twice before he registered the alias - - James Grayson. Hadn’t Chip said Lee’s father was on an undercover assignment when he’d died? If that was the case, he wouldn’t have used his own name to board, but he might have chosen something familiar - - a play on first and middle names. It was with that knowledge and a better understanding of the Carlisle Maine itself that Harry had stepped into sick bay.

He’d seen Lee briefly upon the commander’s return and had immediately known he was keyed up about something. It didn’t take a genius to know that ‘something’ was the man Lee had brought back to Seaview. Whereas such a discovery would have normally made him curious and thoughtful, he seemed uncharacteristically rushed. Lee was not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, yet he’d snapped at the two corpsmen who’d arrived with a stretcher for taking too long, then barked out orders like a drill sergeant.

Harry wasn’t certain where his moody captain was at the moment, but he was thankful it wasn’t in sick bay. Jamie had done a thorough examination of the man they’d rescued from the Carlisle Maine, declaring him fit but fatigued.

“Heart rate, blood pressure, pulse . . . everything is normal,” Jamieson said looking over his chart a final time. “I can’t even find an indication of oxygen deprivation. I don’t understand it, but this man - - whoever he is - - is perfectly fit.”

Nelson grunted, focused more and more on the impossible becoming reality. Arms folded over his chest, he stood staring down at the dark-haired man sleeping soundly on the stretcher. Was he giving rein to an overactive imagination or was there a physical resemblance between this man and Seaview’s young commander? Both were tall and lean with black hair, but it was more than that - - a similarity in the shape of the mouth and brows. 

The man on the stretcher moaned softly and shifted. He blinked twice and opened his eyes. In a single quicksilver flash, staring down on him, Harry no longer had a doubt. This man’s lashes weren’t nearly as long as Lee’s, but the unique blend of hazel, amber and gold in his eyes was an uncanny match.

“I . . .” Confused, the man looked from Harry to Jamieson, his face betraying a mixture of wariness and concern. Slowly, he sat forward, swinging his legs over the side of the stretcher. “Who are you? What happened?”

Nelson exchanged a glance with Jamieson. He could tell by the doctor’s expression that he too had noticed the man’s resemblance to their captain. “You don’t remember?” he asked their guest.

The other man frowned, his brow drawing into a sharp crease. “There was a storm and another vessel. I remember alarms, water breaking over the bow, the certainty we were sinking, then…” He pressed his fingertips to his forehead making a concentrated effort to focus. “I woke up and everything was dark. No one else was around. The ship was tilted at the wrong angle, like she’d pitched on her side. I saw something through the porthole and used a lamp to signal for help. After that . . .” He looked up at them. “I woke up here.”

“What’s your name?” Nelson asked.

“Grayson. James Grayson.”

“That’s what the manifest says. You weren’t carrying any I.D. when we found you, but I have a feeling that’s not your real name.”

The other man started, looking abruptly wary. “What would make you say something like that?” His eyes shifted from Nelson to Jamieson, and he seemed to take note of their uniforms for the first time. He zeroed in on the stars on Nelson’s collar. “That looks like Navy to me,” he said with a nod for the rank insignia. “What happened to the Carlisle Maine? Did she go down . . . did we get picked up? There were two other men I was with . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Nelson shook his head. “This won’t be easy to hear, but the Carlisle Maine was lost with all hands. You’re on a research submarine out of Santa Barbara - - the Seaview. I’m Admiral Harriman Nelson and this is Doctor Jamieson. Our captain found you on the wreckage of your ship and brought you aboard.”

“No.” Grayson gave a short laugh and pushed to his feet, shoving from the stretcher. He paced a few feet away then turned back quickly. “You’re lying. This is a set-up. You’re part of Canelli’s syndicate, aren’t you? I bet you belong to the other ship I saw.”

“Canelli?” Nelson raised an eyebrow. “Is that the man you were investigating while you were undercover?”

“How did you know that?”

“Let me show you something.” Harry disappeared long enough to go to Jamieson’s desk and retrieve the computer printout he’d shared with the doctor only moments before. Complete with photos and detailed information of the Carlisle Maine and her key passengers - - including Stan Canelli and three undercover police officers - - it reported her departure and the known facts of her loss. “I think you’d better read this.”

Harry passed the papers to Grayson then stood silently as the man scanned them. By the time he’d reached the end, his face was bone-white. Bewildered, he raised his eyes, his hand trembling as he lifted the papers clutched in a convulsive fist. “How is this possible? My God, how long have I been missing?”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand…”

“Admiral, maybe he should sit down before you continue,” Jamieson inserted.

Grayson shook his head. “No. I want answers. If you know who I am, if you know what I was doing on the Maine, and all of this is true…” He shook his fist with the papers. “Then how long have I been missing? I have a wife, a son.”

“I’m aware of that.” Harry saw no reason to prolong it further. “Grayson, I know this is going to be difficult to believe, but that printout, those papers . . . it’s all history for us. The Carlisle Maine sank twenty-six years ago. It’s now 1976.”

Grayson gave a short bark of strangled laughter. “You’re crazy! Either that or you want me to think I’ve lost my mind.” He flung the papers aside, scattering them on Jamieson’s desk. “Maybe this is just a bad dream. A vivid dream. That’s it . . . it has to be.” He started pacing again. “I got knocked unconscious in the storm and I’m still out. You and you…” He jabbed a finger at Jamieson and Nelson in turn. “…you’re just figments of my imagination. If this were real, I could . . .” Reaching under his jacket, he groped for his gun, but the shoulder harness was empty.

“Our captain took if off you before he brought you aboard,” Harry explained. “He didn’t deem it safe.”

“Well guess what, Admiral? I don’t deem any of this farce safe! Where the hell is your bloody captain anyway? If this is really 1976, then show me a newspaper. Show me something with a date. Show me something I can believe!”

The door swept inward before Harry could formulate a single word. Grayson’s eyes shot to the tall, lean man framed in the doorway and what little blood remained drained from his face. The air crackled with a surge that pulsed from floor to ceiling, unseen but felt all the same. 

Lee Crane stood face-to-face with his father.

**********

Harry was the first to recover. “Commander Lee Benjamin Crane,” he said as way of introduction. “Captain of the S.S.R.N. Seaview.”

Grayson jerked as if struck. “Lee?” he repeated, shooting Nelson a stunned glance. Harry could see the pieces fitting together in his head . . . the current year, Lee’s age in 1950, how old that would have made him now. Grayson’s gaze swung back, lingering as he drank in Lee’s features. Unsteady, he fumbled behind him, feeling for the wall before he crumbled against it. “You can’t ask me to believe . . .” he rasped in a strained voice.

“You’re not expected to believe anything,” Lee snapped. “Who are you and what were you doing on the Carlisle Maine?”

Harry looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Lee’s face was hard, his expression set in stone, all trace of compassion gone from his eyes. He looked like a stranger, rigid and unyielding, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Lee. You know who he is.”

“No. I don’t. I have a man I know nothing about, armed when I found him, taken from a place he shouldn’t have been. He has no I.D., no way of proving his identity. I have an artifact on board that is critical to the peace of two nations. You call that a coincidence?” His gaze shifted from Nelson back to Grayson. “I want this man confined to a cabin with an armed guard stationed outside his door until further notice.”

“You’re overreacting,” Harry said.

“My name is Grayson Crane,” Grayson attempted, but his voice was weak, his expression bewildered as he watched his son.

Lee moved to the wall mike, wrenching it free of its cradle. “This is the captain. Master at arms, report to sick bay. Repeat:  Master at arms to sick bay.” Satisfied, he placed the hand mike back in its resting spot. 

Harry thought he looked ashen, his face strained and gray. He couldn’t help noticing how stiffly Lee held his left arm. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

“It’s my mistake to make. For the time being Seaview is still mine, Admiral. I want this man under house arrest.”

“That’s not going to change the situation or the fact you need to deal with it.”

Lee looked ready to snap a reply but was saved by the arrival of the master at arms. 

“Sir, reporting as ordered.”

Lee motioned to Grayson. “Escort this man to guest cabin B and remained stationed outside. I want a twenty-four hour guard with six-hour shifts.”

“Aye, Sir.” 

Grayson looked from Nelson to Lee. “Apparently I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to believe the impossible.” He stopped as he came abreast of his son, their height almost identical. “Or won’t.”

Harry watched as he stepped through the door, feeling his anger grow restless again. Temper made him want to shout, but he wasn’t going to dress Lee down in front of Jamieson.

“Five minutes,” he ordered, sweeping past his captain. “I’ll expect you in my cabin, Lee. And you better come prepared with answers.”

**********

Harry paced, mentally rehearsing what he wanted to say, what he would do. It was important not to lose his temper. As frustrated as he was with Lee, he knew their tenuous relationship couldn’t withstand another rift. What made that harder to swallow were Lee’s attitude and his inflexibility to accept the situation with the Carlisle Maine. Harry had run through countless possibilities in his head trying to rationalize Grayson’s presence and that of the ship. In the end he’d come up empty, forced to accept the impossible. Lee more than anyone should have been the most open minded, given the man they’d rescued from the wreckage was his father. Yet rather than give rein to his natural curiosity, Lee had ordered Grayson locked in his cabin, stubbornly refusing to bend.

As if he’s angry.

Nelson sighed. It was becoming harder and harder to read his moody captain. By the time the knock sounded on his cabin door, he’d lost all appetite for the confrontation. 

“Come,” he instructed.

Lee entered, rigidly standing at attention. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” Judging by his tone and posture, round two threatened to be as strained as round one.

Harry was tired of constantly battling, but he also wasn’t one to give up easily. “You do realize the man you confined to his cabin is your father?” he prompted.

Lee refused to look at him, choosing a spot on the wall behind his head instead. “I’m aware he professed to be my father.”

“And he looks like him . . . sounds like him? You and I both know the impossible is often probable, Lee. How many times have we encountered the fantastic and the unexplained?”

“As often as we’ve been subjected to deception and elaborate subterfuge.” Lee’s gaze shifted to his, sharp and cutting as glass. “Why are you so quick to believe him?”

“Why are you so quick to discount him?” Harry shot back. Frazzled, he blew out a breath. He was a scientist who relied on proven data and fact, but he also appreciated the value of theory. There was no question Lee was far more practical - - circumstance had made him that way - - but he wasn’t normally so adamantly opposed to speculation. “Why are you so resistant to talking to him?” 

Lee hesitated, the tell-tale tightness at the corner of his mouth hinting of carefully controlled emotion. Harry had the feeling he wanted to spit out a reply. Instead, he looked away. “I doubt he has anything to say I want to hear.”

“You’re bitter about losing him, Lee. That’s understandable. But I know you had to love your father.”

Lee’s eyes flashed to his face, cutting and cold. “That man isn’t my father.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because my father died when I was eight. He has no right to waltz back into my life now.”

“Then you think it is him?” Harry challenged.

“What I think isn’t important. I gave an order for him to be restrained and unless you plan on countermanding it, I fail to see the point of this conversation. I anticipated a threat to Seaview and acted on it accordingly. I haven’t surrendered command yet.”

It was the same vicious circle Harry hadn’t been able to put out of his head since he’d unwittingly blundered into it. Just that quickly, his temper snapped. He was tired of playing word games, tired of dancing around the issue. Never known for patience or control, he let loose with both barrels.

“Damn it, Lee, I’ve had enough of this! I don’t want you off Seaview, I don’t want you surrendering command and I sure as hell don’t have a list of replacements waiting to take your place. You know damn well you’re the only captain for this boat, and the only one I’d ever want commanding her. I lost my temper last night and I’m coming blasted close to doing it again. Your pigheaded willfulness is enough to make a monk crack. Do whatever the hell you want with ONI. I don’t care. I just don’t want you walking away from Seaview or N.I.M.R. Do I need to be any plainer than that?” 

His voice shuddered to silence. Anger drained, hostility gone, he stood for a moment feeling the freeing rush of adrenalin that followed on the heels of his verbal explosion. 

Lee looked taken aback, then annoyed. In the end, he relented with a faint grin. “I’d say that was pretty plain, Admiral.”

A concession of sorts. Harry hoped for the best. “Does that mean you’ll stay?” He felt a twinge in his gut, realizing he still hadn’t said what Lee needed to hear - - how it was important to him personally that Lee stay. How he valued the younger man’s friendship and respect above all else. But Lee let him off the hook.

“Thank you, Sir. I’d like to stay.”

Harry smiled. Maybe he hadn’t gotten Lee to address the situation with his father, but at least he’d retained him as Seaview’s commander. With that in mind, he couldn’t help noticing the grayish tint to his friend’s skin or the lines of pain gathered in the corner of his eyes. Lee shifted, absently rubbing a hand over his injured shoulder. 

Harry followed the movement. “Is that bullet wound still bothering you?”

As if only then realizing his slip, Lee dropped his hand and straightened. “It’s nothing . . . just a twinge now and then. If that’s all, Admiral, I’d like to send a diving party back to the Carlisle Maine for further exploration. The air pocket we found could be one of several. At the very least, the wreckage warrants further investigation.”

“What about your rendezvous for the statue?”

“A few more hours won’t make a difference. If necessary, I’ll bring her up to flank for the last leg. We need to take advantage of the present situation for as long as we can. If it is an elaborate ruse, the sooner we unravel it the better.”

“Agreed.” Harry walked around his desk. “Kowalski managed to collect some hull fragments while you were in the water. I want to run them through several tests in the lab, including date estimates.”

“Good idea.” Lee turned toward the door then stopped. “I know I have to talk to the man eventually, Admiral,” he conceded. “But I’m not ready to do that. I need to separate my personal feelings from the needs of Seaview. When I can question him as Commander Lee Crane, I’ll consider removing the guard from his cabin.”

Harry nodded, understanding. It had to be a shock for Lee to see the father he’d lost as a child. Whereas Grayson Crane hadn’t aged a day, Lee had endured the passage of twenty-six years. He was no longer a confused boy, but a man responsible for 125 lives, in command of the greatest submersible vessel in the world. Emotionally, man and child were in conflict, and the man - - responding in the only manner he could to stave off uncertainty - - reacted with arrogance and hostility.

“Captain,” Harry called, when Lee paused with his hand on the door. He waited until his friend faced him, this time using his title deliberately. “Would you have any objection if I spoke with our guest?”

Permission, a request, even though they both knew he could do as he pleased, overriding anything Lee ordered. 

“Whatever you want, Admiral.” Still Lee hesitated, a flicker of regret crossing his face. With a tug, he opened the door. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about ONI,” he murmured, his face turned away. 

Just that quickly, he was gone and Harry was left staring at a closed door.

**********

Harry couldn’t begin to fathom what Grayson Crane had to be feeling. The closest he could conceive was to compare it to someone waking from a coma after twenty-six years. Mind-boggling didn’t begin to cover it. Though there remained a measure of doubt in his own mind, he decided to proceed at face value until presented with evidence to the contrary. 

“So you’ve accepted this is 1976?” he asked, watching the man across the room.     

Grayson shot him a measuring glance, hands in his pockets. He’d discarded his jacket on the bunk and rolled up his sleeves, his empty shoulder holster still strapped beneath his arm. Everything about him, from his stance to the way he moved, screamed ‘cop.’ His hair was slightly longer than Lee’s and not given to curls, but it was just as black. His eyes, while similar in color, were nowhere near as expressive, his face less angular. 

“I can’t ignore this.” Grayson waved a hand at the room around him, indicating the built-in wall monitor, streamlined furnishings and modern décor. “I wish I could. I wish I could convince myself it’s all a bizarre dream, but the fact remains I was on the Carlisle Maine. She was rammed by another vessel and we sank. I can’t deny that either. I remember waking in the dark, only seawater visible beyond the portholes until I saw your submarine. At first I thought it was the vessel that rammed us, and then I realized no one else was around . . . that I was alone in that hollow husk of a ship. I can’t deny that either. But more than anything . . .”  He shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair much the way Lee did when he was agitated or stumped, “I felt a connection when my son walked into sick bay. I haven’t seen him since he was eight-years-old, but even if you hadn’t told me who he was, I would have known. He felt it too - - that bond between us, like a bolt of lightning when our eyes met. If for no other reason, that alone makes me accept the fact I’ve been displaced in time.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it.” Harry had taken Lee up on his offer the moment the captain had headed for the bridge. He still wanted to get to his lab and run tests on the hull samples Kowalski had managed to retrieve from the Maine, but he was more intrigued by the presence of Lee’s father. It wasn’t just the scientist in him. If Grayson was truly who he claimed to be, then he was the man responsible for giving his friend life, who’d shaped Lee’s first formative years. He wanted to know that man, hoping that by doing so he might better understand what made Lee Crane tick. “I realize this is hard for you.”

Grayson gave a soft snort. “That’s an understatement, Admiral. For me, yesterday was 1950. Now I find out twenty-six years have passed. I’m caught between time standing still and bulleting out of control like some kind of freak carnival ride.”

“A time fold,” Harry murmured, his thoughts rushing ahead.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh . . . nothing.” Caught musing aloud, Harry brushed the idea aside. It would keep until later when he could ponder it in detail.

Distracted, Grayson had already veered onto another track. “My son thought I was dead.” His mouth twisted in a grimace as the pain of that reality washed over him. “He grew up without a father. Without me. My wife . . .” He trailed off abruptly and let the sentence hang, raising his eyes expectantly.

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news that Grayson’s wife had remarried two years after his death and was still married. That there had been a father-figure in Lee’s life, even if he’d disliked the man. Though he’s damn careful not to come right out and say it. “Maybe you should ask Lee about her.”

“Did something happen?” Alarm streaked over Grayson’s face, and he took a faltering step forward. “Is . . . is she still alive?”

Harry nodded.

“Oh, I see.” Relieved, Grayson drew back. “She’s remarried. That’s what you don’t want to tell me.” He paused, pacing a short distance from the bunk before turning to glance over his shoulder. “I should have known . . . twenty-six years.” A hint of sadness filtered through his eyes. “So much time lost. We should have grown old together, Ellen and I. Do you know his name?”

“Why would it matter?”

“I might know him.”

It wasn’t what Harry wanted to talk about, but he could understand Grayson’s need to know. “Mitchell Blake. He’s a doctor . . . medical research.”

“A doctor?” Grayson shook his head, his expression closed. “Don’t know him. She did well for herself.” This time bitterness bled into his voice.

“She thought you were dead. Lee thought you were dead.”

“Lee doesn’t want to talk to me. And the truth is, I’m not sure I want to talk to him. That man . . . the commander of this vessel . . .” He shook his head, finding it hard to express himself. “He’s nothing like the boy I knew.”

“You haven’t even spoken to him.”

“I don’t have to. I could see it in his eyes. Cops read body language, Admiral. We’re experts in non-verbal communication. The man I saw in sick bay is nothing like the man I envisioned my son becoming. And a commander in the Navy? Where did that come from? I’m a third generation cop; Lee was going to be fourth…”

“He’s Naval Reserve now, if it matters. You should be damn proud of him . . . youngest captain in the history of the Navy and the best I’ve had the pleasure to serve with. He can run rings around men twice his age, and trust me - - most of them know it. He knows it too, which is why he might not be much like the boy you remember.”

Something flickered through Grayson’s eyes, but he wasn’t ready to let go. “He’s arrogant.”

“A common misconception. When you know him like I do, you’ll realize he’s just exceptionally hard on himself. It might interest you to know he’s also a top operative for the Office of Naval Intelligence.” Was he revealing too much? What was it about Grayson that made him trust so easily, parting with information he normally would have kept closely guarded? Was it simply that he saw Lee in the other man and that made him abandon caution? More likely, the theorist in him was just too quick to embrace the unexplained.

Grayson balked. “My son is a spy?”

Harry laughed. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. He’s highly skilled in espionage and combat. Sometimes I think he thrives on danger a little too much. If it were up to me, I’d have him concentrate on Seaview more, but ONI knows a good thing when they’ve got it. Lee’s just come off two back-to-back assignments.” He shook his head, pacing a short distance away, the concern surprisingly raw now that he’d stumbled over it. “He’s tired, he needs a break. He took a bullet in Venice and I’m afraid his arm still hasn’t completely healed.”

Grayson watched him intently. “You care about him.”

“Of course I do.” Harry’s voice crackled with irritation. “I built Seaview. He’s the commander of my boat, and . . .” The words stuck, trapped in his throat. “. . . he’s a good friend.”

“He’s more than that. You’re forgetting I can read what you don’t say.” 

Harry shot him a perturbed glance. What couldn’t he say? That he thought of Lee as a son? That there was a part of him that had grown emotionally attached to his young captain? Hell, he couldn’t even tell Lee that, he certainly didn’t want to tell Lee’s father. He had no right thinking that way, especially now with Grayson back in the picture. Assuming Lee made peace with his father, where did that leave him? 

He swallowed uneasily. He would be content remaining friend and mentor. In truth, he had no right to expect more, never had. If there’d been a time, he should have said it, but the coward in him had let it pass unaddressed. He could face aliens from outer space, hostile sea monsters and Fleet Admirals without batting an eye, but when it came to exposing himself emotionally he drew the line. 

Clearing his throat, he decided to change the subject. “I never realized Lee had wanted to be a cop.”

Grayson accepted the change of topic without challenge. “It was all he talked about.” Pulling out a chair in front of the desk, he folded into it with long-limbed ease. “The kid really had a way about him - - always laughing, smiling, full of life and energy. He was a popular kid, completely outgoing. Doesn’t sound much like the commander you know, does it, Admiral?”

Harry sobered. He wanted to deny it, to cast back how wrong Grayson was but couldn’t. He and Lee had plenty of laughs together but when it came right down to it, Lee was far more serious than outgoing. And he was private, keeping to himself. Most who knew him, liked him. Those who didn’t saw arrogance and stiff-necked pride, easy misconceptions about a man driven to be the best in everything he did. 

“Don’t write him off, Grayson. You’ve been given the chance of a lifetime. I’m not sure how or where this will all end, but you have an opportunity to talk to Lee - - here. Now.”

“Assuming he talks to me.” Grayson thrust from the chair and started pacing again. “I’m thirty-five years old, Admiral.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders uncomfortably. “My son isn’t a child anymore. He’s a man, only a year younger than I am. Do you think that’s an easy situation to face?”

Harry hedged. Answers usually came easy for him, but this one didn’t. He’d encountered the extraordinary multiple times on multiple levels but even he had a hard time appreciating Grayson’s position. In the end he could only hope that Lee would set aside his reservations and make an attempt to rectify the situation. 

Three hours later, the captain of Seaview made an effort to do exactly that.

**********

Lee stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him. He’d convinced himself the best way to face the man who professed to be his father was to barrel into the confrontation headfirst. Thinking about it, trying to analyze it, would just bog him down in emotions he’d buried eons ago. He’d learned the value of keeping his feelings to himself after Dr. Mitchell Blake had married his mother. A cold, demanding man, Blake had no room for sentiment or what he termed “weakness” in himself or those around him. By necessity, Lee had learned to mask his emotions, bottling his feelings inside. When Blake dropped him in military school a year later, the rigid instruction only enhanced the precise control he’d already embraced. There were times after his father died and he was subjected to Blake’s harsh criticism and discipline that he’d forgotten how to laugh.

He couldn’t really fault his mother. She’d lost a part of herself with the sinking of the Carlisle Maine. Her marriage to Blake was about convenience and survival, not love. She was a dutiful wife, going through the motions even today, smiling when expected, silent and withdrawn much of the time. She’d left the raising of her son to Blake, and his answer had been to ship Lee off to a school that was all about performance and control. Somewhere in the transition, the dreams of his childhood had been crushed.

“I was wondering when you’d come to see me,” Grayson Crane said from across the room.

Lee remained by the door, his expression tightly controlled. Inside, he could feel his heart beating faster, sending a raw ping of anxiety through his nerves. All these years and he still recognized the sound of his father’s voice. It sent a shocking combination of warmth and cold scuttling up his spine . . . made him waffle mentally even as he cursed himself for the flash of indecision. Was this man really his father? 

Grayson shook his head when he didn’t reply, pacing off a few restless steps near the desk positioned against the far wall. “You know I never liked closed spaces, Lee. After awhile, this cabin starts to feel small. How long are you planning on keeping me cooped up in here?”

“Until I get some answers.” He said the words matter-of-factly, but felt abruptly light-headed. His father had hated closed-in spaces, saying they made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. He’d hated undercover assignments that required him to work in close quarters. If the man was an imposter, he’d done his homework.

Still Lee didn’t move, rooted to the spot just inside the door, his hands behind his back looped over the knob. Plowing headfirst into the confrontation suddenly felt like a mistake leaving him unprepared and edgy. Despite his determination not to feel anything, his gut churned with emotion. Just the sound of his father’s voice resurrected the hurt of an eight-year-old child who’d suffered the loss of a beloved parent.

“I don’t have answers for you, Lee,” Grayson said with a trace of irritation. “I wish I did, but I’m as confused about this whole thing as you are. Do you think it’s any easier for me than for you? My God, you were eight-years-old and now . . .” Frustrated by his inability to explain what he was feeling, Grayson motioned emphatically in Lee’s direction. “Look at you . . . a grown man. We’re practically the same age.”

“If you’re really my father.”

“Oh to hell with it.” Brusque now, Grayson tromped closer, his eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t you get it? 1950 was yesterday for me! I remember it vividly - - what I did, what I said.”

Lee’s heart beat faster until it felt like it would bang through his chest. He knew his expression was bland, his faced schooled to composure, betraying nothing. But it was growing harder to breathe evenly. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck, collecting below his collar. The bullet wound was bothering him again, adding to his sense of disorientation and dizziness. It took every effort of control to remain composed, his gaze locked with his father. If he so much as moved, he feared the deck would open up and swallow him whole.

“Tell me.” This time the edge was missing from his voice, replaced by the faintest trace of desperation. I want to believe you. He forced himself to relax and made himself stand straighter, dropping his arms at his sides. “If you remember it like it was yesterday, tell me what happened the night before you left. What I said to you, what I did.”

“Will that make you believe?” Grayson studied him intently, taking another step closer. 

He was near enough now that Lee could have reached out and touched him, felt flesh beneath his fingertips, the bond of blood to blood, father and son. Instead he clenched his jaw, acutely aware of the hot roil of acid in his gut and the gnawing ache in his shoulder. A flush of heat washed over his face and the lightheadedness morphed into vertigo, threatening an all-out assault. Instinct told him he needed to sit down before he keeled over. He couldn’t decide if it was the bullet wound or his conflicting emotions that left him abruptly debilitated. 

Grayson narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look good.”

“Quit stalling. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t take orders, Commander.”

“Damn you,” he hissed between clenched teeth. Slumping backward, Lee braced himself against the door. His control slipped as he closed his eyes against pain and a brutal spike of fever. 

“Lee, are you sick?” Concerned, Grayson reached for him. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Lee flinched away, stubborn and hurt, tormented by a ruthless press of emotions struggling to break free. “I don’t believe in you,” he said defiantly, pinning Grayson with a cold glare. I want to. You have no idea how badly I want to! “I don’t believe any of this. I think it’s all an elaborate hoax and what you’re really after is the Wish King statue.”

“Wish King?” Disgusted, Grayson shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, Lee - - I’ve got the short end of the stick here. Why should I have to convince you any more than you need to convince me? How do I know that you’re really my son? My son wanted to be a cop, not some spit-and-polish-dyed-in-the wool Navy commander who doesn’t know the meaning of the word compassion. My son was fun-loving and outgoing. One look at you and I can tell you’re all about duty, conviction and dedication.”

“The same qualities that make a good cop.” Had he really digressed so far from the child he’d once been? “That made you a good cop,” he added through gritted teeth. The pain in his shoulder fused into licks and splinters, boomeranging into his arm. Desperate to quell the sting, he cupped his right hand over the ache and pressed hard. He could feel perspiration clinging to his cheeks, hated that the damn wound had decided to become critical now of all times when he needed his wits about him. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure out his fever had hunkered down for the long haul.

Stung by Grayson’s words, he fumbled to meet him halfway. “You want to know about the past? I was upset you were leaving,” Lee elaborated, trying to explain his mood on that evening twenty-six years ago. “Maybe I am different now than I was as a child, but you can’t expect someone to lose their father and not be affected by it.”

“I know.” Appeased by what appeared to be an effort on Lee’s part, Grayson nodded somberly. “Everything went wrong from the start. It was a last minute assignment. We didn’t know Canelli was going to be on that ship until the day before it sailed. It was our one chance to catch him in a rendezvous with several key players of his syndicate. I had to go. I do remember I’d already made a promise to you that I’d go to school with you that day. I was supposed to talk about my job to your class. What did you call it?”

“Career day.” Lee’s voice was quieter now. He didn’t want to remember, could feel the pain starting fresh, resurrecting all the dismal memories he’d so carefully buried. He’d been so angry, so hurt. Once every month the school arranged for the parent of a student to talk about what they did for a living. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks - - his father addressing his class. He’d even bragged about it to his friends:  My dad’s a cop. He’s got an important job, keeping people safe. I’m gonna be a cop some day too. But “some day” never came. If his father had only followed through with the promise, he wouldn’t have been on the Maine when she sank. 

Shaken, he leaned into the door, turning his face in profile. “I wanted them to be proud of you.” The words stuck in his throat, made his breath come short and ragged through his mouth. “Like I was proud of you.”

Grayson smiled, but the grin was tainted with sadness. “You were angry with me that night, Lee. You didn’t understand why I had to leave on such short notice, even though I know you wanted to understand. Tried to understand. I told you there would be other Career Days and you said it wasn’t the same. I knew how disappointed you were so I promised that when I got back, you could spend an afternoon with me at the precinct. I told you I’d clear it with my captain and that we’d do it on a school day - - that in a way it would be like your own special Career Day.”

“God.” Lee closed his eyes.

Grayson moved nearer, so close now that Lee could feel a crackle of connection thrum between them. Unable to meet his father’s eyes, he kept his face averted, terrified he would fall apart. That all his years of precise and stern control were about to be put to the ultimate test.

“You gave me something, Lee. You said that I should carry it with me, that it would keep me safe and that I could give it back to you when I returned.”

“I . . . I don’t need to hear anymore.” He couldn’t look at the man, could feel himself starting to tremble as twenty-six years of pent-up emotion plowed into him.

Grayson stuck his hand in his pocket and drew out a shiny gold coin. He held it out, waiting until Lee reluctantly looked to see what he held. “I was never without it . . . your good luck piece.”

A trinket. A child’s silly toy. It wasn’t real, just a piece of tin, painted metallic gold and stamped with random stars. He couldn’t even remember where he’d gotten it, just that he’d carried it everywhere in those days leading up to his father’s departure. He could still remember pressing it into his father’s palm, insisting with a child’s innocent faith that it would keep him safe.

Against his better judgment he looked into Grayson’s eyes and saw the father who had loved and protected him as a child.

“I did what you asked, Lee. I brought it back to you.”

His defenses shattered, beaten down by a complex surge of emotion. He never knew if he crumpled into his father’s arms or if Grayson simply caught him when his knees buckled. Unwilling to let go, he clung to the other man, blinded by a sudden fierce sting of tears. He fought for control, painfully aware he was losing the battle. “I . . . I lost you,” he croaked hoarsely.

“No, son, you didn’t. I’m here now.” Grayson held him tightly, Lee’s face pressed against his neck. He cupped the back of his head and the tenderness of the touch streaked through Lee like sunlight. Still, he shivered. Twenty-six years. Twenty-six years without the man he’d loved and admired . . . raised by a substitute father who never let him forget that he was an inconvenience . . . that he would never be good enough no matter what he did in life. 

He didn’t know how much time passed, just that it was essential to be held in his father’s arms, that the warmth flooding through him banished the icy chill of separation. It took awhile, but eventually he could think more clearly. The emotion, suffocating just moments before, made him laugh out loud. He didn’t know if he was drunk with happiness or delusional.

Drawing back, he wiped his eyes, the stain of tears still fresh on his cheeks. “It really is you!”

Grayson grinned ear-to-ear, his eyes just as wet. “What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? It’s about time you came to your senses. Now will you sit down before you keel over? You don’t look good, Lee.”

“How do you expect me to sit when I feel like this?” Lee threw his arms wide as if the world had just opened to him. The pain in his shoulder was still there, throbbing like an undercurrent but he no longer cared. Nothing in time or space could dim his euphoria. “Do you realize how completely extraordinary this is?” He couldn’t stop grinning, his smile ridiculously wide. “You and I?”

Grayson chuckled. “I do have a stake in this too you know, kid.”

“Kid.” He shook his head, a giddy sense of nostalgia crashing over him. “I haven’t heard you call me that in…”

“…twenty-six years,” Grayson finished for him. He looked Lee up and down. “I guess it doesn’t really fit now. Damn. The Navy. Captain of a submarine. You have to tell me how all of this happened. I always figured on my kid being a cop.”

Lee’s eyes danced. He had so much he wanted to share. Before he could even contemplate where to start, a page on the intercom sent his thoughts scattering. “Morton to Crane. Come in, Captain.”

Lee lifted an index finger to his father indicating he should hold a minute then moved to the wall beside the door to retrieve the hand mike. “Crane, here. What is it, Chip?”

“Sir, the admiral wants you in the control room. We’re experiencing some system malfunctions. You better get here quick.”

“On my way.” Just that swiftly, Lee refocused. Returning the mike to its wall mount, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m needed in the control room. Come with me.”

Grayson didn’t hesitate. Snatching his jacket from the bed, he followed his son into the corridor, slipping into the jacket as he went. Lee dismissed the master at arms then continued at a brisk pace toward the control room. Impatiently, he wiped sweat from his brow, annoyed by his rapidly growing fever.

“What do you think the problem is?” Grayson asked, keeping step at his side.

“I don’t know. But if it’s a system’s malfunction…” The boat lurched and he was thrown into the wall, his bad shoulder crashing against the hard surface. Pain and shock blazed through him like a bolt of lightning, igniting stars of darkness before his eyes. Before he cold recover he felt the deck pitch and was thrown to the opposite side. “She’s sinking.” 

Lee fought to stagger upright. The corridor went dark then flashed into a dimly lit shell as the emergency lighting kicked in. Lee grabbed the nearest mike. “This is the Captain. Blow all ballast tanks now! Maneuvering, ahead full!” Catching his father by the arm, he hauled him forward, staggering down the corridor as the boat continued to pitch. He could feel it descending sharply, knew that the ballast wasn’t righting the boat, that the tanks were still flooded, sinking them like a stone. “Damn it.” 

The air cut out, and the corridor grew suffocating and still. In the next second, Seaview hit bottom. The blow rolled through the frame like the shockwave of an earthquake, and Lee was thrown off his feet into the wall. He groaned, unable to support himself when his abused shoulder took yet another blow. He could feel himself sliding to the deck, his legs giving out from under him, a wall of darkness rushing to block the light from his eyes. Then he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling, the lava-hot pain rooted in his shoulder plastering him to the ground. His head spun, sending a prickle of nausea through him.

“Lee.” Grayson knelt at his side, bending over him. Gentle fingers touched his face, his hair. “Lee, answer me.”

He clutched his father’s arm, wanting to assure him he was all right. But the darkness was stronger, the pain merciless. He heard himself moan and knew he was slipping toward unconsciousness. “Get help,” he managed.

It was the last thing he remembered before crumpling, limp and senseless, at his father’s side.

**********

Lee noticed the smell before anything else. Sick bay had its own odor, a pungent combination of medicinal drugs, starched sheets and disinfectants. He’d spent time there often enough, usually as a patient, to recognize the sharp tang the moment he regained consciousness. With a groan of effort, he sat forward, swinging his legs off the side of a bunk. Two seconds later, Dr. Will Jamieson was on him like a bloodhound. 

“Stay right where you are, Captain. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

If Seaview weren’t in such dire straits, he might agree. His head was pounding, and his shoulder and arm felt covered in a thousand piercing needles. “We’re dead in the water, stuck on the bottom.” He could sense the inert lag of the boat as if all life had been bled from her. “I need to get to the control room.”

“You need to stay here.” Will planted a hand against his chest, holding him in place when he would have stood. “You’re running a fever and your left shoulder is a mess. I don’t know what you did to that wound, but it’s infected. I gave you a shot of antibiotics but the best thing you can do for it is rest.”

“Rest isn’t an option right now.” Lee looked around the room, noting they were alone. “Where’s my fath…” He caught himself, not certain how his acceptance would carry over to the rest of the crew. “Where’s Grayson Crane?”

Jamie smiled, sensing his hesitation. “I had to boot him out of here. He was glued to your side from the time you passed out. I finally made Kowalski take him to the wardroom for something to eat. The crew knows he’s the man we rescued from the Maine, but they don’t know who he is.”

That at least brought a measure of relief. As thrilled as he was to have Grayson back in his life, he wasn’t ready to explain the presence of his thirty-five-year-old father.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He stood, relying on a no-nonsense command tone to make him appear fully competent. Splinters of pain ricocheted outward from his shoulder, and it was only through concentrated effort that he was able to keep from grimacing. “I’ll be in the control room.”

Jamie frowned. “Captain, a first year intern could tell you’re in pain. As Chief Medical Officer, I could declare you unfit for duty.”

Lee shot him a pointed glare, but he hadn’t missed Jamie’s use of the word ‘could.’ Given the circumstances, they both knew Lee needed to be on the con. “You could also give me a pain pill and let me do my job.”

“You’re running a fever. Regulations…”

“Don’t quote regulations to me,” Lee snapped. He glared openly this time, pain and fatigue making him unnaturally irritable. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Jamie sighed.

Ten minutes later, Lee clattered down the topside stairs, heading for the plotting table. He hadn’t taken two steps before his father intersected him from the nose, alarm and relief warring for dominance on his face.

“Lee, should you be here? The doctor said…”

“I’m fine.” Lee smiled easily, enjoying an unexpected flood of warmth at his father’s concern. At the plotting table he saw the admiral and Chip glance up sharply. Apparently, Nelson had taken it upon himself to give Grayson access to other areas of the boat. The master at arms would have confirmed that Lee had dismissed him from his post and that Grayson and Lee had left Grayson’s cabin together.

“Admiral,” Lee approached the plotting table with his father at his side. He gave his commanding officer a nod then focused his attention on Chip. “What’s our status, Chip?”

The blond-haired man watched him almost warily. “Engines are dead and sonar’s down. Communications too. Damage control expects to have the air ventilation system up within a half hour.” He paused, frowning. “Lee, shouldn’t you be in sick bay?”

“I just want answers, Mr. Morton, not questions.” He grinned to ease the sting, still reeling too much from his father’s miraculous presence to be truly annoyed by the scrutiny. “Any idea what happened?”

“No, Sir. Our dive party had just come back from the Carlisle Maine when the instrumentation went haywire. We had a power surge, but no explanation. Then everything went dead.”

Lee frowned. “How long have I been out?”

“Three hours.” This time it was the admiral who answered. He motioned with a pencil, scowling slightly as he took in Lee’s haggard appearance. “Jamie was all right with this?”

“Yes, Sir.” Lee stiffened. He wasn’t about to tell the admiral the doctor preferred to have him in sick bay. With the boat in trouble, personal luxuries had to be set aside. Even the admiral looked fatigued, as if he’d been pushing himself too hard. There were circles under his eyes and his shoulders were hunched forward as if remaining on his feet was an effort. “Sir?” Concerned, Lee lifted his brows. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Perfectly.” Nelson took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheeks. “Look here.” He pointed to the chart spread on the table. “This is our position and this is your rendezvous point for the statue, Lee. Even if we affect repairs within the next few hours we won’t make it in the timeframe you’ve been allotted. I have Kowalski doing a pre-flight systems check on the Flying Sub. I’ll take it while you…”

“The Wish King statue is my responsibility,” Lee interrupted before he could finish.

Nelson shot him an impatient glare. “You’re in no shape, Captain. You passed out in the corridor. What’s more, I’d be willing to bet you strong-armed Jamie into releasing you before he was ready. One glance at you and I can tell you’re walking around with a fever. I may let you get away with that on Seaview given the present circumstances, but I’m not about to let you pilot FS1 or undertake a mission off this boat. You’ll give me the statue and I’ll complete what you started.”

Lee bit his tongue. Part of him wanted to protest but realistically he knew the admiral was right. The pain pill had taken the edge off the ache in his arm but it was still there, thrumming to his fingertips. He could feel he was flushed and knew the fever was likely spiking. Hands down, he was in no condition to be doing much of anything, least of all climbing into FS1. 

“Yes, Sir.” He relented with a nod. At his side, he heard Chip breathe an audible sigh of relief.

Before much more could be decided, Kowalski exited the Flying Sub’s hatch and joined them at the table. “Excuse me, Admiral. You wanted me to run a pre-flight check on FS1?” He hedged, looking between Nelson and Lee. “Sir, she’s nonfunctional. All systems are down, the same as the Seaview. Whatever took us offline hit FS1 too.”

“What about reserves?” Lee persisted.

“Down,” Kowalski confirmed. “We couldn’t pull a megawatt of power from her with a miracle. She isn’t going anywhere, Sir.”

Lee sighed. Given what had happened to Seaview, the news shouldn’t have surprised him but he felt an ominous rise of unease. Too many things didn’t add up . . . the Carlisle Maine, his father, the failure of Seaview’s systems and now FS1. Before he could contemplate it further, Sparks approached the plotting table with a transcript in his hand. 

“Skipper, I thought you might want to see this. I pulled it down off the general airwaves before everything went dead. Apparently the AP and even ONI are buzzing about it.”

“Thank you, Sparks.” Lee was vaguely aware of the admiral dismissing Kowalski to return to his regular station. His eyes dropped to the sheet of paper Sparks had given him, a delayed sense of shock washing over him. Quickly, he read through the printout.

“What is it?” Chip prompted.

Lee wet his lips, the internal feeling of unease growing by leaps and bounds. “It’s about Grigor Anton. According to this press release, he suffered a tragic setback and died two days ago, no explanation given. His father, Dimitri, contracted a mysterious illness and is fighting for his life. He’s critical.”

A tense moment of silence settled on the group. With a disgusted sigh, Nelson tossed his pencil on the table. “Two members of a family dead, one in critical circumstances.” He shot Lee a pointed glance. “Oh yes, I’m aware of what happened to Viktor. If I were a superstitious man, I might think the curse of Armandek Trae had caught up with the Anton dynasty.”

Lee felt the floor shift beneath him. The Wish King statue! Hadn’t he stood in his cabin, staring down at the repulsive thing, ruminating about how he wished he could talk to his father? He’d never meant it, never intended it, but had he unintentionally made a wish? It was akin to thinking aloud, but if he believed in folktales and superstition it would explain the presence of the Carlisle Maine and his father.

He swallowed hard, something scaled and cold wriggling through his gut. According to Dimitri, the fulfillment of the legend also brought the assurance of a curse. He’d brought his father back from the dead but at what cost?

“Admiral?” Bewildered, he shot the older man a distressed look. “You don’t seriously think . . .”

“I’m just making an observation,” Nelson replied. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking more frazzled and tired than he had before. “We can’t make your rendezvous, and we can’t get off a message. Since we’re dead in the water with nowhere to go, I’ll be in my lab. Let me know the minute systems come back online, Lee. In the meantime, I suggest reduced duty shifts, key personnel only until the air is restored. We need to conserve where we can.”

“Aye, Sir.” Lee gave the order as he walked away. Self-consciously, he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, wiping aside stubborn beads of sweat. He needed to sit down. Needed a break from the steadily gnawing pain in his arm and the spike of escalating fever that left him uncertain if he was hot or cold. 

“Lee, take a break,” Chip muttered at his side after the admiral had left. “There’s nothing any of us can do right now until engineering makes some headway. We should have a report from Sharkey in under ten minutes. In the meantime, it isn’t going to make an iota of difference if you grab a short breather in the nose.”

He nodded somewhat reluctantly, his emotions on a rollicking see-saw. Just hours before he’d been positively giddy at the discovery of his father but now felt uncertain and worried. “Report anything out of the ordinary, Chip, and let me know the second you have an update. Have Sparks keep trying to raise a contact, and report any significant progress from damage control. Did the dive party find anything of consequence on the Maine?”

“Negative, Sir.” Chip shook his head. “The ship is deserted.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking momentarily to Grayson before reorienting on Lee. “It’s a husk . . . no debris, no artifacts, nothing. It’s as if she’d been swept clean.”

Lee frowned. “Nothing?” There should have been something, anything, a trace no matter how small to account for the lives that were lost. Shipwrecks routinely gave up ghosts, even if they were only shadows to hint at what had transpired. Weary, he nodded. If he didn’t sit down soon, he’d topple from sheer exhaustion and that was bound to land him back in sick bay. “I’ll be in the nose. Report as ordered.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“He’s worried about you,” Grayson said quietly, keeping pace at his side as Lee moved away. In reality, he was worried too. He’d been a cop too long not to recognize the signs of overexertion and stress. “You should have stayed in sick bay.”

“With my boat dead in the water?” Lee gave a soft snort of laughter. “That would be like asking you to sit out when your partner charged headfirst into danger. It’s Chip’s prerogative to worry, Dad.” God, had he really said that - - ‘Dad?’ It sent a tiny thrill racing down his spine, reminding him he was living the impossible. “He’s been my closet friend since Annapolis.” Wearily, he folded into a chair under the massive herculite windows that comprised the nose. He cast a glance at Grayson and found him grinning ear-to-ear. Apparently, Lee wasn’t the only one who appreciated his mode of address.

“Annapolis. I still don’t understand how you ended up there.” Taking a seat in an adjacent chair Grayson leaned close, bracing his arms on his legs and folding his hands between his knees. “You look tired, Lee.”

He smiled wanly. “It’s not every day I rediscover my father.”

“Or me, my son.” Grayson squeezed his knee. “I know you’re concerned about your crew and your boat.” He shook his head in wonder, raising a glance to look around him. “It’s all still so hard to swallow. In my day, we had diesel submarines, nothing like your magnificent Seaview.”

“She belongs to the admiral,” Lee countered. “He designed her. He knows every square inch of her.”

“But you’re her Captain.” Grayson glanced briefly at his hands, his head lowered. When his gaze returned to Lee his expression was unguarded, full of pride. “When you were in sick bay, I talked to your admiral at length. He told me all about the Seaview and N.I.M.R, but he also told me how this boat belongs to you. He said he created her, but that she lives for you. He said he couldn’t fully comprehend it, but he respected it - - the bond you have for this boat and her crew. He’s awfully proud of you, Lee. He thinks the world of you.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, Lee glanced away. Since becoming part of N.I.M.R. and joining Seaview, the admiral’s opinion had been the pinnacle to which he constantly strived. It was all he’d ever wanted, never fully understanding his need to be accepted and respected . . . and if he was truthful, to be cherished on a level that transcended boss and employee. Bowing his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose, certain the fever was at fault for making him emotional.

“I was telling you about Chip,” he said, purposefully changing the subject. “We met when we were roommates at Annapolis. I don’t know why he even bothered with me, I was so shut off from everyone around me, but he did. Our careers took us in different directions, but we’ve always stayed in touch. A few years ago, the captaincy of the Seaview became available and . . .” He trailed off, uncertain how to finish. He looked away, glancing to Chip still at the plotting table. “He’s got it rough, you know . . . treading the line between executive officer and friend. He could have a boat of his own in a heartbeat, but he’s content here, for which I’m eternally grateful. The whole crew is top-notch, but Chip and I . . .” Again he let the sentence hang, thinking how much his friend meant to him. 

“Why the Navy, Lee?” Grayson asked abruptly.

Why the Navy indeed? How had he ended up here, when all he’d ever wanted to be was a cop? He took a deep breath, shifting in the chair in an attempt to mute the throb of pain in his shoulder. “Mom remarried,” he said as way of introduction, watching his father carefully. Grayson would have likely guessed that already after the passage of so many years but the news couldn’t be easy to swallow. No man wanted to hear his wife was with someone else, even if she was now much older than he remembered. Lee couldn’t begin to fathom how he would feel in his father’s place.

“I know about that. A doctor . . . research, I believe.” Grayson fought to keep his face schooled to neutrality. 

Lee nodded. “He provided for her and me, but he was a man of status, not compassion. I think he probably loved Mom in his own warped way, but he wasn’t prepared to have a kid. He married her when I was ten, and I admit I didn’t make it easy. I was irked with her for marrying him . . . angry at him for just being there. He wasn’t you. He could never be you.” He swallowed uneasily, uncomfortable talking about the past. For too long he’d kept his feelings closely guarded, never admitting the wounds his childhood had inflicted. Circumstance had taught him to be private with his feelings. It felt odd exposing them now. “He put me in military school a year later. By then, I’d already learned not to share what I was feeling. The discipline of the school only enhanced that, and I admit to embracing it wholeheartedly. I’m not sure what really happened other than I found myself growing more introspective and goal-oriented. Somehow I convinced myself that if I could just be the best at everything I did, I could stave off catastrophe. That nothing could ever hurt me again.”

Grayson grimaced.

Lee forced himself to dig deeper. “When you died, my world ended. Overnight, everything changed. I guess I just wasn’t strong enough to hold onto the dreams I had when you were alive.”

“Lee…”

He raised a hand, staving off the inevitable protest. “Life wasn’t about ambition anymore; it was just about surviving. Mitchell made it clear I was in the way. I spent the bulk of my time in military school, and when I did come home for vacations or holidays, the reception was strained and chilly.”

“But your mother,” Grayson protested.

Lee shrugged. “I don’t blame her. It got to the point where she was just going through the motions. She suffered from depression and had some health complications back then. She’s fine now, but it was rough going for a time. As much as I might dislike Mitchell, he took good care of her. She left everything to him, including my upbringing. I know she loved me; she just didn’t have the strength to go against him. He’s, uh . . .” Lee chuckled without humor. “A domineering man.”

“Lee . . .” Concerned, Grayson hedged. “Was he . . . did he . . .?”

Uncomfortable, Lee glanced aside. His step-father hadn’t been abusive but he hadn’t been completely hands off with discipline either. Lee saw no need in resurrecting that pain, either for himself or his father. “It doesn’t matter,” he decided out loud. “The best thing he could have done was dump me in that school. It made me who I am today. I like what I do, Dad. I like who I am. I’d never thought about the sea, but when the Carlisle Maine went down, I started reading everything I could about ships and oceanography. I guess everything just fell into place after that.”

“Youngest commander in the Navy according to the admiral,” Grayson said, pride in his voice again. He raised an eyebrow, a smile flitting around his lips. “And ONI? I understand you’re some sort of elite spy.”

Lee laughed. “Maybe I just never abandoned the cop thing. I guess I took it a step further.”

“Espionage.” Grayson shook his head. “Well, you’ve far surpassed me in anything I might have accomplished, Captain Crane. Every parent wants their child to exceed their own accomplishments, but you’ve gone well and beyond. When I think about the success you’ve achieved at your age, I’m dumbfounded. Proud doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Embarrassed, Lee looked away. 

“And now I’m making you uncomfortable,” Grayson observed with a broad grin. “Get used to it, Lee. It’s a parent’s prerogative. Someday you’ll be able to do the same to your own kids.” He tilted his head speculatively. “Any special lady I should know about? I’m not a grandfather am I?”

Lee laughed. “No to both counts. Being Seaview’s commander doesn’t leave much time for a social life, but that’s not to say there haven’t been diversions. The timing just hasn’t been right.”

“Just don’t let it get away from you,” Grayson said, suddenly somber. “We don’t always have the luxury of time we think we do.”

Lee cleared his throat, abruptly uncomfortable. He knew his father was thinking about the past and the tragedy of the Maine. “Dad . . .” They were alone in the nose, but still he kept his voice pitched low. He didn’t want to think about time escaping or dreams he might never fulfill. He’d always imagined himself in the future with a wife and children, but his father had no doubt seen himself surrounded by grandchildren. Some thoughts were just too painful to dwell on. “All the reports we received said the Carlisle Maine sank during a nor’easter. The wreckage was never found. You said you were rammed by another vessel.”

Grayson nodded. “She came out of nowhere. There was a storm. A bad one, but that’s not what sank us.”

“You saw the other ship?” Lee persisted. The damage to the Maine’s hull certainly gelled with his father’s explanation, even if the news reports didn’t.

Grayson nodded. “She was different, Lee . . . old looking. One of my partner’s saw her too and said she was a Flying Dutchman.”

Lee felt a touch of something cold. “A ghost ship?”

“If you believe that kind of stuff. Personally, I think it was just the storm playing havoc with our vision. All that rain, wind and lightning . . . it was impossible to tell anything for certain. I’m sure you know weather and water can make you see things that aren’t really there.”

“Given the fact you’re here with me now, the extraordinary is just as likely,” Lee countered. Absently, he rubbed his shoulder. The pain was stirring again, not quite tamed by the narcotic Jamie had given him. Tired, he rubbed his eyes. “Nothing makes sense, does it?”

There was a click and a hum and the air kicked abruptly back to life. Lee looked to the nearest ventilation duct, relieved when he saw the indicator strips flutter awake. Reassured that at least something was going right, he stood and headed for the plotting table. “Stay here,” he said to his father, immediately focused on Seaview’s condition.

“Any word from Sharkey?” he asked Chip as he joined his exec. 

Chip shook his head. “Nothing yet, but at least we have air now.”

“What about radio contact?”

“Still dead. We can’t send or receive.”

It wasn’t the first time Seaview had experienced cryptic operational failures, but the frustration was no easier to handle. Lee felt trapped and edgy, irritated that reason and practical applications failed to produce results. Time was closing in on 2300 hours, but there would be no sleep for the Command Crew as long as the boat floundered. Scowling, he cast a glance back through the nose where the hulking outline of the Carlisle Maine was still visible. Nothing had gone right since they’d stumbled upon the wreck. Then again, nothing had gone right since he’d brought the Wish King statue aboard.

“Damage control reporting,” Sharkey’s voice flared suddenly across the intercom.

Lee grabbed the mike. “This is the Captain. What have you got, Chief?”

“Not a whole lot, Sir.” 

Lee could almost picture the aggravation on the other man’s face. 

“If we could find a break . . . a short, something, it would make sense, but all systems are green. They’re just not responding. Circuitry, navigation, maneuvering . . .”

“Well, how’d you get the air back up?” Lee persisted.

“That’s just it, Sir - - we didn’t. Nothing we did made a difference. It just came back on its own once we stopped trying. I’ve never seen anything like it, Skipper. It’s like everything is the opposite of what it should be.”

Lee hesitated, musing over the comment. 1950, 1976. The cross-current of years had been in the back of his mind from the time his father had appeared. Past and present. He exchanged a glance with Chip, his thoughts jumping hurdles faster than he could keep up. “Maybe that’s the solution,” he said into the microphone. 

“Skipper?” Sharkey asked.

“Do you think you could rig something in reverse?”

The chief paused, his skepticism plain. “You want me to take the systems offline?”

“Exactly. Not just a simple shut-down but a complete rewire and reversal.”

“Lee . . .” Chip began.

“Can you do it, Chief?”

“Sure, Sir. But…”

“How long?”

“A few hours, six at the outside.”

“Fine. Get on it.”

“Aye, aye.”

Revitalized, Lee put the mike back in its cradle. “Chip, I’m going to check on the admiral. Contact me the moment any information becomes available. And have Sparks rip the communications panel apart if he has to. It’s critical I get a message to ONI about the delay in delivering the Wish King statue.”

“Aye, Sir.”

The whole gambit was a long shot, but the laws of science had ceased working hours ago. He was still tired, still fighting fever, but having direction and a purpose made it easier to ignore the discomfort. He knew Chip wanted more insight on the order he’d just given Sharkey, but he wanted to talk to the admiral first. When it came to theory and conjecture, Nelson was simply the best.

Lee headed for the topside stairs, detouring briefly to talk to his father. Grayson was still seated beneath the herculite windows, his gaze pensive as he pondered the wreck of the Carlisle Maine. Despite everything that had happened, Lee knew he had to be weary as well. Adrenalin only went so far, and they’d been running on it for most of the day.

“Dad . . .” Lowering his voice, he leaned forward and gripped the arms of his father’s chair. “I need to see Admiral Nelson. I have Chief Sharkey making some system adjustments that will take several hours. We’re dead in the water until then. Why don’t you grab a few hours sleep in your cabin?”

Grayson looked up at him. “I’m not sure I want to do that, Lee. I might fall asleep and find out this is all a dream. That you aren’t real . . . that I’ll never see you again . . .”

“No.” Lee felt a heavy weight close over his heart. It was a fear he had too, but he was determined not to acknowledge the possibility. He’d even considered the fact the whole crew might be trapped in some bizarre experiment, subjected to a hallucinogenic gas. “It is real. We have to believe that. I promise I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He squeezed his father’s arm, smiling affectionately. “Once Seaview is out of danger, we can think about tomorrow.” How would he ever break the news to his mother? How could any sane human being be expected to believe Grayson Crane had returned from the dead? Just thinking about it made his head spin.

His father nodded. “You go see the admiral. I’m going to sit here a few more minutes then I’ll head to my cabin. Lee . . .” He frowned, his gaze growing dissecting as he digested his son’s haggard appearance. “You could probably use the sleep too.”

“Probably,” Lee agreed. “But that’s not an option.” Satisfied his father would do as promised, he headed for the stairs.   

Hell. Exactly how was he going to explain his father’s miraculous reappearance to his mother?

**********

Lee found the admiral in his lab, hunched over a microscope. From past experience, he knew the man could become absorbed in his work to the exclusion of everything around him. It took a moment for Nelson to realize he’d entered, even after he’d stepped inside.

“Admiral?”

“Lee . . .” Nelson gave a grunt of acknowledgement, raising his head only briefly before peering into the microscope again. He fiddled with the focusing dials. “Good job on getting the air restored. How are the rest of the repairs coming?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Sir.” Lee approached Nelson’s work table, sliding onto a stool across from him. He paused, deciding to give the older man first shot at any critical information. “Anything of significance in the samples brought back from the Maine?”

“Of great significance, I’d say.” Nelson raised his head and for the first time, Lee got a good look at him. Rings of bruising shadow creased the underside of his eyes, and his skin was tainted an unhealthy gray. He dragged a hand through his hair, the movement unwittingly drawing attention to a sticky sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “Her hull is steel, but it date tests as new.” 

“Excuse me?” Lee blinked, still sidetracked by the older man’s strained appearance. Was it his imagination, or had the admiral’s health taken a complete nosedive?

Nelson wiped sweat from his forehead, his eyes fired and animated, intensely bright against his ashen skin. “Lee, from what Grayson told me earlier, the Carlisle Maine had only been in service a little over a year before she sank. If she’s been sitting at the bottom of the ocean for twenty-six years, there should be significant corrosion to her hull.”

“She’s covered with sediment. Part of her name is eroded away.”

“True. But underneath, she’s almost pristine.”

 

Lee frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that ship is not twenty-six years old. It probably isn’t even two.”

“But that’s impossible.” Leaning forward, Lee braced his arm against the table. “Admiral, my father has been  . . . gone . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word ‘dead’ “Since 1950.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Lee, but it doesn’t change the test results.” Nelson stood and started to pace, trying to make sense of the anomaly. “It doesn’t add up anymore than your father being here makes sense. I…” Stopping abruptly, he turned his head away and broke into a fit of coughing. 

The loose rattling sent off alarms in Lee’s head. “Admiral, that cough sounds horrible. Are you sick, Sir?”

Nelson fluffed off the question with a backhanded wave, not bothering to answer. “You didn’t tell me when systems will be back online.”

“Possibly, six hours.” 

That, at least, brought scrutiny. Nelson stopped his pacing long enough to cast a frown over his shoulder. “Why so long? Damage control should have made progress by now.”

Lee nodded. “Unfortunately, everything they’ve attempted has resulted in a dead end. Sir, what if . . .” He stood, never comfortable discussing his own theories with a man who excelled at them. In the Navy he’d dealt with the concrete and practical. Since becoming commander of Seaview, he’d had to adapt to a new, broader scope of thinking. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with that role, but working under Nelson had taught him not to discount the fantastic, no matter how peculiar. “The Carlisle Maine appeared out of nowhere. My father’s here . . . he hasn’t aged a day. Even he said that 1950 was like yesterday to him. Everything we’ve encountered, everything we’re doing is entangled with the past. Your own lab tests confirm the hull hasn’t aged.”

“Your point?”

“Nothing we’ve attempted with system repair has worked. Logic may as well be useless for all the good it’s done us. Instead of trying to bring the systems back online, I told Sharkey to take them off.”

Nelson was intrigued. “A complete reversal?” He thought about it a moment. “A step back in time, Lee?”

“Maybe.” Discussing it out loud, made the whole thing sound crazy. Then again, he’d just left his thirty-five-year-old father in the observation nose. “Most of the systems we have now wouldn’t operate in 1950. The technology simply wasn’t there.”

“So you think we’re trapped in a time vortex?”

“Sir, I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws because we’ve exhausted all other possibilities. There’s something else too - - the Wish King statue.”

“Yes, I know, I know.” Nelson batted the air, a quicksilver flash of distaste in his eyes. “We’ll get the damn thing to ONI as soon as we can.” He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, grimacing as if the movement brought a flicker of pain.

“That’s not what I meant.” Lee took a step forward, concerned by the chalky pallor of his friend’s face. “Sir . . . please sit down. You don’t look well.” He got a hand under Nelson’s elbow, attempting to steer him back to the stool. “I think maybe Jamie should check you over.”

“It’s nothing, Lee. I’m just tired.” But he allowed himself to be guided to the stool. Once there, he bowed his head, rubbing stiff fingers against his temple. “What did you want to tell me about the Wish King statue?”

“I…” And suddenly he couldn’t force the words past his throat. As he stood staring down on Nelson’s bowed head, his gut churning over the man’s bizarrely declining health, the ugly reality of what he’d done crashed over him. He’d made a wish to bring his father back. Payment was expected in return. A sacrifice of great value.

He swallowed hard. 

Shit, what have I done?

“Admiral, you need to see Jamie. Now, Sir.” Alarmed, he caught the other man under the arm and started to tug him toward the hatch.

“Lee, are you crazy?” Nelson planted his feet, unwilling to move. “I’m not the least bit…”

And just that quickly, the words caught in his throat. He gave one strangled gasp, his eyes rolling into his head.

Lee caught him before he hit the deck.

**********

His arm throbbed, his head throbbed and his muscles ached from sitting cramped in a chair. After getting the admiral to sick bay, Lee had personally visited the damage control crews scattered throughout the key areas of the boat. Progress was slow, and the updates were minimal. He’d spent twenty minutes in the control room, but with everything at a standstill he eventually returned to haunt sick bay. Thankfully, his father had retired to his cabin, intending to get some rest. Chip had told him as much after they’d conferred over the condition of the boat.

An hour later, sitting at the admiral’s side, mulling over the mess he’d made, Lee heard the door open and watched Chip step inside. The room was mostly dark, wrapped in shadow. Even the lighting in Jamie’s office was low, the doctor working by the yellow glow of a desk lamp. Lee saw his friend acknowledge Jamieson with a nod before joining him at the admiral’s bedside.

Bracing an arm against the upper mattress, the exec stared down at the man sleeping in the lower bunk. “How is he?”

“Not good. His sleep has been restless, and his fever keeps spiking. On top of that his lungs are badly congested.”

Chip frowned. “It came on him awfully quick.”

“It’s my fault,” Lee said without hesitation.   

“What? Now you’re going to make yourself accountable for someone’s health?” With a grunt of disgust, Chip dragged a chair close and sat facing his friend. “Look, Lee, I know there was a lot of contention between you and the admiral over this last ONI assignment, but - -”

“You don’t understand.” Miserable, Lee slumped backward, pressing his fingertips to his temple. His head was pounding, making it difficult to think.

“No, I don’t,” Chip said curtly. “But I think you’ve got enough on your plate at the moment without taking on an invented guilt trip. Your father, for example…”

Startled, Lee raised his head. “How did you…?”

“…know?” Chip grinned tightly. “That’s the Carlisle Maine sitting off our port side, Lee. Are you forgetting I know a few scraps of information about your childhood and your father? He looks like you, and his name is Grayson Crane. I asked him outright.”

“And he told you?”

Chip grinned, enjoying the upper hand. “We had a nice talk about you. He’s a lot more open than you are, that’s for sure. And just for the record, there’s a fair amount of scuttlebutt among the crew. Most of them know the man we rescued has the same last name you do, and anyone can see the resemblance. General consensus is he’s a relative of some sort - - a brother or a cousin.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

“I know that and you know that, but the crew doesn’t. More importantly, Lee - - how did he get here?”

Lee hesitated. He heard the admiral shift restlessly and mumble in his sleep. Distracted, he leaned forward, pressing the back of his hand to Nelson’s cheek. “Still hot,” he muttered. A cold fist squeezed his stomach pumping dread into his veins. He glanced over his shoulder toward Jamie’s office, debating about summoning the doctor. He knew Jamie had already administered a shot of antibiotics, saying the best medicine for Nelson now was sleep, coupled with plenty of fluids to bring his fever down. They’d elevated Nelson’s chest and shoulders with a stack of pillows to help with the congestion, but he was still fidgety, never fully awake, muttering in his sleep.

Lee adjusted the sheet over him then rearranged the pillows, trying to make him more comfortable. “It’s my fault,” he said again. “In the same way I’m responsible for my father being here.” Deciding to get it out in the open he shared the entire story with Chip, starting with the unintentional wish he’d made. When he was through, his voice was hoarse from talking. 

Chip looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “So you think your father is here because of your wish?” His eyes shifted briefly to Nelson before returning to Lee. “And you think the admiral is sick because he’s the price you have to pay for that wish being granted?”

Lee grimaced. Listening to Chip spell it out made the whole thing sound absurd, but he could feel the finality in his bones. “Don’t you get it? Dimitri Anton made a wish for his son Grigor to have a full recovery. Afterward, his younger son, Viktor, died without explanation.”

“Payment?”

“Yes.” Lee’s head was spinning, feeling like it wanted to roll off his shoulders. “And then Grigor died anyway. Dimitri’s own health took a downturn, and the last news we had placed him in critical condition. If he’d left things alone, Viktor would still be alive. Maybe Grigor would be partially paralyzed, but at least he’d have quality of life. Now, because of that damn statue…”

“Lee, you’re talking superstition and nonsense,” Chip interrupted.

“Then you explain it!” Lee snapped. His patience was wearing thin and with it his ability to reason. “I’ve made a deal with the devil,” he said grimly. “I’ve traded my father for the admiral.” 

What an idiot! He’d been angry at Nelson when they’d argued about ONI, but he’d never meant to trigger a chain of tragic events. The thought of walking away from Seaview and the older man had ripped a hole in his gut. All he’d wanted was a sounding board. Someone older and wiser, someone he’d looked up to and trusted as a child. He hadn’t meant to barter anything, much less the admiral’s life when he’d made that stupid wish. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, had merely being thinking aloud.    

Sitting in the near-dark, looking at Nelson, Lee realized how much the man meant to him. Not just superior officer, employer, boss or even friend. He’d allowed himself to cross a critical boundary. Whether unknowingly or through gradual acceptance, he trusted Nelson as he’d trusted no one else in his life.

Except his father.

Over the last two years, the admiral had become the nucleus around which his life revolved. There was Chip, Seaview and N.I.M.R, but without Nelson, he’d have none of those. He and Chip would be on different boats, trading a letter or phone call twice a year, but otherwise at different ends of the globe. He’d be on a Navy boat, buried in control and discipline, going through the motions, knowing he was the best at what he did but taking no pleasure in the accomplishments.

He’d responded to the admiral almost from the start, letting his guard down, speaking candidly. He’d never had that comfort level with anyone else except Chip and his father. Nelson had encouraged that communication, even thrived on it. Maybe it was the scientist in him that made him different than the usual parade of brass Lee had been accustomed to. Jiggs Starke was typical of that spit-and-polish, no nonsense commander. Subordinates kissed your ass or ate your dust, and you sure as hell didn’t socialize during off duty hours. That was the summation Lee had of Admiral Jiggs Starke from the moment they’d met, and it was accurate to the letter. But Harriman Nelson . . .  

If he stopped to think about it, their relationship broke all the rules. How many times had he and the admiral gone out to dinner just to shoot the breeze or packed off on a rare day of fishing? He’d been to Nelson’s home countless times and Nelson had been to his. The admiral encouraged him to be a friend as much as a colleague. The chain of command was still there, just as it remained intact between him and Chip, but Lee had never spoken his mind to any other superior with the same ease he did to Nelson. The older man let him get away with it even when those differences of opinion grew heated.

“No one else would ever dream of addressing him the way you do, Lee,” Chip had once told him. “And he wouldn’t let anyone but you get away with it. I guarantee you John Phillips never talked to him like that. You do realize your reputation for being outspoken, and his attitude toward you is a hot topic of debate among regular Navy? I once overhead Admiral Kingston comment how he’d like to have you in his command for just one day. Said he’d straighten you out in a hurry, strip you of your arrogance, and send you back to Admiral Nelson a new man.”

Lee grinned with the memory but almost immediately sadness eclipsed it. He’d lived without his father for twenty-six years. He didn’t think he could live without Nelson for one.

“Chip . . . do you mind? I think I just want to sit here alone for awhile.” He shot his friend a sideways glance. How could he ever admit to anyone - - including himself - - that he’d come to look on the admiral as more than mentor and friend? Maybe it was not having a father all those years, stuck with a stepfather who openly despised him, that made him so easily receptive to feeling more.

But he was a private man, and he’d kept those feelings closely guarded.

“Sure.” Chip nodded, understanding his desire to be alone. He stood, sliding the chair back in place, then hovered a moment. “Lee, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I know you’re concerned about the boat. But you look almost as bad as the admiral. Try and grab an hour or two of sleep, even if it’s here in sick bay. I promise I’ll wake you the moment anything happens.”

Lee nodded, though his agreement was mostly for show. How he could he even contemplate sleeping when he knew the admiral’s health would steadily decline? And what of his father? Grigor had eventually died. Did that mean Grayson would die again too? Would the Wish King rob him of both men, leaving him nothing but his own waning health? 

“Okay, Chip. Thanks.”     

He waited until his friend left, disappearing into Jamie’s office. Alone in the darkness, Lee bowed his forehead against the mattress and clasped the admiral’s wrist.

“Please don’t die, Sir,” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Seaview needs you. I need you.”

**********

Lee woke in the darkness, stiff and in pain. He’d fallen asleep sitting in the chair, hunched forward with his cheek pressed to Nelson’s mattress. Straightening up was no pleasant task, especially when his damaged shoulder and arm shrieked in protest.

“Damn.” He gritted his teeth, stifling a groan as he clamped his hand over the wound. Agony knifed through him with the molten edge of a kiln-fired sword, igniting a hot spike of vertigo. The room reeled and tilted, prodding him to the edge of black out. He dragged down an uneven breath, waiting until the torture ebbed and the pain in his shoulder receded to a dull throb. 

Sitting straighter, he cast a wary glance toward Jamie’s office knowing to be caught incapacitated would earn him the proverbial riot act. He heard a file drawer close and guessed the older man was busy rifling through medical records beyond his field of vision. Rubbing grit from his eyes, he cast a bleary-eyed glance at his watch. Only twenty minutes had passed since he’d dozed off. Half afraid of what he’d find, he looked down on Nelson.

Still gray, the admiral’s complexion had taken on a doughy cast, his forehead and cheekbones heavily stippled with sweat. 

“Admiral?” Lee grabbed a cloth from the supply cabinet then bent over the bed, gently swabbing aside the beads of perspiration. No longer restless, Nelson was entirely too still, his sleep leaden. Heat radiated from his body in torrid waves.

Acid bludgeoned through Lee’s stomach, intensifying his sense of lightheadedness. “Jamie,” he called, spurred by a premonition of dread. “Jamie, get in here.”

It took only seconds for the doctor to materialize at his side, seconds more for Jamie to decipher the cause of his alarm. Bending over the bed, he did a quick check of the admiral’s pupils, scowling at their sluggish response.

“Captain, you’re going to have to leave now.” Gruffly, he pushed Lee aside. “His fever’s out of control. I may need to do an ice bath to bring it down.”

Lee looked bewildered. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

“Please, Captain. Just leave.” Even as he spoke, Jamie was busy sorting through supplies in the cabinet, rummaging in drawers underneath. He filled a syringe and was back at the bed before Lee so much as drew a breath. 

Cold raced through his veins, chased by the hot lick of his own stubbornly-rooted fever. He watched as Jamie located Nelson’s arm and slid the needle beneath his skin. In the next second, the doctor located the wall microphone and summoned a corpsman to assist.

It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. In his gut he knew the admiral was dying, that in a few hours he’d likely be dead, forever ripped from Lee’s world. A lump rose in his throat as the brutal reality washed over him. Pressure built in his lungs, and he struggled to breathe, the tight constriction making his head spin. He’d do anything - - sacrifice anything to prevent the inevitable from happening. 

Shaken, he stumbled through Jamie’s office and into the head, slamming the door behind him. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor, racked by stomach convulsions. I’m sorry, Admiral. The whole damn thing is my fault.

The retching was over in a minute, leaving him drained and trembling. He spat acid from his mouth and dragged the back of his hand across his lips, fighting to pull himself together. Damn it, was he supposed to just sit helpless and accept the inevitable? Who the hell was Armandek Trae and his bloody statue to decide fate for him and those he cared about? He’d confronted hostile space invaders, rampaging sea monsters and the undead. What was one ancient sorcerer king compared to all that? Chump change.

He shoved to his feet and swayed into the wall, his forehead pressed to the cool surface while he tried to sort it out. At least his legs no longer felt so rubbery. 

“Captain.” Jamie’s muffled voice drifted through the door.

Straightening, he turned on the water at the sink. His head was pounding again, pulsing with pain at the temples. “Coming.” Even to him, his voice sounded raw, abraded from the force of his vomiting. He thrust a hand under the faucet and bent to douse his skin with cold water. 

“Lee, are you all right in there?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He groped for a handful of c-fold towels, mopping his face with the scratchy paper as he shut off the water. The mirror above the sink cast back his reflection and he grimaced, seeing only a haggard, sickly man teetering on the brink of exhaustion. Looks like I’m next in line. The Wish King’s curse was definitely catching up with him, propelling him toward the point of utter collapse. Balling up the towels, he shot them into the trash.

Jamie eyed him suspiciously when he stepped outside. “Were you ill?”

“I told you I’m fine.” He knew Jamie was too sidetracked by Nelson’s condition to be overly critical of his. “What did you want?”

Jamieson scowled, clearly not convinced but too preoccupied to challenge him further. “The admiral is asking for you.”

“He’s awake?” Lee’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Barely. He’s focused on seeing you.”

Lee shoved past him into the other room. A corpsman was already there attending to Nelson, but the man stepped aside, giving his captain room.

“Admiral?” Nelson’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Lightly, Lee laid his hand on the older man’s arm. “Sir, are you awake?”

He held his breath, waiting until he saw the weak flutter of the admiral’s eyelashes. A sliver of blue appeared under the auburn fringe then Nelson blinked up at him. “Lee . . .” He grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. “The Maine . . . all wrong . . .”

Uncertain what he meant, Lee exchanged a glance with Jamieson. 

It was clear the effort of speech cost Nelson severely. Breaking into a fit of coughing, he turned his head toward the wall, pain contorting his face. “. . . cavern,” he sputtered.

Lee tightened his fingers around the admiral’s arm. “Just try to rest, Sir.”

“You don’t understand!” The familiar aggravation was there, Nelson’s infamously short temper slipping its leash. More coughing as he tried to scrunch up on his elbows. “The cavern . . . sea.”

“That’s enough, Admiral.” Jamie drew the line, bodily maneuvering Lee out of the way. Placing the tips of his stethoscope in his ears, he pushed Nelson back against the bed and bent to listen to his chest. The older man collapsed with a sighing rasp, his eyes drooping shut. “Cavern,” he repeated.

Lee felt useless. Irritated that he couldn’t do anything, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to understand what his friend was trying to tell him. Whatever the information, Nelson had plainly thought it important enough to repeat. The Maine . . . cavern . . . sea - - none of it made sense. He hesitated a moment, realizing there was nothing he could do and that Jamie wanted him out of the way.

“Keep me apprised of his condition,” he told the doctor.  

Jamie acknowledged the order with a grunt, barely diverting his attention. 

Unwilling to leave, Lee lingered a moment more, his fingers still wrapped over Nelson’s arm. It was amazing what that contact did - - the feel of flesh and blood and life. “Get well, Sir,” he mumbled. 

Then on the off chance he’d find something to help decipher what the admiral had been trying to tell him, he tore himself away and headed for Nelson’s lab.

**********

His throat was raw and his chest felt on fire. Someone bent over the bed, hovering close at his side. Harry blinked, trying to bring the face into focus. It was dark in the room, and his head was swimming, threatening to tumble him into an incomprehensible stupor. “Lee?” he asked groggily, orienting on a shock of midnight-black hair.

“It’s Grayson, Admiral.”

“Grayson.” His tongue felt thick, covered in chalk. He tried to concentrate but couldn’t decide if he was hot or cold, his whole body crippled with aches. “What . . .” He narrowed his eyes, forcing his vision to adjust to the darkness. It was so easy to imagine the man hovering over him as Lee, their features similar. “. . . doing here?”

“It’s time for me to go.”

“Go?” He coughed, struggling to brace himself against the pillows piled at his back. Jamie should have been around, a corpsman at least, but other than Grayson, sick bay was deserted. He wasn’t sure what he was doing there . . . remembered his lab, discussing Seaview with Lee and then . . . nothing. If the damn heat crashing down on his head would just stop, he might be able to piece it together. He coughed again, trying not to think about the fire ripping through his joints. He’d wanted to tell Lee about his theory, especially when his young captain had veered into conjecture about time warps and past meshing with present. Somehow he’d lost that opportunity, waylaid by his declining health.

I shouldn’t have ignored it in Santa Barbara.

“It all came back to me,” Grayson was saying. “I fell asleep in my cabin and I remembered everything - - the storm, the ghost ship. I remember the Maine sinking. Hell, Admiral, I remember dying. I don’t belong here. Not with my son.” He sobered abruptly, a catch in his voice. “I don’t know how or why I’m here; I just know it’s wrong. I’m thankful to have seen Lee . . . being able to talk to him and touch him, but it can’t continue. I think I’m the reason Seaview is floundering. I have to go back to the Carlisle Maine.”

“No.” That at least he understood. “Lee would . . .” His pulse pounded against his temples, bloated like an engorged organ. His head felt like it wanted to roll from his shoulders. “. . . be devastated.” Weakened, he collapsed into the bed, hating himself for the infirmity, hating more that he couldn’t get his point across. His tongue wouldn’t cooperate but his gut told him his precisely-controlled commander wouldn’t survive losing his father a second time. “You have to stay.”

“I wish it were that simple.” Grayson blew out a frazzled breath, restlessly pawing his hair. ”Listen to me, Admiral - - I can’t stay with Lee and I can’t be there for him in the future. You can. Yeah, he’s a survivor, but life is about more than accomplishments and duty. I think he’s got a good friend in Commander Morton, but he needs someone else. Someone to fill the void I left twenty-six years ago.”

It would never work. Lee needed far more. Had always needed more, his rigid exterior a carefully crafted façade to hide the acutely perceptive soul underneath. “Grayson…”

“I’m not suggesting you take my place, just that you be there for him. I think he has a hard time admitting weakness and asking for help. He wasn’t always like that. I want to know he’ll have someone he can count on in the future. I think you’re that person, Admiral.”

He’d hoped he was, had always planned to be, but didn’t expect to be asked by Lee’s father. He knew his mind wasn’t functioning at par but he was determined to put Grayson’s fears to rest. He owed Lee far more than that simple loyalty. 

“He’s a good friend,” he rasped in a hoarse voice. His eyes drifted shut, the weight of fever and exhaustion pushing him toward oblivion despite his best efforts to hold it at bay. Damn, there was so much more he wanted to say, so much more he felt for Lee. “I think of him . . .” Like a son. The final thought never made it past his lips before unconsciousness sucked him into a hole.

Somehow, he suspected Grayson knew the truth just the same.

**********

“It’s progress.” Lee stood at the planning table, reviewing the latest damage control report with Chip. After only four hours, systems were slowly responding. Sonar was operational as was the hydrophone. Sparks could send but hadn’t been able to receive any transmissions. Maneuvering and engineering were sluggish, not yet responsive, but there were encouraging signs of improvement. The duty watch had already switched shifts; several key personnel, including himself and Chip, remaining for extended periods. 

Lee had long since moved past tired into operating on nerves and adrenalin. He’d been able to find nothing in Nelson’s lab to tell him what the admiral had been trying to communicate, but at least there were glimmers of progress elsewhere on the boat. “Have Sparks keep trying to raise COMSUBPAC. With any luck there’s another boat or ship nearby. And get a tech into FS1. It may respond the same way the systems are, and we’ll be able to launch her.”

“Aye, Sir.” As Chip moved away to carry out the orders, Lee glanced up to see his father descending from the topside stairs.   

His smile faltered when he saw the tight expression on Grayson’s face. “Dad?” The name was past his lips before he realized he’d said it, several nearby crew members picking up on the name. Kowalski shot him a strange glance, but rather than address his slip, Lee moved into the nose, drawing his father aside.

 

“What’s wrong?”

Grayson shook his head. “I need to talk to you.” He paused deliberately. “In private.” 

“All right.” With a hand on Grayson’s elbow, Lee guided him deeper into the nose. Away from the scrutiny of the control room, he came to a stop near the monitor for the forward camera. “Something’s wrong.”    

“That depends on your viewpoint, kid.” Grayson parted with an ironic smile. He nodded toward the herculite windows and the bulk of the Carlisle Maine. “I need to go back there.”

“What are you talking about?”

Grayson sighed. “Look, Lee, I don’t understand what’s going on here anymore than you do, but I’m starting to remember things. Things I’d rather forget.” He grimaced. “I don’t belong here.”

Lee felt his gut lurch. “That’s not true.”

“So you think it’s all going to fall into place? You think I’m going to be able to go back to Rhode Island and pick up the pieces of my life? I’m a thirty-five-year-old man who should be on social security by now. My wife’s remarried, my career is gone, and my eight-year-old son is an adult. How do you expect me to adapt? The Grayson Crane of 1950 is dead. He’s been dead a long time.”

“Bullshit.” Lee shoved the observation aside. He paced off a tight circle, his stride crisp and agitated. He had enough on his plate already. Between the admiral’s declining health and worrying over Seaview and her crew, he needed Grayson on his side, not dreaming up other hurdles. “We knew there would be complications . . . challenges.” How to pick up the pieces of a life that ended twenty-six years ago? “You don’t have to go back to Rhode Island. You can start over in Santa Barbara. I’m sure the admiral could find a place for you at the institute, and with my contacts at ONI, creating a new identity won’t be a problem.”

“So that’s your solution? I should just give up my life - - forget who I am, and everything I had? I can’t function in your world, Lee. Your technology - - even the everyday things you take for granted - - is beyond me. I’d be a burden, a hindrance. That’s not the way I want to live. That’s not the way I want you to live, saddled with a father who can’t adapt.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Lee exploded. In the back of his mind, he had always known the issues would have to be addressed. As wonderful as it was reconnecting with his father, he couldn’t ignore the reality of what lurked around the corner. There was no life for Grayson Crane in 1976. Everything he’d known, everything he’d been in the past was gone. It would be like entering the Witness Protection program, forgetting all that had meaning and starting over from scratch. A new identity, a new life. Was he completely selfish for wanting his father to make that sacrifice? It was one thing to start over, another to start over in a society that had steadily advanced while your own life stood still.

“Dad . . .” The name caught in his throat. “I’ll be there for you.”

“I know that, Lee, but you have your own life, your own future. Fate’s already decided mine.”

“No.”

“Have you considered I’m the reason everything is malfunctioning? Your systems are down…”

“…they’re coming back.”

“For how long? That ship out there is a Jonah.” Grayson jabbed a finger toward the Carlisle Maine, visible through the massive observation windows. “She shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. I need to go back before I do more damage to your boat and your crew. To you!”

“You’re not damaging anything. The Carlisle Maine is here because I brought her, just like I brought you. If anyone is responsible, it’s me.” Lee blew out a frazzled breath, irritated his father was venturing into areas he’d mentally marked taboo. Annoyed, he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, mopping up perspiration. Even with the air restored, the confines of the submarine felt sweltering. He knew it was his fever, raging out of control, the infection in his arm growing worse. Stubbornly, he shoved the pain aside. “I can explain everything that’s happened.”

Could he really? A statue . . . a wish that wasn’t a wish . . . the extraordinary . . . a curse that had claimed someone dear. Quickly, he told Grayson about the statue of Armandek Trae.     

Grayson looked at him steadily. “So what you’re tying to tell me is that I’m here because of some offhand wish you made?”

Lee grimaced. “I know it sounds impossible…”

“No.” Grayson shook his head. “Since waking up on this sub, I’ve learned to credit most anything as possible. But that doesn’t change the fact I’m still at fault for everything going wrong. If Admiral Nelson is suffering because of me…”

“Dad, I never meant…”

Grayson held up a hand, staving off the objection. “It’s all the more reason I need to get back to the Carlisle Maine, Lee. Believe in your statue if you want, but I say the root of everything lies on the Maine. All I’m asking is that we go back there - - you and me.”

“How?”

“In your Flying Sub. I overheard you tell Commander Morton systems are coming back online. Maybe they’re not 100% restored, but there might be enough power to get us back to that air pocket.”

“No.” Lee scraped a hand through his hair, resistant to the truth. Why couldn’t it be simple? Why couldn’t his father go back to Santa Barbara with him and start a new life? Was it completely selfish to expect Grayson to discount everything he’d had in the past and start over as a stranger in a strange world? Isn’t that what he was really asking?

And what of the admiral? If his father remained, would he lose Nelson to fate? As much as he loved his father, he’d come to cherish the admiral too. It would be easier to surrender his soul than let Armandek Trae control the outcome. “There’s nothing on the Maine…”

“Exactly!” Grayson hissed. “Why not?” He pushed closer to Lee, challenging him face to face. “I wasn’t the only passenger on that ship when she left port, yet your own diving crew said she was swept clean. Something claimed her all those years ago and took her to the bottom of the sea - - another ship, a ghost.” He shook his head, determination blazing in his eyes. “I had my chance, Lee. I don’t want to be the catalyst that sends Seaview to the same fate.”

“It’s not going to happen.” Yet even as he said the words, Lee felt a flicker of doubt. The air had been restored and systems were slowly returning to operational status but Seaview remained dead in the water without explanation. The admiral was sick, possibly dying, and his own health was on a steady decline. Whether a side effect of Armandek Trae’s statue or the Carlisle Maine, the results were the same - - disaster.

“And if we go and find nothing?” he challenged.

“Then I’ll stay.” Grayson shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked away briefly, his face tightening in a grimace. When he glanced back, his expression was bare of pretense, raw emotion in his eyes. “You think I want to walk away from you, Lee? I’d stay if I could, new identity and all. I say we put it to the test. Here’s the deal - - we do this thing and we live with the outcome, whatever the consequences.”

Lee hesitated. Could he do that? He’d spent twenty-six years without his father in his life. Twenty-six years harboring a wound that had never really healed. “No.” He was a selfish bastard, unwilling to gamble with something so precious. “You stay here. I’ll go to the Carlisle Maine.”

“Damn it, that doesn’t do either of us any good,” Grayson snapped. Frustrated, he fished in his pocket and dug out the gold coin Lee had given him as a child. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he hefted it in front of Lee’s face. “You told me this would keep me safe . . . protect me until we met again. It’s done its job, Lee. Maybe not in the way or manner you anticipated, but we’re standing here twenty-six years after the fact. That has to count for something. Now I’m giving it to you.” Snatching Lee’s wrist, Grayson pressed the coin into his palm. “It’s your turn to keep it. I want to go home, Lee. I’ll always love you, Son, but I want to go back to where I belong. I want to go back to 1950, even if it’s just for a few seconds of life.”

Lee dropped his eyes, closing his fingers over the coin. “You can’t ask me to send you back to die,” he said through gritted teeth. “I won’t do it.”

“Then just send me back, Lee, and let fate decide.”

Torn, Lee lifted his eyes. He wanted to refuse, to vehemently deny any possibility of sending Grayson back to the Maine. But if what his father said was true, and his presence on Seaview was at fault for derailing systems operations, then he had no choice. He was responsible for his crew, accountable for the life of every man. As captain, his feelings and personal safety were unimportant and of no significance. 

And thus Grayson Crane was expendable.

He grimaced.

“Captain.” Chip rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt, realizing he’d interrupted an intensely personal conversation. Uncomfortable, he glanced between Lee and Grayson, the tension hanging between them palpable. “Excuse me. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s all right, Chip,” Lee assured. “What is it?”

“Seismic readings.” The exec hefted a piece of paper, his face grim. “The computer is hit or miss right now, but available data points to increased activity.” 

Lee frowned, remembering the underwater vibrations that had sent them off course originally. “Magnitude?”

“About the same as before, but with greater frequency. At best, we’ve got about three hours to clear out of here.”

“What’s the latest from engineering?”

“Still dead, but the prognosis is good. Sharkey thinks we’ll be able to blow ballast in the next few hours.”

Lee frowned. “That’s cutting it close. I want a back-up for the chief’s crew, reports every 15 minutes. Keep sonar active and get two of our best techs into FS1.” He paused, his gaze shifting sideways to encompass his father. Drawing a breath, he reached a decision for all of them. “I’m going back to the Carlisle Maine.”

**********

Two hours later, Lee maneuvered the Flying Sub into the air pocket below the Maine’s promenade deck. Grayson had been mostly quiet on the ride over, sitting in the co-pilot’s chair while Lee handled the flying. He hadn’t brought anyone else with him, concerned by what might happen when his father stepped back onto the Carlisle Maine. The trip itself was risky, given the increased seismic vibrations kicking up a fuss in the general area. Chip was under instructions to get the boat underway the moment engine power was restored, regardless of Lee’s position in FS1. His ‘baby’ didn’t have full power by any means, but he hoped it would be enough to get him and Grayson to safety should Seaview pull out in a hurry.

“Lee?” Chip’s voice came over the microphone.

Lee depressed the communications link on the collar at his throat. “Go ahead, Chip.”

“Uh . . .Sir . . .” The pause was unlike his normally straightforward XO. “Jamie thought you’d want to know . . . he had to put the admiral on oxygen. It’s uh . . . it’s not looking good, Lee.”

He swallowed hard. “Thanks.” Breaking communications, he looked straight ahead. Cold invaded his veins, an abysmal chill that had nothing to do with the fever raging in his body. 

Grayson gripped his arm, pressing through the supple black leather of Lee’s flight jacket. “He’ll be all right. He has to be.”

“Sure he will.” But he felt sick inside, the premonition he’d felt earlier growing by leaps and bounds. He couldn’t imagine N.I.M.R. or Seaview without the admiral. Even more incomprehensible, he couldn’t imagine life without the man he valued so highly.

“He’s a good friend, isn’t he?” Grayson asked.

Lee nodded, settling FS1 onto a steel buttress. He turned off the engine then bent his head, applying stiff fingers to his restraining harness. He’s more than that.

Grayson did the same, unbuckling the heavy straps. “I guess it’s kind of hard . . . his rank and your rank. I know officers fraternize, but a captain and an admiral? It’s not normal, is it?”

“We make it work,” Lee said simply. He didn’t want to think about their friendship or what sacrificing it would cost him. Swiveling the chair around, he got up to double check settings on the back panel. For one pulse-pounding second, his vision went black, fever and pain catching up with him in a punishing rush.

“Damn.” Disoriented, he braced his good shoulder against the panel. A few freaking minutes. It was all he needed to let Grayson see for himself there was nothing of importance on the Carlisle Maine. Then he could hustle his father back to Seaview, get his boat out of the area and crash into oblivion for a few hours of long-neglected sleep. How hard could it be to stay on his feet a little longer? Systems were bound to be functioning by the time they made it back to Seaview.

“Lee, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He was used to the lie by now. “Help me get this open.” He turned to the rear hatch, talking over his shoulder. “We’ve got twenty minutes maximum, then we get back on FS1 and back to Seaview. If everything goes well, she’ll be operational.”

“Lee, wait.” Grayson grabbed his arm when he started to spin the release wheel. “Before you go, there’s something I want you to know.”

It wasn’t so much what his father said as the way he said it that drew Lee up short. He stepped back onto the deck and shot his father an expectant glance. 

Grayson wet his lips. “I just . . . whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ve got your best interest at heart.” Hooking his fingers around the back of Lee’s neck, he squeezed affectionately, gazing steadily into his son’s eyes. “I couldn’t be prouder of you - - your life, what you’ve accomplished, the man you’ve become. I want you to know that. And I’m so damn grateful for the time we’ve had together. No matter what happens, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

Lee felt a prickle of warning. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Grayson grinned, but the smile was bittersweet. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He gave a brisk tug, pulling Lee into a tight embrace. “It’s a father’s prerogative to act like an ass every once in a while,” he said in a voice hoarse with emotion. “Remember that.”

Concerned, Lee started to withdraw. “I don’t underst…”

But Grayson’s fist cracked against his jaw and the world went black.

**********

Someone was talking. Over and over. Telling him to wake up. 

He moaned, struggling to claw his way back to the surface. His eyes felt glued shut. If the pain in his head would just stop he might be able to make sense of his predicament. He remembered a nightmare of fever and cold, bleak memories of twisting in sweat and shivering in the grasp of an icy chill. At least now it was gone. All that remained was the pain in his head and a dull throbbing in his shoulder. 

He tried again to drag his eyes open and felt a sliver of light knife beneath his lashes, piercing his pupils. He grunted at the too bright intrusion and flung an arm over his face to block the glare.

“I think he’s coming around,” someone said.

“Stop talking about me,” he muttered.

A dry chuckle. Familiar, heart-tugging. “Argumentative as usual.”

Lee blinked, dropping his arm to his side. “Admiral?”

Nelson grinned down on him. “As good as new,” he vouched.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Will Jamison corrected at his side. “But three days of steady improvement have made a remarkable difference.”

“Three days?” Alarm streaked through Lee. He fought his way onto his elbows. Immediately the room bobbled, threatening to upend like a renegade top into the sky. Woozy, he sucked down an unsteady breath and bowed his head to his hand. “Hell . . .” he groused.

“Lie back.” Jamie gave him a gentle nudge, and he folded limply, his strength deserting him.

“Seaview . . .” Lee couldn’t put the thoughts together in his head even though he knew what he wanted to ask. My boat. My crew. “. . . my father.” The conflict must have shown on his face. Nelson laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Seaview’s safe. All systems are green and operational. We’re headed back to home port.”

“You’ve been out for three days,” Jamie inserted. “Sidelined by a high fever. The infection in your shoulder spread and raged out of control. When Kowalski and Patterson found you in FS1, you were unconscious.”

“Found me?” Nothing made sense. “But the Carlisle Maine. . . ?” Had he dreamt the whole thing? The residual effects of the fever left him weak and confused.

“Gone,” Nelson supplied. His eyes dipped and his hand tightened on Lee’s good shoulder. “I’m afraid your father is gone too, lad. He must have climbed into the Carlisle Maine before she vanished.”

“He knocked me out,” Lee said quietly. It was coming back to him. Whatever happens, know that I’ve got your best interest at heart. The loss felt as raw as when he was eight-years-old. Grayson had known all along he wasn’t going to let Lee climb out of FS1. He had planned it - - going back to the Carlisle Maine, going back to 1950.

Going back to die.

He closed his eyes, misery settling like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. “He was here,” he insisted, needing confirmation.

“He was here,” Nelson agreed, touching his cheek. “Go to sleep, Lee. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**********

Alone in his cabin, Lee stood staring down on the Wish King statue. He was uncertain if he hated the repulsive thing for its gift or felt indebted for the scant blip in time it had given him with his father. Who was Armandek Trae to decide his life and the course of his future? “I never made a wish,” he snarled, shoving the revolting thing back into his wall safe. Slamming the door, he ground his teeth, fighting to quell the rabid pump of adrenalin in his veins. 

He dug a hand in the pocket of his trousers, fishing out the small gold coin that had bound him to Grayson. If he’d ever doubted the reality of what had happened, the coin was proof. His pledge to his father as an eight-year-old child, his father’s pledge to him. It had been shiny and gold when Grayson first showed it to him, but it was dull and grimy now, tarnished by the passage of twenty-six years. He tightened his fingers over the edge and closed his eyes, clinging to the truth in his heart. You were here. I spoke with you. Bowing his head against the wall, he gave into a sweeping wave of sorrow. It shouldn’t have ended like this. If he were truthful, it never should have begun.  

A knock at the door sent his emotions scattering. He straightened, immediately setting aside personal feelings for duty. Shoving the coin back into his pocket, he cleared his throat, composure restored. It was amazing how quickly he could slip on a military mask. “Come in.”

“Lee?” Admiral Nelson offered a tentative smile as he stepped into the cabin. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Self-consciously, he adjusted the sling over his left arm. He didn’t remember the three days he’d tossed with fever, but apparently the infection had raged out of control, leaving him incapacitated and delirious. He’d spent another two days in sick bay under the watchful eye of Dr. Will Jamieson before being released on convalescent leave. The only upside to the lingering debilitation was that Nelson was in the same boat, restricted after recovering from an excruciating bout of walking pneumonia. It gave him someone to commiserate with when he would have preferred to be in the control room, calling shots for Seaview and her crew.

“How are you feeling, Sir?”

Nelson waved the question aside. “I’m fine, Lee. We’ll be in Santa Barbara before nightfall.”

Lee nodded. Home. There was no sense of elation or relief. He would hand off the Wish King statue to an ONI operative, and his involvement in the operation would cease. Despite the alacrity with which it had been instituted, there had been no immediate rush to get the statue to the appropriate parties once they’d been able to reestablish contact. Knowing the artifact was safely in route had been enough to start the peace negotiations moving again.

“You look tired,” Nelson observed.

Lee grunted. Why was it that he’d slept for three days and still felt exhausted? He’d found and lost his father in a matter of hours. Was it any wonder he was functioning on subterranean levels? How different might it have been if Grayson was going back to Santa Barbara with him? Fatigue and sadness would have easily given way to euphoria.

“I wish I understood what happened,” he said dismally.

Nelson motioned to the bunk. “Sit down, Lee.”

He obeyed more from reflex than anything else, bracing himself against the edge with his legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles.

Harry fought to keep from grinning. Thin as Lee was, positioned as he was, he looked more green recruit than submarine commander. Sometimes it was hard equating the perpetually young captain with the man responsible for Seaview and her crew. So much weight on a man who was still incredibly young in terms of his career. Gifted too. And brilliant. 

It was what set Lee Crane apart.

Harry sobered. I want to know he’ll have someone he can count on in the future, Grayson had said. He watched as Lee’s eyes dipped, the thick line of his lashes drawing black thread over his eyes. As rigid as Lee could be - - precise and controlled, so coolly aloof it was infuriating, his eyes could easily betray him. On the bridge Harry knew he’d embody military poise, but his guard was down now, his face an open book to the pain in his soul. He didn’t show that side of himself to just anyone, the few he trusted with such closeness accountable on one hand. Hopefully, understanding what had happened to his father would help him work through his grief. 

Harry was tempted to drop a supportive hand on his shoulder, but practicality kept him where he was. Lee needed space - - time to work through what had transpired. Yes, they were good friends but there was also that damn issue of rank. The commander in Lee had yet to yield to the more responsive man underneath. 

“From what we know, the Carlisle Maine simply disappeared - - probably the moment your father stepped back into the air pocket,” Harry tried to explain. He’d been given the exact time of disappearance from Chip and knew the Flying Sub had lain exposed on the ocean floor afterward, her systems operational but dead. Repeated attempts at contact had been in vain. Eventually, Morton had sent a party of divers out, and they’d found Lee unconscious and alone on FS1. 

Harry himself had been delirious, fighting off a particularly virile strain of walking pneumonia. He hadn’t been aware of anything until awakening two days later. By that time, Lee was in sick bay, near comatose, battling an aggressive fever courtesy of the infection in his arm.

Chip had taken Seaview out of the area the moment engine power was restored, putting distance between the boat and a steady rise in seismic activity.

“It was the statue,” Lee said despondently, looking down. “If I hadn’t made that damn wish…”

“You still think that’s what all this is about?” Harry grimaced, wishing he could get Lee to fixate on something else. Stubbornly, the man was stuck on blaming himself. “I would never deny the possibility of the fantastic, Lee, but in this case I think you’re grasping at straws.”

Lee’s head snapped up, his eyes a blend of topaz and green fringed by velvet black. “Do you have a better explanation?”

“I do. It’s what I was trying to tell you in sick bay when I was sidelined with fever. I started thinking about it when the hull fragments came back dated the way they did. Then when you mentioned the idea of our technology not working in 1950, it clicked into place.”

Lee looked at him expectantly. “What did?”

“A time fold, brought about by those seismic vibrations. Have you ever heard of the Cavern of the Sea?”

“Sir?”

“According to legend, it’s the mythological resting place for all ships that disappear without a trace. The Norse believed it was guarded over by Aegir, Lord of the Sea. His wife, Ran, and their nine daughters formed gargantuan waves with immense destructive power, sometimes coalescing into the image of an ancient ship before bringing destruction.”

“A ghost ship,” Lee said.

Harry nodded. “Ships and crew were swallowed whole, pulled down into the Cavern.”

“But the Carlisle Maine sank off the New England coast,” Lee protested. “And we were nowhere near there.”            

“Agreed.” At least the younger man was listening and that was a start. “The Cavern of the Sea moves on Aegir’s whim. It never remains in one place for long, which is why it’s never been discovered. Some theorists believe it’s responsible for the disappearance of ships and low-flying planes in the Bermuda Triangle. Others think it consumed Atlantis. If it did claim the Carlisle Maine in 1950, and a seismic anomaly opened a time fold over the Cavern, it’s theoretically possible it could have pulled the ship and your father from that period. It would also explain why the hull hadn’t aged even though it gave the appearance of weathering countless years. Time in the Cavern would account for that.”

“But just my father?” Lee stood, unconvinced. “There were other people - - thousands of people on the Maine, Admiral. How do you account for the fact we found no one other than my father?”

Harry tugged on his bottom lip with a thumb and forefinger. He’d had to reason the same things through himself, examining the puzzle from all angles. “He could have been the only one still alive when that crosscurrent in time took place. One millisecond of breath is all it would take. Or he might have been the only one in the vicinity affected by the time fold. Everyone else could have been out of range. Something else to consider - - of all the people on the Carlisle Maine and Seaview, you and he were the only ones bound by blood. That might have been enough of a connection to account for what happened. Dimensions and time fluctuations aren’t easily pigeonholed, Lee. We’re talking about the abstract.”

“But you got sick immediately after,” Lee protested, unwilling to relinquish his Wish King theory. “Just like Dimitri’s son, Viktor.”

“But I didn’t die. And the truth is I had a touch of the flu with bronchitis before leaving Santa Barbara. I should have taken care of it then, but I ignored it and let it get worse. It developed into walking pneumonia not because of some ancient curse, but because of my own stupidity. Once Jamie got me on oxygen and an aggressive dose of antibiotics, it took care of itself.”

Lee frowned, still not convinced. “What about me? I got sick too, just like Dimitri did.”

“You were having complications from that bullet wound long before you ever made your wish on Armandek Trae’s statue. Infection compounded by fever, plain and simple. And if you recall, we experienced seismic vibrations before the Carlisle Maine appeared. It was the reason you switched headings to begin with. Isn’t it possible that was the catalyst for the time-fold?”

“The seismic disturbance?” For the first time, Lee appeared to take the suggestion seriously. He paced across the room, scraping a hand through his short black hair. Harry thought he looked entirely too thin, his normally lean frame gaunt with weight loss, his left arm encased in a sling. This time, he had strict orders from Jamie he would complete the full four weeks of convalescent leave before returning to active duty.

His fever was gone but he was far from completely healed, the grim toll of the last few days evident in the shadows under his long-lashed eyes and the crevices beneath his cheeks. He looked like someone who had endured a long illness.

“Then how do you explain Grigor Anton’s miraculous recovery and eventual death?” Lee challenged. “And Viktor and Dimitri? Are you saying the Wish King statue had nothing to do with what happened to them?”

“I don’t know, Lee. Very possibly it did. Dimitri stole the statute for his own ends; you were just trying to return to its rightful owner. That might have made all the difference. What I am saying is I don’t think it had anything to do with what happened to us . . . to Seaview. The Carlisle Maine was claimed by the Cavern of the Sea. I think the seismic tremors we experienced could have been the result of the Cavern moving, settling into place. If we hadn’t blundered into a time-fold with your father’s ship, we might have experienced the same fate as the Carlisle Maine.”

“My head is spinning,” Lee complained, pressing his fingertips to his brow. “How can you keep it straight, sort it all out?”

Harry grinned tiredly. “I can’t. But that’s what makes alternate dimensions and time anomalies so impossible to define. There is no cut and dry explanation, but I certainly didn’t get sick because of some ancient curse and neither did you. As for Dimitri and his sons . . . maybe the legend of Armandek Trae really is true. In any event, I think the sooner we get that statue off Seaview the better.”

Walking back to his bunk, Lee slumped against the edge. “Then my father didn’t have to go back,” he mumbled despondently. “He wasn’t the reason we were floundering. He could have stayed, and it would have made no difference.”

“I think you’re wrong about that.” Pained by the misery he saw reflected on his young captain’s face, Nelson moved beside him, bracing a hip against the bunk. “Time couldn’t be restored to proper alignment until he returned where he belonged. I do believe he was the reason our systems malfunctioned. Why some, like the air, came back online without explanation and others were unresponsive. It certainly wasn’t his fault, but his presence and that of the Carlisle Maine were basically wrenches thrown into a gear. Taking everything offline started to reverse that effect, but it could never be fully corrected until the problem itself was resolved.”

“And that problem was a crosscurrent of time…” Lee’s expression didn’t change, the melancholy in his eyes as heavy as before. “…my father and the Maine in an era where they didn’t belong?”

Nelson nodded soberly. He could explain all the facts, lay his theory out in black-and-white from now until Christmas, but all the reasoning in the world wouldn’t erase the pain Lee was feeling. He thought again about Grayson standing over him in sick bay, asking that he be there when Lee needed him.

Like now. 

How many times had he tried to tell Lee the value he placed on the younger man’s friendship? How many times had he failed, unable to express himself?

Disgusted, he glanced away. “Your father chose badly,” he muttered.

Lee shot him a sharp glance. “About what?”

“About me.” Agitated, Harry stood and paced away from the bed. He was a pompous ass, hung up on protocol, learned behavior and all the nuances that kept his friendship with Lee neat and orderly. In the beginning, he’d treated his young commander like any other officer. Gradually, over time, he permitted indulgences no other officer was allowed - - perhaps because no one else challenged him the way Lee Crane did. Wasn’t that enough to express his feelings? Did they have to be spelled out, spoken aloud? Surely, Lee already knew.  

“Grayson was worried about what would happen when he left, Lee. He visited me in sick bay, but I was only half conscious, out of my head with fever. I remember pieces of the conversation, impressions mostly. He needed to know you’d be fine without him . . .” He paused, forcing himself to look directly at Lee. “. . . that you wouldn’t be alone.” 

“I don’t think of myself as alone . . .” Lee’s voice dropped. Self-consciously, he glanced away.

Most of the time. Harry could hear the unspoken words in his head. He was only too well acquainted with that same sense of singularity. Like Lee, he understood what it was like to be alone. There was Edith, his sister, and there’d been plenty of women - - still were - - but none who liked taking a back seat to science. “I think it’s genetically impossible to love a genius,” his last girlfriend had told him. She’d hung in longer than most, but in the end couldn’t endure his mood shifts when passion for his work overtook him. She’d hated that he came and went at a moment’s notice and that his dinner conversation was often peppered with the latest advancements in oceanography and theoretical research.   

Some people were just meant to be alone. He was one of them.

Lee Crane wasn’t.

Harry knew that someday the captain would have a wife and children. Lee was just that kind of man. In the meantime, his self-reliant commander dealt with life the way it came to him . . . adapting, adjusting, plodding through obstacles without help from others. He was too accustomed to making his own way in the world, earning what he’d achieved through confidence, determination and skill. When it came right down to it, Lee didn’t need anyone.

What he felt was an entirely different matter.

Harry exhaled noisily and dragged a hand through his hair. “Look, Lee, the last thing your father wanted was for you to feel alienated. I strongly believe he went back to the Carlisle Maine to protect you. To protect Seaview.”

“I know that.” Lee kept his gaze averted, no less moody than before. “I appreciate what you’ve shared, Admiral . . . about the Cavern of the Sea and time-folds. It places things in perspective. I’ll be fine now.”

Harry would have called him a liar, but simply didn’t have the gall. He knew when to retreat. “If you want to talk about this further . . .”

Lee shook his head and stood to end the conversation. His composure was back in place, the mask he wore so well.

Off the hook, Harry opted for the coward’s way out. He knew he should stay and help Lee muddle through his conflicting emotions, but his commander had always seemed to manage better alone. Except that’s not what Grayson wanted. It’s exactly what he didn’t want. “If you need anything or change your mind, I’ll be in my cabin.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for the offer.”

Damnably poised as always. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to curse or applaud the man for his frigid control. Instead, he gave a crisp nod and strode from the room before he could berate himself for his failure. 

Tomorrow, he decided. He’ll be more open to conversation tomorrow.

**********

Somehow Nelson found an excuse to avoid Lee for the next two days. It wasn’t until they had docked in Santa Barbara and most of the crew had dispersed that he came upon his captain in the control room. Lee stood at the plotting table reviewing Chip’s notes and course adjustments from the previous several days. 

Harry could see the executive officer in the distance, out of range in the nose, running a last minute configuration through the computer. Kowalski was just readying to go up the ladder to the conning tower, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Otherwise, the control room was empty.

“Have a good leave, Ski,” Lee called distractedly, marking a notation in the log book.

“Thank you, Sir.” Kowalski hesitated and Harry decided to remain in the hatch, partially obscured from view. He knew the senior rating well enough to recognize he was worried about his captain. The whole crew knew Lee had been sick through most of the voyage, but Kowalski tended to speak his mind more than most. He was particularly loyal to his commander, a remarkable change in his outlook given his initial impression of Lee Crane had not been favorable. Then again, Lee hadn’t exactly endeared himself to the crew by choosing to circumvent their security measures when he’d first boarded Seaview. There was nothing worse than being a too-young commander replacing a beloved captain, and making your crew look incompetent in the process.

Arrogant. Cocky. Thinks he’s better than everyone else. Nelson had been aware of the gripes bandied about by the crew after the stunt Lee had pulled on his first cruise. Kowalski had been one of the most vocal. Now every man - - especially the senior rating - - had done a complete one-eighty, their loyalty to Lee and their faith in him as a commander unquestionable. For his part, Lee’s confidence in Kowalski was evident in the assignments he entrusted to the seaman. If Lee went off Seaview, it was usually Kowalski he took with him as backup. It explained why the younger man hovered even now when he should have been scrambling up the ladder, eager to begin his shore leave. 

 “Skipper . . .” Kowalski dropped the duffle bag and stepped around the periscope island to talk more freely. “Sir, I was just wondering . . .”

Lee glanced up, his attention momentarily diverted from the logbook. “What is it, Ski?”

“Well, that man. The one from the Carlisle Maine . . . he had the same last name as you and he looked like you. A lot of the guys thought he might have been your brother.”

Lee looked at him steadily, digesting the news with a neutral expression. “What do you think?”

“I . . .” Kowalski shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. He hesitated only briefly before plowing ahead in his normal fashion. “Sir, I did some research on the Carlisle Maine, and if it’s the same ship, she went down in 1950. That was twenty-six years ago. He couldn’t have been your brother.”

“Exactly.”

“But he could have been your father.”  

Lee stiffened, the reaction unintentional but noticeable just the same. Dropping his pencil onto the table, he gave Kowalski his full attention. “Don’t you think that sounds a little crazy?”

“The whole thing was crazy, Skipper. I mean, the ship just disappeared! It’s just . . . earlier when Grayson was still here and you were in the control room, I thought I overheard you call him…”

“He was just a man we picked up,” Lee said quickly, much too sharply.

“Yes, Sir.”

Lee sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Ski, I appreciate your concern, but…”

“Kowalski, what are you still doing here?” Chip materialized at the plotting table before Lee could finish. Although it appeared he’d wrapped what he’d been doing and had wandered over by mere chance, Harry was sure he’d chosen that precise moment to interrupt. Chip Morton had always been excessively good at looking out for his friend and captain.

“Uh . . . I was just leaving, Sir.”

“Then hop to it,” Morton instructed.

“Yes, Sir.” Kowalski retrieved his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He had one hand on the ladder below the conning tower when Lee’s voice stopped him.

“Kowalski, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do any further research on the Carlisle Maine.” He paused, the emphasis saying far more than his words. “Some things are just better left in the past.”

“Understood, Skipper.” Kowalski glanced over his shoulder. “I just thought you’d want to know . . . the guy was a hero in my book. I’m not sure what he did when he went back, but it freed Seaview to get home. If it weren’t for him . . .”

Lee nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in the barest trace of a resigned smile. Harry felt understanding pass between the two men. A moment later, Kowalski disappeared up the ladder and silence fell over the room.  

“Everyone off?” Harry asked his two officers, stepping through the hatch.

Lee glanced to a clipboard on the plotting table, adding a checkmark. “Kowalski was the last.”

Harry nodded. The boat always felt strange to him when she was empty, the space oddly more confining than when she was fully staffed. He was already thinking ahead to the stack of paper waiting in his office at the institute and an upcoming trip to Australia booked three days out. He had originally planned the excursion to be brief, allotting just enough time to meet with a colleague before heading home prior to Seaview’s next departure. The events of the last week, however, had him rethinking the whole thing. That short trip was suddenly his ace in the hole, a way to correct his recent failings with Lee and keep his promise to Grayson at the same time.

Lee had his own loose ends to tie up, including the delivery of the Wish King statue. A high level-security courier was scheduled to arrive at N.I.M.R. at precisely 1800 hours, just forty-five minutes away. Maybe with the statue gone his moody captain would find the initiative to let go of the Carlisle Maine.

“Lee, after you finish up with your ONI contact, I’d like you to stop by my office. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Admiral?” Lee glanced at him sharply, surprise in his eyes. “I thought ONI wasn’t going to be a problem.”

“It’s not.” Too late he realized Lee feared the ‘discussion’ would be yet another debate about his involvement with Naval Intelligence. Mentally, he sighed. He wasn’t going to be a problem for ONI as long as the espionage branch loosened its chokehold on Lee. His captain was free to accept assignments, but there would be no more risk-taking when Lee was still recovering from a previous mission. He had every intention of going over Lee’s head and making his opinions plain. If ONI wanted Seaview in the mix, they were going to learn to play by Harry’s rules and not endanger his commander unnecessarily. And if anyone so much as breathed a hint to Lee he’d stuck his nose in, they could kiss his nuclear sub goodbye.   

“Take your time, Lee, and do what you need to with the Wish King statue. I want to talk to you about something else.” Why was it that lately whenever he wanted to talk, Lee just naturally assumed the worse? “I’ll be working late, so stop by when you wrap everything up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry gave a crisp nod and turned to leave satisfied he was doing the right thing. He had thought it through carefully for the last two days. Seaview was scheduled to sail again in two weeks but Lee would be laid up for four. After losing his father, the last thing the younger man needed was his boat departing without him. In the end it would only amount to more time alone, more time to remember.

Harry couldn’t fix what had happened with the Carlisle Maine but as the owner of Seaview and the power behind N.I.M.R, there were some things he could control. He owed Grayson Crane that much.

He owed Lee far more.

**********

“What do you think he wants to talk about?” Lee waited until Nelson had left before glancing at Chip expectantly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Chip was surprised his friend had to ask. “He’s worried about you. Between what happened on this cruise and as sick as you’ve been . . .” He nodded toward Lee’s arm, still encased in a black sling. “How’s that doing?”

“Better.” Lee tugged at the sling self-consciously. “Most of the time anyway. I’d like to get the damn thing off, but Jamie made me swear I’d wear it another two days.”

“Probably because you took it off too soon after Venice.” At least Lee was talking openly, not sidestepping his problems as he often did when he didn’t want to acknowledge them. After sixteen years of close friendship, Chip knew just how far he could push and when. “How about grabbing dinner and a few beers later on? It’s been a rough cruise. Getting away for an hour or two and forgetting everything would do you good.”

“No, thanks.” Lee shook his head. “I think I just want to go home and unwind.”

“You mean go home and brood.”

Lee shot him a frowning glance. “I could do without the criticism, Chip.”

“What you could do without is being alone.” He knew exactly where Lee was headed - - into a space with four walls and certain depression. He’d wallow in it, then bury the pain without acknowledging how badly it hurt. A classic Lee Crane defense maneuver. He’d forget it had ever happened - - at least on the outside - - but inside the wound would fester, another emotional scar on a life that had already suffered too many. “You need to work this out, Lee. However much you want to pretend it never happened, your father was on this boat.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Morton.”

“Don’t pull that command shit on me now, Captain. What are you going to do? Put me on report for worrying about a friend?”

“Chip - -”

“I’m serious, Lee. Don’t walk away from this. Don’t bury it like you do everything else. It’s too important.”

Lee glowered. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” Chip bit down on his tongue. “Sir.” 

That earned him a black glare.

It was nothing new. Chip shook his head. Maybe the admiral could talk some sense into his commander, because he had certainly struck out.

**********

The admiral’s secretary, Angie, had already left for the evening by the time Lee finished up with the ONI courier and made it to Nelson’s office. The door was already open so he rapped his knuckles on the frame and stepped inside.

“Admiral? You wanted to see me?”

Nelson looked up from where he was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers and folders spread haphazardly across the blotter. “Lee . . . sit down.” He motioned to a chair.

Edgy without understanding why, Lee obeyed. He’d added his officer’s dress jacket over his regular uniform to meet with the ONI courier and now thumbed open the bottom button as he slid into the chair. Posture precise, he settled his hat on his knees. 

How many times had he come in here - - or Nelson’s cabin on Seaview for that matter - - and actually perched on the edge of the admiral’s desk, casually discussing everything from their next cruise to world affairs, sports, literature and saltwater fishing? They’d always talked freely and openly, so why did he suddenly feel like a green recruit about to get a dressing down by his superior officer? 

In two weeks Seaview would sail without him. He knew Nelson intended to tell him that - - among other things - - and wasn’t looking forward to the discussion. He hated being shore-bound when the boat was at sea. Maybe the admiral didn’t have a list of candidates waiting to replace him as captain, but he fully intended to respect Jamie’s four-week order of convalescent leave for her current commander. He’d likely cite Lee needing a break - - physically and emotionally after what they’d been through. He’d mention Grayson and Lee would nod and say he understood, all the while wanting to get it over with so he could go home. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he was tired, exhausted if he was truthful. It wasn’t so much the physical toll of the last week, but the emotional element. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and the memories of his father. Eventually, he’d move past the melancholy - - realize he’d been given a remarkable gift and cherish it for what it was. 

Eventually.

But it was all still too raw right now.

“How did things go with ONI?” Nelson asked.

“Fine. The courier left immediately so the statue is already in route. I’m glad to get rid of it.” That at least was true. He’d come to despise the wretched thing, even though he now believed it had nothing to do with the appearance of the Carlisle Maine or his father.

Nelson nodded. “It’s been a rough week, Lee. In some respects it might be good to be away from Seaview for awhile.”

Here it comes . . .

“I’ve got a flight out to Melbourne in three days to meet with Dr. Hollister.”

“I remember, Admiral. He’s working on a prototype for a diving submersible and wanted your input on the design . . . a potential collaboration.”

“Yes, although this visit is just an initial introduction.” He paused. “I thought maybe you’d like to come with me.”

“Sir?” Caught off guard, Lee drew a momentary blank. It wasn’t as if he’d never gone on an excursion with the admiral before, but normally only when his input was required as Seaview’s captain. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Nelson rocked back in his chair, straining the springs. “I won’t be more than a few days with Hollister, but I thought about extending my time in Melbourne. It’s been a long while since I’ve had an actual vacation. I was thinking about driving the Great Ocean Road and taking in the scenery. Vacations are always more interesting with someone as co-pilot. I thought two weeks ought to do it.”

“Seaview is set to sail in two weeks,” Lee protested.

Nelson grinned. “Do you think I’d let her leave dock without her captain?”

Lee stared, still not sure he followed. Was Nelson actually suggesting extending leave time for 125 men and postponing their next cruise, all because Lee wouldn’t be fit to command the boat? Shoving his hat aside, he sat forward on the edge of the chair, bracing an arm against Nelson’s desk. “Admiral, you can’t just reschedule . . .” 

“I can do anything I want, Lee. I own Seaview.” His smile grew wider. “I’m the boss.”

“Sir, she’s sailed without me before.”

“True, but the crew never responds the same. Plus, I think this time is different. You need to be there, and the crew needs to see you there, given everything that’s happened. So, how about it? Would you like to see Australia with me? I could use a failsafe in case Hollister gets too dull. He’s brilliant, but even I feel my eyes glazing over when he embarks on a tangent. God, I hope I’m not like that. Two days with him, then we’re off on our own.”

Lee hedged. “Admiral, would you be asking me the same question if we’d had a routine cruise?”

“If we’d had a routine cruise, you wouldn’t be laid up for four weeks on convalescent leave.” Nelson frowned, giving a terse shake of his head. “No, I take that back. You would have still ended up with an infection and fever; you just wouldn’t have run yourself into the ground trying to salvage Seaview and the Carlisle Maine.” Standing, he shoved his hands in his pockets, his manner abruptly agitated. “Lee, bottom line - - I fouled things up. I was a bear about ONI and I pulled rank on you. I said and did things I’d rather forget. I just want everything back on an even keel between us. I need you to realize how valuable you are . . . to Seaview.” He paused deliberately. “And to me.”

To me.

Lee looked at him levelly, the words resounding in his head. He’d never really expected to hear them. The unspoken bond between them had always been enough, neither needing to rigidly define it. He wasn’t entirely certain what made tonight different, but couldn’t deny a certain pleasure at Nelson’s declaration. “Then this has nothing to do with my father?”

Nelson gave a soft snort of laughter and dragged a hand through his hair. “You are impossible to talk to sometimes, Captain, you know that? Yes, Lee - - it has everything to do with your father. Just as it has everything to do with me. And my shortcomings.” 

“Admiral…”

“Stop right there.” Nelson held up a hand to forestall his protest. “You’re going to listen to me because I’m only going to say this once:  Grayson asked me to be there for you. I would have done it anyway, Lee. I think you know that, just as I think you know I hold you in a much higher regard than simply as a subordinate or even friend. As such, I’m not about to pack off to Australia and leave you behind when you’ve been through emotional hell. You’re going with me. You’re going to relax. You’re going to enjoy yourself, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll even decide to share some of that bottled aggravation you’re feeling. Is that clear, Commander?”

The faintest trace of a smile flitted over Lee’s lips. “Crystal - - Sir.” He glanced up, and this time the smile reached his remarkable amber-green eyes. “Thanks, Admiral. Melbourne sounds kind of good right now.”

Nelson slid a hand onto his shoulder, imparting an affectionate squeeze. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Tension finally fading, Lee allowed exhaustion to wash over him. Easing back in the chair, he suppressed a yawn behind his fist. “I’ll need a plane ticket.”

“I’ll have Angie arrange it tomorrow. Come on . . .” Grinning indulgently, Nelson hooked a hand under his arm and helped him to his feet. “I’ll drive you home. You look exhausted.”

“Admiral, I can drive. Even with the sling.”

Nelson started him moving toward the door. “Don’t argue with your superior officer, Lee. It’s not permitted.”

“Since when?”

“Since you need dinner and about sixteen hours sleep. Those are orders, Captain. How does Chinese takeout sound? I’ll pick some up on the way to your place.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Sir.”

“No, just a keeper.” Nelson grinned. “And a friend.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. When he thought about it, Lee realized he didn’t want to.

*****End*****

Author’s note:  I’ve taken some liberties with mythology, combining and tweaking the legends of the Cavern of the Sea and Aegir, Lord of the Nordic Seas. He and his wife, Ran (the widow-maker) did have nine giant daughters, but the daughters formed enormous waves when they danced at Ran’s prompting, not a ghost ship. Those sailors who did disappear into Aegir’s watery palace were treated to sumptuous banquets of seafood and ale. The Cavern of the Sea is an entirely different legend, a repository for lost ships that moves from ocean to ocean and thus can never be found. The Wish King statue and the legend of Armandek Trae are entirely fictional and figments of my own imagination. I hope you enjoyed the tale!

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