Flight Check

By Kate

This story takes place after the first season episode “The Saboteur.” Thanks to all three of my betas - - Theresa, Diane K. and Liz. Special thanks to Diane for brainstorming with me and patiently answering all my “what-if” emails! Comments welcome at veniceplace12@verizon.net  

PRESENT:

There was patience, and there was patience. 

Admiral Harriman Nelson had run out of both and all points in between. He made a supreme effort not to grit his teeth, fisting his hand around the latest report from Forester with its plodding reasons why Lee Crane’s security clearance shouldn’t be reinstated:  requires further consideration and testing by qualified medical personnel . . . residual psychological ramifications unknown . . . delayed trigger . . . consequences at sea . . . potential of flashbacks. . .

“Jiggs,” he spat into the phone, fighting for control of his rapidly escalating temper. “It’s been over two weeks. Forester put Crane through a battery of tests and debriefings at Mare Island that more than proved there are no lingering effects of his brainwashing. I’ve been patient, but I’m done. Why the hell haven’t you cleared Lee to sail?”

“Now, Harry . . .”  The placating tone in Jiggs Starke’s voice only helped to set his teeth on edge. “These things can’t be rushed. Crane was so far gone he called himself an ‘agent of the People’s Republic.’ He would have blown up Seaview given the chance, and he tried to kill you.”

“He was brainwashed!” Harry shouted. He shoved to his feet and flung the crumpled report across the room. Pacing behind his desk, he ripped a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a boat ready to sail . . . water acidity assessments to run in the South Pacific that require precise tidal and climatic readings. Maybe you don’t give a rat’s ass about the Institute’s testing schedule, but I do. If Seaview doesn’t sail soon, I’ll miss the window.”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” Jiggs countered.

“I don’t have a captain.” 

“Morton can handle it.”

“I don’t want Chip to handle it. I want Lee Crane.”

Jiggs sighed. “Don’t be unreasonable, Harry. I’ll get you another captain.”

“You haven’t listened to a damn word I’ve said, have you?” He could feel his blood pressure spiking, a heated crush of anger leaving his face flushed and red. “Forester has screwed around for two weeks making Lee jumps through hoops to get his security clearance back. There’s no legitimate reason to delay it, and you damn well know it. Forester is your man. You tell him to heel, he’s going to heel. I want him off Lee’s back and I want him off now!”

A heavy silence greeted him from the other end of the phone. Harry had already convinced himself Jiggs wouldn’t hold Lee’s security clearance back for spite, but there was no love lost between the COMSUBPAC commander and his young captain. Forester was the one running the tests but, ultimately, it was up to Jiggs if and when Lee was reinstated. 

“What about repairs?” Jiggs asked at last. “That temporary plate you had your engineering crew rig isn’t going to hold indefinitely.”

“It’s already been replaced with a new herculite window. Just a temporary one until I can get Seaview in dry-dock for more extensive repairs. She’s seaworthy enough for this mission, and that’s all that matters.” Harry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, making an effort to calm down. Speaking civilly about details helped slow his pulse from ballistic to mild foam-at-the-mouth irritation. “Lee is Seaview’s captain...”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the right captain,” Jiggs interrupted.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Only that he isn’t everything you thought he was cracked up to be. Captain Perfect allowed himself to be brainwashed.”

“Don’t be so stick-up-your-hind-end snide.” The mercury was rising again. Harry balled his hand into a fist to keep from snarling into the phone. “He didn’t allow anything. He was physically abducted, forcibly detained and conditioned to respond through torture. I’d liked to see you do any better.”

Jiggs gave a deprecatory grunt. “All I’m saying is the man has faults and flaws like the rest of us. He needed a dose of humility and he got it. Now maybe he won’t be so damn sure of himself. The fact of the matter is he can be replaced.”

“Not on my boat he can’t. You push Lee’s clearance through, Jiggs, or so help me Seaview has taken her last assignment from the Navy.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“You’ve got until 0700 tomorrow.” Harry slammed the receiver down. 

*********

Two hours later, Angie buzzed on the intercom to inform him Admiral Starke was holding on line three. Harry set aside a requisition order he’d been reviewing and fought the urge to gloat. He’d fully expected Jiggs to jump when he threatened to pull Seaview from all naval assignments; he’d just never expected him to react so quickly.

Punching down the flashing button on his phone, Harry leaned back in his chair. “Well, Jiggs, that was quick.” He didn’t quite manage to smother the smile in his voice. “I hope this means you’ve come to your senses about Lee.”

“Forget Crane.” Jiggs’ voice was brusque, all business. “I need Seaview, Harry, and I need her out of dock within the next twelve hours. Can you round up a crew that quickly? It doesn’t need to be a full complement, just enough for a retrieval mission.”

Harry frowned, alerted by the crisp tone of Jiggs’ voice. “Retrieving what?”

“An intelligence canister. We had an operative on a rival sub who was able to obtain microfilm of several key enemy missile silos. He kept his cover, but there was a reactor leak. Latest intel shows the sub lost with all hands. Our operative managed to jettison the canister before the reactor went critical. We believe it’s somewhere in the Ardelado Trench.”

Harry gave a low whistle, their earlier contention forgotten. “Too deep for most boomer or attack class submarines.”

“And too far away for comfort. There’s always the chance that reactor leak was sabotage to prevent the information contained on the microfilm from reaching us. I need Seaview’s speed, her depth capacity and, quite possibly, your diving bell.”

“You sound like you’re planning on accompanying us.”

Jiggs grunted into the phone. “My flight leaves in an hour. I’ll be there before you sail.” He paused a minute, enough for Harry to sense what was coming. “With a mission this critical, you’re going to need a captain.” 

Harry pressed his lips together. “Have you cleared Crane?”

“There’s no time for that now. I’ve managed to get you Kurt DeWitt. He’s a good man, competent and by the book. He should reach the Institute around the same time I do. He’ll be debriefed en route, up to speed by the time he gets there. We’ll talk about Crane once the canister is secure.”

“All right.” Harry didn’t want to concede the point. He wanted Lee on the mission, but he also knew how slowly the wheels of government turned and that a mission of this importance required a captain. It was going to be hard enough rounding up a crew within twelve hours, let alone pushing Lee’s security clearance through. 

“I’ll see you when you get here,” he told Jiggs and hung up the phone. He sat for a moment, staring into space, then paged Angie on the intercom.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Have Chip Morton and Mr. O’Brien report to my office immediately and send someone down to the sub for Chief Jones.”

“Yes, Sir.” She paused only briefly. “What about Captain Crane?”

“No.” Harry grimaced. “He won’t be needed for this meeting.”

Or this mission.

Harry terminated the connection and swore softly. Lee wasn’t the only one who would feel the loss.

**********

Lee was aware something was going on. He could feel a change in the air of the Institute, sensing a heightened level of activity beyond the door to his office. It was almost like the charge in the atmosphere before an electrical storm - - brooding, oppressive and dangerous. Two weeks of being under a microscope, mentally and physically, had left him with the desire to bury himself in work. He’d done little else in the three days since he’d returned, feeling the need to prove himself, to drown in the discipline of structure and order.

The alternative was to think about what had happened. What he’d almost done to the man he admired and respected above all others and to the beautiful ‘gray lady’ who’d stolen his heart and soul. What made it even worse was knowing Nelson chafed to be away, the reinstatement of Lee’s security clearance holding up the process. 

Lee knew he’d screwed up royally. He’d allowed himself to be kidnapped and brainwashed . . . had almost caused a mission critical to the security of the U.S. and the peace of the world to be aborted. Even now, he was at fault for putting the Institute and Seaview behind schedule. It was mind-boggling Nelson didn’t just sail the boat without him. He’d certainly seemed ticked enough the last few days to put to sea in a heartbeat.

They hadn’t talked all that much. Lee knew that silence was mostly his fault as he’d taken to avoiding the admiral whenever he could. How did you face a man you’d almost murdered in cold blood? Sometimes at night, he’d lay awake, remembering the awful moment when he’d stood poised with his arm extended and his finger on the trigger. Some things he couldn’t remember - - much of the abduction and torture he’d endured was blurry - - others were disturbingly sharp. Nelson’s almost-death was one of those. 

He remembered struggling, fighting the conditioning, his arm shaking as his finger tightened fraction by fraction on the trigger. Would I have pulled it?

Sucking down a shaky breath, he wiped sweat from his brow. He’d never had to answer that question as Forester had but a bullet in his shoulder, ending the dilemma for him. The arm still wasn’t completely healed despite ongoing therapy, an occasional flare of pain setting him back when he least expected it.

Absently, he rubbed his shoulder, listening to the hurried rush of footfalls beyond his closed door. Something was definitely going on. Curious, he stood, already halfway around his desk when the door opened and Nelson stepped inside.

“Admiral.” Lee came to an immediate halt at the intense look of concentration on the older man’s face. “Is something wrong?”

Nelson closed the door. “I’m sorry, Lee, I have to be brief. We’re prepping Seaview for a retrieval mission. I’m going to need your help in calling in as much of the crew as possible. Chip and Curly are working on a pre-inspection check, and I have O’Brien contacting everyone on A and B watches. We’ve got twelve hours to make the sub ready.”

“Twelve hours? That doesn’t leave much time.”

“No. There’s something else too.” Nelson paused, a look of discomfort crossing his face. “Jiggs Starke is flying in, and he’s bringing Kurt DeWitt with him. I think you served under him once.”

“Yes. A brief tour on the Fantail.” It hadn’t been anything he wanted to remember. DeWitt was more than competent, but his command style was rigid, strictly by the book. Lee had done what was expected of him as a junior officer, but he’d always had the feeling DeWitt didn’t particularly care for him. He’d never been able to pinpoint what had gone wrong between them, just that DeWitt routinely gave him shit assignments and dressed him down in front of others whenever the smallest opportunity presented itself. He’d served admirably and efficiently on the Fantail, eventually earning a commission as first lieutenant under Nelson on the Nautilus. He’d been thankful his tour on the Fantail had been brief; DeWitt’s dislike of him something he’d never fully been able to comprehend. It galled him to think the man would be taking command of his boat but, at the very least, he had to admit DeWitt was qualified. He’d bring her home in one piece.

“Can you at least tell me the circumstances?” he asked Nelson.

The admiral turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. Briefly, he outlined the mission, ending with the lost canister. “I need a captain, Lee,” he said finally. “There’s no two ways about it.”

“I understand, Sir.” Lee looked past him to a spot on the wall. Seaview would be sailing without him. Worse, she’d be helmed by a man he’d long considered a rival.

“Your security clearance still hasn’t been reinstated.”

“I understand, Sir.” His voice was terse, rigid with control, but he knew he was fooling no one.

Least of all Admiral Harriman Nelson.

**********

Harry fought the urge to explode.

He could tell by the look on Lee’s face that he’d shut off his emotions. Military discipline, control. His young captain excelled at it, hiding behind a wall of polished restraint and poise. He wanted to curse, to rant and rave, but what the hell good would it do? Lee would deny anything was wrong and go back to burying himself in paperwork, like he had for the last three days. The man had barely stuck his head outside of his office, eating little, staying late and avoiding contact with others as much as possible. Harry had a feeling he wasn’t sleeping well either. He’d always known Lee to be thin, but since returning from Mare Island, it looked like he’d dropped weight, his face drawn by gauntness and sleepless nights.

“There’s something I’d like you to do while I’m gone . . .”  He knew it had to sting like hell for Lee to learn someone else was going to captain his boat. The least he could do was make Seaview’s absence tolerable. “I’d like you to tinker around with the new air/sea craft we’ve been working on. The prototype is almost ready. Another month or two and we might be ready for a trial run.”

Unable to mask his surprise, Lee looked at him askance. “The Flying Sub? If I’m not cleared for Seaview, how do you expect me to accomplish anything with the FS prototype?”

Harry smiled grimly. Jiggs Starke and Forester might still be able to yank his chain now and then, but he’d always hold the upper hand. “The Flying Sub is mine. Until it becomes functional and operational, integrated into Seaview and her assignments, I’m the only one who has the say over what becomes of it.” He paused and grinned. “Or who works on her. You’ve logged enough hours with the design team, Lee. On paper, she’s perfect. When I come back, I want to begin testing for real. In the meantime I’d like you to prep her, make sure all the bugs are out of her system.”

Lee studied him, not quite ready to believe he was being handed such a plum assignment. “She’s never flown, and I’m still learning as a pilot, Sir.”

“True, but according to the flight instructor you’ve worked with these last several months, you would have been an ace in a dogfight.” Stepping forward, he clapped the younger man on the back. “Just run her through the basics, lad. Make sure her systems are green. I already had her moved into position in bunker two, figuring she’d be ready after a few more weeks of pre-launch testing. When I get back, we’ll take care of that security clearance problem.”

Lee hedged. “Sir, I - -”

“I know it isn’t easy,” Harry said, hoping to spare him any discomfort. “ . . . Seaview sailing without you. And I know you’ve probably got some doubts circling around in your head, but I promise you one thing - - Kurt DeWitt is a temporary stand-in. As far as I’m concerned, my submarine only has one commander. Do I make myself clear, Captain Crane?”

“Yes, Sir.” Flushing, Lee lowered his eyes. “Thank you, Sir.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t really sure he’d done all that much but, for the time, it would have to suffice. Once the mission was over he had every intention of pulling Jiggs Starke aside and laying his cards on the table - - his submarine for Lee’s security clearance. The Navy wasn’t getting one without the other.

**********

Rick Kowalski cast a secretive glance over his shoulder, listening without being obvious. Manning Seaview’s sonar station meant he often picked up on the trickle-down discussions that took place around the submarine’s plotting table. Being summoned back to duty on such short notice and late hour was unusual in itself, but having COMSUBPAC’s commander on board was far from SOP. Seaview suddenly felt like a Navy ship, especially given the absence of their young commander.

Crane had been replaced by Kurt DeWitt - - supposedly for their present assignment only. Kowalski had already decided he didn’t like the man. A good twelve years older than Crane, he had a terse demeanor about him, coupled with a no-nonsense way of approaching even the simplest tasks. Kowalski had already come to the conclusion he was no longer a seaman or even a rating, but a number - - someone who made the sonar station function during the hours of X and Y. Other than that, he might as well have been a piece of the bulkhead for all DeWitt cared.

Pissed him off too, especially given Starke was so blatantly gone on the man. The COMSUBPAC commander had already made more than one comment about how refreshing it was to have Seaview run according to the book. Kowalski had grit his teeth, biting his tongue the first time he’d heard the comment. He knew Starke didn’t particularly care for their captain, but he felt a man wasn’t a man unless he owned up to his mistakes. Starke had seen what Crane was made of when Nelson had suffered a mental breakdown as the result of a drug reaction, nearly destroying Seaview and everyone on board. If it hadn’t been for Crane’s act of mutiny they’d all be inhabitants of Davy Jones’ locker right now. 

Only four hours at sea and he already had a feeling the cruise was going to be tense, especially given the clipped conversations taking place around the plotting table. Mister Morton clearly didn’t care for their new skipper, falling into brusque military mode whenever addressed. Served DeWitt right for being such a strutting A-hole.

Their new captain had briefed them on the mission, keeping his explanations short and to the point - - enemy sub destroyed, intelligence canister to retrieve, return to port. Kowalski didn’t mind that. Crane could be as sparing with operation details when warranted. What he minded was the way DeWitt passed it down, like the crew was fortunate he’d decided to include them at all. Kowalski pitied the poor saps who served under the guy full time. There’d already been a few rumors floating around that Crane’s security clearance wasn’t going to be reinstated, and they’d be stuck with DeWitt permanently. Conrad, over in engineering, had even gone so far as to reason that’s why Starke was onboard . . . to see how DeWitt handled the operation so he could pawn the man off on Nelson indefinitely.

Surely the admiral wouldn’t stand for that. Crane seemed to be more than the average sub-driver to Nelson. The crew had already speculated about their unorthodox working relationship. It seemed to Kowalski they were far more than boss and subordinate. Sometimes, he had the impression there was a hint of a father/son dynamic between them. Nelson himself had stood in the control room during that ugly meltdown and angrily blurted “I treated you like a brother.” Kowalski was sure what he should have said was “I treated you like a son.”

And then there was Mister Morton, Crane’s best friend and roommate from Annapolis. It hadn’t taken the crew long to realize the two men were as close as brothers. The exec was plainly chafing at the bit, stuck working under DeWitt. There wasn’t a man on board who wouldn’t willingly do cartwheels to have Crane back. Their new skipper had earned the lion’s share of loyalty in a very short time. It hadn’t taken long for his bumpy start to phase into respect and admiration.

Kowalski would be the first to admit misjudging Lee Crane. Hell yes, he’d once considered Seaview’s shockingly young captain a prick of the first order, but that was before he’d gotten to know him. Before Crane had risked his life time and again for the men under him. Before he’d cast off the restrictions of command and placed himself in the field of danger, not once, or even twice, but as a matter of routine. The guy was crazy, a bit of an adrenalin junkie in Ski’s opinion. Didn’t he realize he was a captain and could pawn dangerous assignments off on the men under him? Having a commander who took risks along with his crew was a novelty in Kowalski’s book, but he was already getting used to it, accepting it as routine where Crane was concerned.

And then there was his relaxed command style, a friendly informality that eased the barriers between officers and crew. Kowalski had found himself selected more than once as personal back-up for Seaview’s new captain, an oddity in itself given he’d been the most vocal about Crane’s shortcomings on their first voyage.

In truth, the man didn’t have many inadequacies, at least none that mattered. Kowalski had just been blowing hot air because Crane had gotten the better of him, decking him when he’d first come aboard. Bruised pride didn’t heal overnight.

But it did heal.

He still hadn’t quite resolved why Crane continued to single him out as a diving partner given their initial animosity, but the pairing was wearing him down. Somewhere over the past several months his opinion of Lee Crane had altered drastically. Maybe Crane had been brainwashed like everyone was saying - - there was no way he would have tried to harm the admiral or Seaview otherwise - - but Kowalski knew he wouldn’t have gone easy. The Lee Crane he’d come to know would have fought the conditioning tooth-and-nail, resisting under torture until the last. Which was why it irked him to see Kurt DeWitt strutting around Seaview like she belonged to him and to hear Starke trumpeting about the refreshing change of discipline.

Screw that. Kowalski wanted to hurl.

There was only one captain for Seaview and if anyone asked his opinion, he’d be damn sure to tell them exactly who that was.

**********

It hadn’t been easy watching Seaview leave port without him.

Lee should have been tired - - it was after 2300 hours when the boat finally left dock and he’d been at the Institute since 0600, but he was too aggravated to think about rest. Sleep usually just degenerated into another round of nightmares anyway.

He’d been careful to keep that from Forester while at Mare Island, but the images sometimes woke him in a cold sweat . . . the ugly memory of what he’d done to Spencer, what he’d almost done to Nelson and the boat. Fortunately, Spencer had fully recovered from the electrical shock Lee triggered at his station. He’d made it clear he didn’t hold a grudge, but Lee couldn’t help harboring feelings of guilt. 

Other times his dreams were filled with shadowy images of the torture he’d suffered. He remembered the disruption device his captors had used on him . . . a cage . . . later being strapped to a chair . . . a disembodied voice - - always the voice - - pain ripping his skull apart when the voice grew displeased by one of his answers. 

Seated at his desk, he closed his eyes, uncertain if he wanted to block the memories or embrace them in hopes they would cease. He’d stupidly allowed himself be captured, falling for a move a rank amateur would have spotted with little trouble. At first he hadn’t been able to remember, but the pieces eventually came together, fitting into place while he was still at Mare Island.  

**********

PAST:

“Commander Lee Crane?”

Lee glanced up as he finished signing for the check at The Cove, the restaurant he and Chip had chosen for a late night meal after leaving N.I.M.R. together. The hostess who had seated them, a pretty brunette with coffee-colored eyes and a pleasant smile stood to the side of the table watching him expectantly.

“Yes?”

“There’s a call for you from a Mr. Ryan. Something about an alarm?” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “You can take it in the lobby if you’d like.”

Lee sighed. Jim Ryan was his next door neighbor, a retired high school principal who with nothing better to do had turned into a busybody. At first Lee liked the idea of someone keeping an eye on his condo and car when he was away on Seaview, but Ryan’s friendly offer had quickly deteriorated into an ongoing disaster. The man meant well, but he’d taken it upon himself to become Lee’s personal caretaker. He’d even talked Lee into having a security system installed on his condo since he was away so frequently. Ryan’s brother had just started a business marketing residential alarms and offered to do it for free to test out the system. Unfortunately, half the time it simply didn’t work or, worse yet, went off when it shouldn’t. The Santa Barbara PD had already threatened to fine him if he didn’t fix it soon. More than likely something had set the silly thing off and the SBPD had called Ryan, his back-up. Jim, no doubt, had tracked him down through the Institute.

“Thanks,” he told the hostess, his lack of enthusiasm obvious. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Chip grinned as she headed back to the lobby. “Another alarm malfunction?”

“Sounds like it. One of these days I really am going to have to look for a home along the coast. Condo living just doesn’t cut it.” Standing, he tucked his credit card into his wallet. “You might as well head out of here, Chip. I’ll probably be tied up for awhile with Jim.”

“Yeah. I seem to remember it takes him ten minutes to say what most people would in two.” Chip pushed from his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Are we still on at the country club tomorrow?”

“Tee time’s nine o’clock.” Lee walked with him toward the lobby. “Surf and turf on the line?”

Chip gave a short laugh. “Why not? You’ll only end up buying.”

Lee shook his head, tempted to remind his friend he’d been the one who’d ended up buying the last two times but decided to wait until tomorrow to rub salt in the wound. With a backward wave of his hand, he went in search of the pretty brunette hostess and his phone call. 

She gave him a bright smile, pointing out a phone tucked on a small table in the corner. “Punch down line one, Commander. Your call should still be holding.” 

“Thanks.”

She smiled again, friendlier this time, and he decided it might be worth getting her name and number when he was through with Jim. It felt like eons since he’d been on a date, his last relationship like so many others before, ending badly when the woman decided he valued Seaview and his career over her. Maybe it was time to play the field for awhile and have some fun without growing attached. The problem was he’d never been good at keeping his heart out of it.

The thoughts were still swirling around in his head when he picked up the receiver. “Hi, Jim.”

He heard the hiss of an open line, but no answer.

“Jim?” Was it possible his neighbor had gotten tired of waiting?

Lee paused, but the line abruptly went dead. Feeling a strange spike of fear, he toggled the hang up button and dialed his neighbor’s phone. True the security system was a pain in his posterior, but he also remembered the lesson of the boy who’d cried wolf. What if something had happened? What if someone had attempted a break-in, Jim had decided to nose around and landed in a vat of trouble as a result?

Impatiently, Lee listened as the phone cycled through several rings. When there was no answer, he hung up quickly and headed for the back parking lot where he’d left his car. It was probably a lot of nothing he tried to reassure himself, another false alarm, and Jim had simply grown tired of waiting. He’d no doubt find his neighbor sitting at home anxious to explain yet another call from the SBPD and his brother’s ideas for correcting the flaws in the system.

Distracted, Lee stepped outside. It had grown dark during dinner, his car one of the few remaining vehicles in the lot. Head bent, he dug into his pocket for his keys. He never heard the rush of footfalls behind him or the crunch of gravel until it was too late. Someone grabbed him from behind, locking a massive arm across his throat. A saturated cloth descended over his nose and mouth, the slightly sweet scent spiking directly to his head. He drove an elbow into the man behind him, but the behemoth merely grunted, never slackening his grip. Lee clawed at the hand with the cloth, forcing himself not to breathe, but he knew even as his surroundings began to spin and grow faint that he’d inhaled too much. 

Losing consciousness, he slumped into the arms of his attacker.

**********

PRESENT:

Tired, Lee rubbed his eyes. He knew now that Jim hadn’t been involved in the setup any more than the hostess at the restaurant. The phone call had been staged, a diversion to separate him from Chip so he’d be alone and preoccupied when he headed to his car, less likely to note the man who’d overpowered him. Forester had drilled him repeatedly about his abduction, trying to get him to remember faces, sounds, surroundings, but the chloroform had taken him down much too quickly. When he woke hours later, his head pounding, it had been to the bars of a cage.

Time to stop thinking about it. Time to head home.

He cringed at the thought of the nightmares sleep would bring, but his body needed the break. He knew he’d been pushing himself too hard since returning from Mare Island. Forester’s “debriefing” had been nothing short of an interrogation. Coupled with the psych exams, medical sessions and therapy for the bullet wound in his arm, he’d left the base dog-tired, careful to conceal the fatigue. Having his security clearance reinstated was his top priority and he knew that wouldn’t happen if he allowed his exhaustion to show.

Once back in Santa Barbara, he’d immersed himself in work, believing long hours at the Institute would block unwanted memories and help atone for the wretched mistake he’d made by letting himself be captured and brainwashed. 

Lee pulled on his jacket, wincing slightly at the stiffness in his wounded arm. It would be several weeks before he regained full mobility. His shoulder still locked up on occasion or protested with bursts of latent pain. He’d pop a few aspirin, catch a few hours of restless sleep then return early tomorrow and fiddle around with the FS prototype as Nelson instructed. 

He’d been so concerned the admiral had lost faith in him and was angry about what had taken place, but thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case. Still, it bothered Lee to know Kurt DeWitt had command of the Seaview, especially given Jiggs Starke was onboard. Would the COMSUBPAC commander try to convince Nelson it was easier to take DeWitt on full time rather than have Lee reinstated? He’d always thought the Navy - - along with occasional forays for ONI - - was his life, but now that he’d had a taste of commanding Nelson’s gray lady, Lee knew no other sub would do. Even more, he’d become an integral part of N.I.M.R., a position he didn’t want to lose.

Grabbing his suitcase, he switched off the light and paused, framed in the doorway of his office. 

He’d just have to believe his relationship with Nelson was stronger than any objection or enticement Jiggs Starke could toss at his long-time friend.

**********

Chip Morton marked off the latest course adjustment on the plotting table aware of the tension in the control room. Normally, the mood was relaxed, each crewman vigilant but comfortable enough to feel at ease. That had all changed with the passage of the last fifty hours. A little over two days at sea and Chip already felt a burning desire to return to port.

He’d made a marked effort to connect with Kurt DeWitt - - at least for the single voyage while the man acted as captain of Seaview - - but there was no meeting of the minds between them. As with the crew, there was always an undercurrent of friction in everything DeWitt ordered him to do. Chip knew he was partially to blame. DeWitt probably sensed he disliked having Lee’s position usurped, even if only temporarily. Adept at presenting a neutral expression even when he felt strongly about something Chip maintained his usual professionalism, but he was sure DeWitt read between the lines.

It didn’t help that everywhere Chip went on the boat he heard grumbling from the crew. Between DeWitt and Starke it was like being shoved under a microscope twenty-four hours a day, each task and job dissected for flaws in performance. Nelson did what he could to ease the tension, but he was clearly distracted with the mission itself. In another five hours they would be in position to retrieve the canister.

“Mister Morton, this is Sparks.” The call came over the intercom, jerking him from his thoughts. “Can you come to the radio shack, Sir?”

Chip retrieved the hand-mike from the plotting table and replied in the affirmative. Across from him DeWitt raised his head, sparing a sharp glance, but made no comment. Chip knew Nelson and Starke were in the observation nose and silently wished the captain had joined them. The mood of the control room would have been far more relaxed without DeWitt and his tight-lipped stares.

“What is it, Sparks?” he asked when he reached the radio shack. He was alarmed to see the junior officer had the control panel pulled apart and was fiddling with its guts. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” Sparks frowned. “I’ve lost outside communication on all frequencies. It looks like we had a short that fried the main circuit board. Internal operation is functioning, but it’s going to be several hours until I can get this working again.” He shook his head. “Assuming I can.”

Chip felt a spike of alarm. Was it coincidence they were nearing the coordinates of the intelligence canister only to have their radio transmission capabilities fail?

“What do you mean ‘assuming you can?’?”

Sparks appeared troubled. “I can’t tell how extensive the damage is, Sir, or even if we have the necessary parts onboard for repairs. We left in such a hurry.”

“But communication was functioning in the pre-check,” Chip protested. He felt a presence behind him and immediately tensed, pressing his lips together.

“Mister Morton,” a flat voice intoned. “What’s going on here?”

Chip turned to find DeWitt behind him, hands clasped at his back, eyes narrowed in shrewd appraisal.

“Sir.” Unconsciously, Chip stiffened his posture. “We’ve lost outside communication. Sparks is working on it, but - -”

“Wasn’t this station checked prior to departure?” DeWitt cut him off curtly.

“Yes, Sir. All aspects were functioning. Since then we’ve - -”

“How long for repairs?”

Chip made an effort not to grind his teeth. “We were just discussing that, Sir.” He looked to Sparks expectantly.

The radio officer gave a slight shrug, one hand braced on the control panel face. “Five hours, possibly more depending on the extent of the damage and whether or not I have the necessary parts.”

“Very well.” DeWitt gave a grunt of acknowledgement. “Do what you can. Given Parker was the radio operator on your last mission, it’s possible he rigged the interface with a delayed trigger. Either that or Crane planted something.”

“The boat’s been swept clean,” Chip snapped, fueled by a reactionary spike of anger. “And Lee Crane didn’t plant anything.”

DeWitt eyed him disapprovingly. He waited a beat - - enough for Chip to realize he’d overstepped his bounds, neglecting proper respect - - then shifted his attention to Sparks. “Carry on, Lieutenant, and keep me informed of your progress. Mister Morton, I will speak with you forward.”

Chip closed his eyes, balling his hands in frustration as the man turned away. The forthcoming lecture he could live with. 

The rest of the cruise was going to be a challenge.

**********

PAST:

Lee woke with a low moan, his head pounding from the lingering effects of chloroform. There was a sweet burning taste in his mouth and his gut had contracted into a congealed knot. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit, conscious of a cold slab beneath him. Rolling onto his side, he tried to push upright but found his wrists manacled together in front of him. His jacket and tie were gone, one sleeve pushed above the elbow. A peripheral catheter, no longer than an inch, had been inserted near the crook of his arm. It was the kind used to administer intravenous drugs.  

Twisting his wrists, he strained against the shackles until he could stretch his fingers far enough to claw the edge of the tube. It blundered free with a sharp pinch, leaving a bright streak of blood in its wake. God only knew what they’d pumped into him. Some kind of truth serum or hallucinogenic? Other than the roiling of his gut and the sickly sweet taste of the chloroform, he didn’t think he was experiencing side effects of an unknown narcotic. Sitting upright, he pressed his back to the wall and tried to get his bearings.   

It took only a second for the reality to register - - he was in a cage.

Lee licked his lips, his mouth dry. The barred prison was narrow and cramped, no larger than a transport crate. The ceiling hovered a foot above his head and the length fell short of being able to stretch out his legs. The walls and ceiling were constructed of rough-cut stone, the base a slab of cold concrete. He couldn’t really call it a floor as the cage had been recessed into a wall approximately five feet above the ground. Only the front was barred, the metal spokes flush with the stone on either side.

Beyond was a room of some sort, bare of adornment or furnishings. He couldn’t judge how large it was, the perimeter draped in darkness. A pair of flood lamps illuminated the cage in a blinding swath of brightness, placing him on display while leaving the remainder of the room in shadow. He felt like one of Nelson’s lab specimens, trapped in a tank.

He was still trying to get his bearings when he heard the scrape of a door in the distance. Footfalls followed, echoing crisply. Lee squinted, trying to see past the halo of light and was rewarded by the shadowy image of someone standing on the fringe. He could just make out a pair of legs in coarse black trousers, leather shoes; a sport coat in an undeterminable dark shade. A webbing of shadow kept the upper half of the man’s body concealed, everything above his chest masked in darkness.

“Commander Crane.” The man’s voice was deep but muffled as though he spoke through a filter. “We have much to accomplish in the next forty-eight hours.” 

“Who are you?” Lee demanded. “What drug did you give me?” The heat of the lamps made perspiration break out on his upper lip.  

“Who I am doesn’t matter. The drug, you might find interesting. It’s intended to make you more receptive to our agenda. Open-minded, if you will. It acts directly on the brain. In a short while, coupled with other encouragement - -” a cold smile entered his voice, “- - you should come around to our way of thinking.”

“And what is that?”

“All in good time. For the moment, I’m curious - - do you like your cage?”

Lee said nothing. 

The man waited a moment in silence. “Very well. Let’s start with something simple. What day is it, Commander?”

“This is pointless. Tell me who you are. What you want.”

“I want to know what day it is.”

“It’s Friday,” Lee snapped. Was it Friday? How long had he been under? A stealthy glance at his watch confirmed only a few hours had lapsed since his abduction, placing the time at just after 11:00 p.m.

The man chuckled humorlessly. “Ah, but that is where you’re wrong. It is whatever day I tell you it is, and I have decided it’s Wednesday.” He paused. “What day is it, Commander?”

Again Lee said nothing.

The man lifted a small rectangular box no longer than three inches. In the light of the flood lamps, Lee could see it was putty-colored with a black dial recessed into the face. “I’m sure you’re aware of conditioning . . . rats in a cage . . . the concept of punishment for failure. This device is a Disruptor. It plays havoc with the electrical impulses of the heart. I didn’t create it, but then I’m not a scientist or a doctor, merely the operator. With a single twist of the knob, I can slow or accelerate the beat of your heart . . . cause pressure and pain . . . make it feel like your chest is caving in and leave you gasping for air. The higher I push the dial, the more erratic and agitated your heartbeat becomes. Quite ingenious really. It has the potential to induce cardiac arrest in anyone within a radius of ten feet.”

He thumbed the dial and Lee felt pressure balloon in his chest. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. “You’d be affected too.”

“Ah, but you see, that’s the beauty of it. I’ve been fitted with an implant below my left ear that renders me immune.” 

In the half-light of the room, Lee saw the man’s fingers caress the dial. “Now . . . let’s begin again. I’ve told you it’s Wednesday. What day is it, Commander?”

Lee stayed silent.

The man twisted the dial and agony ripped through his chest, leaving him gasping in pain.

**********

PRESENT:

Lee jerked upright, jarred from sleep by the ringing of the phone. It took him a moment to realize he’d fallen asleep at his desk, head cradled in his arms. The dream - - memories, he mentally corrected - - left him shaken, feeling nauseous. Drenched in sweat, he dragged both hands over his face, trying to slow his rapid breathing. At his elbow, the phone shrieked again.

“Crane,” he said, snatching it from the receiver, conscious of the brittle anxiety in his voice. 

“I took a chance I’d catch you there,” a man’s voice crackled through the line. “This is Forester.”

Lee’s gut contracted. The man held his career in the palm of his hand and a phone call at - - he shot a quick glance to the wall clock noting it was after 2100 - - could only bode ill. Unconsciously, he held his breath waiting for the news on his security clearance. But when Forester broke the silence, it had nothing to do with his pending reinstatement.

“There’s a problem you should know about. It involves Seaview.”

Lee shook away the residue of the dream, trying to clear his head. His pulse was slowing, his breathing returning to normal. “What about Seaview?”

“We’ve had a breakthrough with Parker . . . managed to crack his conditioning.”

Parker was the radio operator responsible for blowing out Seaview’s herculite window on their last mission. Like Lee, he too had been abducted and brainwashed, then planted on Seaview in the event Lee failed to destroy the missile silos and bring down the sub. He’d also been the one feeding Lee orders while on the boat, though Lee hadn’t known it at the time. Forester had shot him before he could destroy the submarine, but he’d survived the wound and, like Lee, had been taken to Mare Island for debriefing.

His conditioning, however, had been far more deeply ingrained. It was suspected he’d been a prisoner of the People’s Republic for almost a month when he was supposedly on leave caring for a sick family member. At Mare Island, Lee had heard rumors of Parker’s prognosis - - that he wouldn’t recover without intense counseling and intervention.

“We can’t get complete details from him, but Parker’s admitted to rigging several booby traps on Seaview.”

“What kind?” Lee sat forward in his chair. 

“Explosive devices, delayed triggers . . . we’re not entirely sure. It’s possible it may even be a false alarm. He’s talking a lot of gibberish but we can’t take the chance with Seaview en route to retrieve that intelligence canister.”

Lee frowned at Forester’s priorities. No mention of the men onboard or the potential cost of lives, just the damn canister. “The boat was swept before she sailed.” But they hadn’t found anything, which lead Lee to believe the devices could still be in place, well hidden. Ticking time bombs. “Did you raise the sub?”

“That’s the problem. Her communications are down. All of them - - radio, vid phone. We’ve been trying for the last hour without success. Someone needs to get a message to that boat, but our nearest vessel, the Kirkland Dunn, is two days out. I thought you might have something at the Institute. Another communications channel.”

“No.” His mind raced as he tried to think of alternatives.

Forester exhaled into the phone. “All right. I’ll have to work with the Dunn. If Seaview were on the surface we might be able to get a message to her by air, but last report had her running deep.”

“Two days is too long, Forester. The communications drop could be the result of one of Parker’s traps.”

“I’ve thought of that but there’s not much more we can do. I’ll keep you apprised of any progress.” He hung up the phone before Lee could say anything further.

Damn.

He was partially to blame for Seaview’s mess. He’d stood by the last time, letting himself be used as an instrument of the boat’s destruction. He owed it to Seaview and his crew to do whatever was necessary to make sure she returned safely to port. If there were only a quicker way of reaching her. A way of . . .

He stopped suddenly as a new thought registered. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he picked up the phone and punched out a number. A man answered on the fourth ring.

“Delandro, this is Captain Crane. I need you back at the Institute immediately.”

***********

Harry took a drag off his cigarette, watching the man who stood staring out Seaview’s massive herculite windows. The canister had been recovered 20 minutes before, now securely locked in his cabin safe. External communications were still down, but everything else was running smoothly.

Except the crew.

Except Chip Morton.

Except himself if he were honest. The boat wasn’t the same without Lee aboard. It felt somehow wrong to have another captain commanding her. DeWitt was certainly capable, but there was something about him that didn’t sit right with Harry. He couldn’t really put his finger on it, had half convinced himself he was merely biased because he was so close to Lee, yet something nagged at the back of his mind. Something out of place.

Jiggs turned from the window with a satisfied grin. “Smooth operation, Harriman,” he said, obviously pleased by how effortlessly the canister had been retrieved.

“Our communications are down,” Harry reminded him. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Jiggs shrugged. “Probably missed in the rush to get her out of port. We accomplished what we set out to do. Your man’s working on repairing the radio. If the enemy planned trouble for us, we would have encountered it before now.” Pulling out a chair, he joined Harry at a rectangular conference table. “DeWitt’s handled everything well, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry made a vague sound, not caring for the look in Jiggs’ eyes. He’d known his friend too long not to sense where he was headed.

“Good man,” Jiggs declared, referring to DeWitt. “Capable captain. Commands respect.”

Harry scowled. Not from Seaview’s crew he didn’t. If the grumbling he’d overheard was any indication, the man was tolerated solely because there was no other option. Jiggs had force-fed DeWitt on them with little notice. Harry supposed he could have sailed with Chip in command, but a critical mission required a captain. “Your point?” he asked.

Jiggs stretched comfortably, the scooped back of his chair squeaking with the movement. “Just that he’s handy in a bind. I happen to know I could get him from the Navy without too much trouble.”

Harry crushed his cigarette in a large black ashtray, giving no indication he knew where the conversation was headed. He’d make Jiggs squirm through the suggestion, then damn well tell him what he could do with it. “Why do that?”

Dropping the pretense, Jiggs exhaled. “Look, Harriman. I rely on this boat of yours. I’d feel a lot more comfortable with a man I can trust commanding her.”

“Meaning you can’t trust Crane?”

“He was compromised.”

“We’ve been through that.”

“So you think.” Jiggs held his ground. “He’s cocky and he’s too damn young.”

“His age has nothing to do with it, and he could run rings around any captain you put him up against. DeWitt included.”

“Don’t be bullheaded, Harry.” Jiggs dropped a heavy fist on the table. “You’re too close to him. I saw that the last time I was onboard. You let him get away with things you’d skewer anyone else for. Hell, you even threatened to pull Seaview if I don’t reinstate his security clearance. ”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Harry’s lips thinned in annoyance. “I grant you Lee can be a handful. He’s willful and not timid about speaking his mind, but I decide who’s best for my boat. And it isn’t DeWitt.”

Not easily put off, Jiggs glowered from beneath his brows. “DeWitt is old Navy. He’s disciplined. He’s thorough, competent, and knows his place.”

“He’s not Lee Crane.” 

Jiggs blew out a breath in exasperation. “Hell’s bells, Harry! What is it about this man that’s got you so sold?”

Harry grinned, sitting back in his chair. Just that quickly his aggravation drained. He knew Jiggs was only trying to do what he thought best, but his friend was clueless. “If you knew Lee like I do, you wouldn’t have to ask. You’re not going to pawn DeWitt off on me, so get the idea out of your head. I’m not the only one who’s loyal to Crane. Morton and the entire crew would mutiny.” He pointed a finger at his longtime friend. “I got your canister. Get Lee his clearance. End of discussion.”

***********

Samuel Delandro was one of N.I.M.R’s chief engineers and had worked closely with Nelson on the design of the Flying Sub. He knew her inside and out, and the one thing he could easily say for certain - - as close as she was to being complete, she wasn’t ready for launch.

“Captain Crane, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said for the fourth time in the last hour. Hunched over the control panel, he could feel himself sweating as he double checked the circuits. The small sub had only made a handful of forays underwater, and she’d never been airborne. As far as he knew Crane hadn’t even been behind the controls, though the young commander had contributed significantly to her design.

Delandro wiped the back of his hand across his forehead mopping up sweat. The FS was Nelson’s brainchild. He didn’t even want to think what would happen to anyone responsible for cracking it up. Pushing her to the limits now was almost certain to result in catastrophe. “Maybe in a few weeks,” he said, making his thoughts vocal. “Some more adjustments . . . an in-depth study of her components. There should be a crew here. A full monitoring and launch team - -”

“We don’t have time for that,” Lee cut him off. Seated in the pilot’s chair, he ran through a test of the main instrumentation, carefully checking the responsiveness and integrity of each component.

Samuel bit his lip. The man was determined. More than that, he looked hell-bent to push the small submarine from its temporary pen. Samuel understood the need for haste given what Crane had told him, but he also worried whether or not the captain was up to the task. It was no secret Crane had practically lived at the Institute since returning from Mare Island, burying himself in work until the wee hours of the morning. Even now, he looked worn out, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. If he was going to be alert enough to pilot something as untried as the FS, he needed a few hours of sleep under his belt.

“All right.” Coming to a conclusion, Samuel exhaled with conviction. If Nelson decided to string him up for his part in aiding Crane, he’d have to accept the consequences. “It’s going to take me at least three hours to get everything green for launch. You look beat, Captain.”

Hunched over the console, Lee didn’t bother raising his head. “I’m fine.”

Samuel frowned but kept his retort to himself. “Maybe so, but you need to be more than fine to operate something as untested as the Flying Sub. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s still experimental.” When Lee looked at him sharply, Samuel jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the cot in the rear. “Why don’t you sack out for a few hours? I’ll call if I need you.”

Lee shook his head, still tinkering. “I’m too keyed up to sleep.”

Somehow Samuel didn’t think that was true. He had a feeling given the chance Crane would crash quickly, the adrenalin that sustained him depleted hours ago. Delandro frowned, then tried another tactic. “How about clearing out anyway? This will go a lot faster if I work alone. Give me until 0200, Captain, and she’ll be ready for launch.”

Crane hesitated, a look of indecision on his face. At last he nodded and pushed from the pilot’s seat. Samuel saw him wince and rub his shoulder as if he’d jarred it. It was then he remembered the bullet Crane had taken and guessed the wound was still healing. He didn’t say anything, hoping his silence would help usher Crane along. In the next few minutes, the captain had stretched out on a padded rack recessed into the bulkhead, his eyes closing the second he laid down.

Samuel smirked and continued working. 

Not tired, huh?

The absolute stillness of Crane’s body told him the captain had already fallen into a deep sleep.

PAST:

Lee lay on his back gulping for breath, the coarse stone of his prison spinning above him. His tormentor, still lingering in the shadows, had taken his fingers off the Disruptor device, giving him a momentary break from the pain. He didn’t know how long the reprieve would last, only that his heart continued to thump frantically despite the lull, his breath ragged and harsh. He’d lost count of how many times the man had asked what day it was, his refusal to answer or his insistence it was Friday, earning a savage twist of the Disruptor’s dial. 

He knew the demand for a specific response had nothing to do with the day of the week. It was about control and subjugation, the question used solely as a base for establishing power. The minute Lee gave in and answered as the man coached, he’d be opening the door to more conditioning. The next question or command would have little to do with anything as mundane as Fridays or Wednesdays.

“Commander. This is growing tiresome, don’t you think?” The by-now-familiar voice intruded on his thoughts. He’d come to hate the sound of it, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. If only his heart would slow down, the pain forking across his ribs like a knife even now. He couldn’t catch his breath . . . splayed a hand over his shirt as his chest heaved up and down. Beneath the manacles his wrists were chafed and bloody. 

“You’re more resistant to our drug than most,” the man said coolly, “and clearly adept at holding up under torture. You’re to be commended, but your defiance is pointless. In the end, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

Lee ignored the taunt. “Who are you? What do you want?” How many times had he asked those same questions? How many times had he glanced to the side only to see the man caressing the Disruptor, his fingertips poised on the dial? A simple twist of the knob and Lee knew he’d be writhing in pain, sweat dripping from him as the agony ripped a scream from his throat. Did others watch from the darkness as he lay exposed in the hot beams of light, or was he alone with his tormentor?

“You may call me ‘Wynter,’” the man said. “As for what I want, you already know the answer.” He paused deliberately. “I want to know what day it is.”

Lee closed his eyes, stifling a groan. He tensed, expecting a prolonged jolt of pain for his refusal to answer. Surprisingly, it didn’t come, and after a few seconds he opened his eyes.

Wynter paced in the darkness, his footfalls echoing beyond the sweltering splatter of light. “You’re a difficult man, Captain Crane.”

Ignoring him, Lee struggled to sit up. His clothes were plastered to him, sticky and gummy with sweat. Phantom pain skittered across his ribs, rooted in the savage grip of the fist around his heart. Lips parted, he panted for air. Perspiration dripped from his bangs and gleamed in the hollow of his throat. He knuckled it from his eyes as he pushed upright, bracing himself in the corner of the cage. Wearily, he sank against the wall, trying to steady himself for the next round of torture. How long had Wynter kept at him? It was clever to inflict so much pain without leaving a mark on him. Only the manacles had done damage, scoring his skin when agony made him writhe against the restraints. How much longer could he hold up under the torment? Such a simple thing . . . ‘what day is it?’

He ground his teeth.

Wynter stopped his restless pacing. “This surely can’t be pleasant for you, Commander. Even lab rats learn from punishment. When are you going to realize that’s all you are - - a rat in a cage and this is a learning session.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Lee snarled.

“Do not test my patience. We have a short window to accomplish your conditioning. If that means increasing the level and duration of the Disruptor’s influence, I have no qualms about hearing you scream.” Wynter stepped closer, his face still concealed by darkness but his hands visible. This time, he didn’t massage the dial but gripped it tightly. “I’ll ask you again. What day is it, Commander?”

Lee steeled himself for the inevitable. “A cold day in hell, you bastard.”

Wynter wrenched the dial to the right and a keen-edged butcher knife ripped through Lee’s chest. The pain was so abrupt, so intense, he couldn’t find the breath to scream. Gasping, he doubled over. His heart triple-timed, accelerating and lurching through a string of spasms. Sweat broke over him, cold and clammy, reeking of leathery fear. Is this how it felt to die . . . to have his heart and lungs reduced to thready pulp?

His body contorted, convulsing under the strain. Curling onto his side, he dragged his knees close to his chest. A wave of intense nausea bubbled up from his gut, pain and pressure building with each frenzied, irregular beat of his heart. He clutched at his shirt, choking on a strangled cry.

Wynter wrenched the dial higher. “What day is it, Commander?”

The pain exploded. Blunt and dagger-sharp at the same time, driving and crawling into his brain. Lee screamed, twisting in the small cage, panting for breath.

“What day is it, Commander?”

It wouldn’t stop. God, he wanted it to stop! Just for a second. To breathe without agony, to have the near-delirium of life without pain. His whole body was quaking now, shuddering under the relentless torment. There was a sound in his head . . . coarse and raw, clattering against his eardrums. He thought it might have been himself screaming . . . didn’t know how he could survive a moment longer. Another second and his heart would burst, the pain a scalpel wedged tightly in his chest.

Such a simple thing . . .

“What day is it, Commander?”

I can’t. I can’t . . .

“What day - -”

“Wednesday,” Lee choked.

Just that quickly the pain stopped. Still he struggled for air, his chest heaving up and down with each jagged inhalation. The terrible pressure eased from his chest, and the extreme bliss of that release made him moan aloud. Trembling, he fought to catch his breath, rolling his head on the concrete slab.

“There, you see.” He heard footsteps. Wynter remained in the shadows, but he stretched out a hand, reaching through the bars. “You can learn after all.”

Lee felt papery fingertips settle on his brow. “You did well, Captain. We’ll take a short break then start fresh with lesson two. By tomorrow we’ll be able to let you out of your cage and introduce you to the Chair. It’s as good an instructor as the device I’ve been using tonight. Hopefully, there won’t be a need for the lessons to be as long. Do yourself a favor, Captain Crane, and become a quick learner. You’ll find it a lot less painful.”

**********

PRESENT:

Lee bent over the toilet, waiting for his gut to stop contracting. Standing, he dragged a shaky hand over his lips and turned to the sink. He cranked the water on cold, then bent to gulp a mouthful and spit the sour taste of stomach acid from his throat. Since leaving Mare Island the dreams had grown intense, increasingly disturbing. Forester would have a field day if he knew . . . the perfect excuse to write him off as damaged and ship him back to the regular Navy for a low-security desk job. 

He’d kept the memories suppressed before, subconsciously closing his mind rather than recalling the torment. Wynter, the cage, the baking glare of flood lamps - - it had been easier to forget than admit the humiliation and agony.

What day is it, Commander?

Staying hunched over the sink, Lee doused his face with water. The dream had awakened him in a cold sweat, his gut roiling with nausea. Fortunately, he’d been able to bow out through the back hatch of the Flying Sub before Delandro noticed how ill he was. He’d made it to the head just as his stomach rebelled. Too little sleep and his own personal cache of demons were finally catching up with him. Add in too much work, not enough food, and he was a prime candidate for a major crash. He knew he had to get it together if he wanted to regain command of Seaview. 

Grabbing a handful of paper towels from the wall dispenser, Lee blotted his face dry. He shut off the water and flushed the toilet, dumping the soiled towels in the trash. All he needed was a minute, just a minute to forget the damn dream and the horror of what Wynter had done to him.

What day is it, Commander?

He sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. It’s Thursday, you sick son-of-a-bitch. He hadn’t killed Nelson, he hadn’t blown up Seaview. Somehow despite everything Wynter had done to him, some part of his own integrity had lingered beneath the conditioning. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. If Forester hadn’t shot him, he liked to believe he would have unloaded the weapon into the bulkhead before turning it on his friend. The brainwashing might have twisted his thinking, but it hadn’t corrupted his heart. 

Collecting himself, he shot a glance at his watch. 02:17.  Delandro would have finished the pre-system tests on the Flying Sub. 

It was time to see if Nelson’s latest brainchild would fly.

**********

Lee knew the fastest way to cover distance was by air. The launch more smoothly than he thought, the stingray-like craft gliding through the water with sustained power. There was a small glitch shortly after he’d cleared the harbor when a warning claxon alerted him to a potential circuit failure. He double-checked the instrumentation and realized it was a false reading, kicked back by a loose connection. There were bound to be a few bugs along the way, he just hoped he could compensate. Nelson had told him to prep the Flying Sub but had given no orders to launch her. Realistically, Lee knew he was tempting fate by taking the sleek vessel out months before she was ready. There was nothing like field testing something during the heat of a mission, especially when piloting was still fairly new to him. He’d logged enough air miles to be comfortable with most one to two-man aircrafts, but the Flying Sub was a creature all her own.  

It took him a while to get used to the controls, the dual joysticks awkward until he grew accustomed to their responsiveness. He was well out of the harbor, deep into the ocean before he pulled back and angled the sub into the air. Power and acceleration built, thrumming through the frame and the bulkhead, propelling him like a bullet to the surface. The water burst apart, erupting in a glittering fountain as the Flying Sub launched into a sky still black with night. Unconsciously, Lee held his breath, fighting the controls for stability as he switched to night vision. He gained altitude then eased back on the throttle, allowing the vessel to plane into a smooth flight trajectory. At last check, he estimated the Dunn wouldn’t reach Seaview for another twenty-two hours. He’d be there in seven.

Carefully, he checked the instrumentation, praying the vessel would hold true to its design. If he lost air lift or stability and the sub crashed into the sea, he’d not only fail in reaching Seaview, but doom himself as well. He had no way of communicating with the sub, and transmissions between the FS and the Institute were spotty at best, a flaw that still required fine tuning. If he got into a jam he’d have to hope Samuel Delandro could send him assistance.

He made an adjustment to his air speed, compensating for density, pushing the system to maximum. Once he reached Seaview docking would be another problem. He hoped to align the small sub with the hatch for the diving bell, but with Seaview’s external communication down he had no means of relaying that plan. Hopefully, the sub’s sonar wasn’t out too.

Five hours into the flight he felt himself growing tired, fighting to stay awake. He’d watched dawn break over the horizon twenty minutes before, the sun spreading below in a vibrant yolk of tangerine and gold. Yawning, he tilted his head and massaged the back of his neck, trying to loosen a stubborn crick.

It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t eaten anything in the last thirty hours. Coupled with the limited amount of sleep he’d been getting, he was starting to feel the crippling effects of fatigue. Even the few hours of rest he’d grabbed while Delandro prepped the FS had been restless, plagued with disturbing memories and dreams.

Lee cursed softly and rubbed his eyes. He needed to stay alert, focused on the task at hand. Yet even as the thought registered, images that rarely haunted him during daylight hours crept into his mind - - a chair in a bare room, straps across his arms and chest binding him tightly  . . . Wynter’s voice booming from the distance, the crackle of electricity, a hot, searing pain in his head.  

“You’re not concentrating, Commander. ‘I am an agent of the People’s Republic.’ Say it after me.”

Lee ground his teeth, sucked down an unsteady breath. He was beginning to sweat, the small confines of the Flying Sub as abruptly restricting as the cage they’d penned him in. His hands were trembling. Maybe Forester was right. Maybe he was unfit for command. He’d had nightmares at Mare Island but never flashbacks. 

With a soft moan, Lee bowed his head. The images came harder, faster, merciless as any dark dream. 

Caught up in the nightmare, he never noticed when a light on the control panel started to flash.

**********

PAST:

He couldn’t move, his head locked in place by stiff metal bands clamped to his temples. The Chair smelled of sweat and machine oil, the frame a rigid brace of steel and wood. They’d kept at him for two days - - first in the cage with the Disruptor, then later in the Chair. He was given meager amounts of food and water, enough that he wouldn’t appear overly emaciated when they released him. They’d told him he’d been on a trip to visit his mother who’d taken suddenly ill. That he’d lived on planes and in hospitals, sleeping little, eating less. It would explain his gauntness and the circles under his eyes when he finally did return to Seaview. 

He understood now that they intended to release him . . . that they wanted to reintroduce him to his submarine with an agenda they’d orchestrated. Lee was sure it was a well-organized group that kept him prisoner, but Wynter was the only one who interacted with him regularly. Even then the man remained in the shadows, always faceless, a voice only.

Food and water appeared on the rare occasions when he was permitted a few hours of restless sleep. Occasionally, someone dressed in a bio-hazard suit, complete with face mask to conceal his identity, would appear with a handgun and escort him down the hall to the head. It was no more than a small cubicle with a rust-stained toilet and cracked linoleum floor, no sink. He’d tried to overpower his captor the first time and had been beaten unconscious when others rushed from the shadows. The Chair came later and with it a new kind of pain, the white-hot crackle of electricity. Wynter, as always, was his ‘instructor.’

“You are an agent of the People’s Republic, Captain Crane. You will do precisely what I tell you and only what I tell you.” Wynter waited a beat, making Lee appreciate a rare moment, free of electric shock. “Who is your best friend, Commander?”

He didn’t hesitate. He’d already learned too long a pause translated into more pain. “Harriman Nelson. Admiral Harriman Nelson.”

For a time he couldn’t remember anything else . . . just snippets of Wynter’s voice telling him they’d been fortunate enough to capture Nelson. That he was being brought to the room even now and it was Lee’s mission to kill him. Then suddenly there a gun beside him and the restraining straps fell free. He picked up the weapon, pausing to check the magazine dispassionately. A full load.

He turned, saw Nelson, and pointed his pistol at the life-sized caricature, fully convinced it was his friend. It never entered his mind to shoot into the darkness where he knew Wynter lingered, watching. 

“What day is it, Commander?” he heard in his head. Not Wynter’s voice this time, but a memory of their first session together . . . of prolonged agony and torture.

Nelson was his friend. A mentor, someone he’d looked up to most of his life. Working together since Lee had taken command of Seaview had brought them even closer. Nelson was no longer just his boss or superior officer. He’d become someone who’d filled the void in Lee’s life left by a dead father and a cold, uncaring step-father.     

Nelson meant the world to him.

Lee leveled the pistol.

And fired.

***********

PRESENT:

It was the shriek of a claxon that brought him back to the present. Drenched in sweat, Lee jerked from the crushing tide of memories, his hands locked on the joysticks. A flashing red light on the main panel forewarned of disaster as the sub plummeted, pinwheeling out of control. He wrenched back on the joysticks, manually fighting for altitude. Mountains and forests sped by in a blur of brushstrokes and craggy outcroppings. The engines whined in protest, screaming with a wail that was almost human. 

Lee pressed himself into the seat, his whole body straining for dominance over the errant sub. He set a course for the sea, thankful when he saw a ribbon of blue stretch below him. The vessel continued to lose altitude, nose-diving in a reckless free-fall toward water. The force of entry slammed him against the seat harness, sending pain boomeranging across his chest and into his ribs. The sub spiraled down into the murky depths, systems failing as sparks pinged from the main control panel.

Lee made one last-ditch effort to level out the sub. He yanked hard on the joysticks and was rewarded with a sharp flare of agony on the right side of his chest. The pain ricocheted to his head, immediate and savage, brutal as the churning water around him. He slumped forward in the pilot’s chair with an audible gasp. 

Darkness descended swiftly and his consciousness faded as the sub sank to the bottom of the ocean.

**********

Harry walked into the control room, trailed by Jiggs Starke. Everything was still running smoothly, but there was something about the mission that had him on edge. Maybe it was his conscience, gnawing at him for leaving Lee behind with no resolution to his security problem in sight. Or maybe it was his simmering frustration with Jiggs who couldn’t grasp that by pointing out Kurt DeWitt’s seemingly flawless attributes every few hours, Harry grew more annoyed. 

He frowned when he noticed Chip Morton at the plotting table alone. “Mister Morton, where is Captain DeWitt?”

Chip glanced up, noticed Jiggs standing beside him and immediately adjusted his emerging smirk to something far more neutral. “He went to inspect the boat, Sir. Said he wanted to become familiar with her while he had the chance.”

Jiggs smiled approvingly. “The mark of a good captain.”

Harry ignored the accolade given Jiggs was starting to sound like a broken record. At the sonar station, he saw Kowalski roll his eyes. Under normal circumstances he would have barked a reprimand for what he considered a show of disrespect but, in this case, he happened to agree with the rating. Fortunately, Jiggs had missed Kowalski’s reaction completely.

“What’s the status of our external communications?” Harry asked.

“Still down. Sparks said it’s slow going.” Chip flecked a glance at Starke before looking away. “I’m sure Lee will want a full systems overhaul when we return to port before taking her out again.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. Even Chip had managed a ‘dig’ on behalf of his friend and Seaview’s rightful captain. At his side, Jiggs squared his shoulders aggressively. The COMPSUBPAC commander might have missed Kowalski’s facial nuance, but there was no overlooking Chip’s blatant championing of Lee. 

“Captain Crane has not been reinstated to command of this vessel, Mister,” he snapped.

“Sir,” Kowalski interrupted from the sonar station before Jiggs could build more steam. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Chip. “I’m picking up an unusual sonar blip 400 yards off the bow. Readings indicate a stationary mass but the profile doesn’t make sense.”

Harry immediately tensed, thinking of the intelligence canister tucked in his wall safe. “Enemy sub?”

Chip had moved behind Kowalski’s chair to study the sonar screen. “Too small. Possibly a short-range submersible.”

“Bring up the nose camera,” Harry instructed, crossing to the forward monitor. It took only a second for the image to flash across the screen, and within that quicksilver timeframe, the control room went deathly still. There wasn’t a man onboard who wasn’t familiar with the prototype in which Nelson had invested so much time and energy. Seeing it now, tilted at an angle, half buried in bottom-silt was oddly surreal. Every man knew there was only one person other than Nelson remotely capable of piloting her. He couldn’t begin to fathom why Lee was there.

Harry ground his teeth, a band of tension forking across his shoulder blades. The FS prototype was still weeks, possibly months, away from flight capability. She was untested, riddled with potential flaws. Mechanical failure was almost a certainty if she was pushed beyond her still limited range. And he had no doubt Lee Crane had strained her to the max.

Harry clung to anger rather than giving rein to fear. He’d just gotten Lee back - - from the ugly ordeal of his brainwashing, from Forester’s goons at Mare Island. He simply wouldn’t accept the possibility Lee was hurt. Swearing softly, he balled his hands into fists. 

“Chip,” he snapped. “Send two divers out to retrieve the pilot. And bring that damn fool up here the moment he steps onboard!”

***********

Kowalski pulled up the zipper on his wetsuit, looking aside as Patterson did the same. He was glad Mister Morton had yanked him from sonar to send him on the dive. He was antsy just thinking about Nelson’s experimental prototype sitting off their bow, clearly disabled. He knew of only one person capable of flying it with Nelson on Seaview. Crane had helped with the design and had spent plenty of time going over the systems on the ground. Then there was a quick-study period when the admiral had sent him to flight school. It had generated a lot of ribbing from the crew when word leaked their over-achieving captain was being drilled by a flight instructor.

“You ready, Pat?”

His friend nodded, hooking his flippers over his wrist. 

“Be quick about this,” Chief Curly Jones instructed, standing by with another crewman who held their air tanks. “We don’t know what kind of shape the skipper’s in.”

“If it even is the skipper,” Ryder, the crewman, mumbled.

“Who else could it be?” Ski countered with a quick glance as he adjusted his equipment belt. “There’s no one other than the skipper or the admiral who can fly that thing, and the admiral’s in the control room.”

“What’s going on here?” A terse voice broke into their conversation.

Ski looked up to see Captain DeWitt approaching at a clipped pace, his face set in its usually severe mask. Something about the guy made him want to puke. Condescending attitude, cold demeanor. The man had nothing to recommend him. It gave Kowalski pause to think they might have been stuck with someone like DeWitt after John Phillips died. It had been bad enough losing a captain he admired, but to think they might have been saddled with a frigid jerkwad like DeWitt was enough to make a guy reevaluate his career.

After a few weeks working with Crane, Kowalski had started to hear rumors he’d been Nelson’s original choice to captain Seaview all along. It was the head brass who’d pegged him as too young and forced Nelson to look elsewhere. Tragically, Phillips had been killed and, with Seaview in need of a new captain, Nelson had finally put his foot down. Hopefully, he’d do the same again and get Crane reinstated quickly so they could give DeWitt the heave-ho. Kowalski didn’t think he could stomach another cruise with Captain Smug.

“The admiral ordered divers out, Sir,” Curly explained as DeWitt drew abreast. 

The captain passed a flinty gaze over the group, assessing the situation. “For what reason?”

“Rescue mission, Sir. There’s a small submersible craft with damage, off our bow.” Curly hesitated. “It belongs to the Institute, Sir.”

Kowalski scowled. As he saw it they were wasting time, especially given they had the admiral’s clearance. If DeWitt wanted more information, he could take it up with Nelson.

“We’re wasting time, Chief. The skipper’s out there.”

“Crane?” For a second, DeWitt was caught off guard. Then his usual icy demeanor fell into place and a mask of indifference claimed his eyes. “What’s he doing here?”

“Who knows?” Kowalski snapped out of turn. He was surprised DeWitt even knew to whom he’d been referring. Usually ‘the skipper’ was the captain of the boat, but no one had addressed DeWitt by the friendly, informal tag since he’d come aboard. Maybe because the crew saw him as an interloper. “Odds are he’s in trouble.” He turned to the exit hatch. “Come on, Pat - -”

“Hold it right there, sailor!” DeWitt ordered. 

Kowalski froze, ready to shoot off another retort and land himself in a heap of trouble. He was saved the temptation by Mister Morton’s timely arrival in the missile room.

“Kowalski. Patterson. What are you still doing here?” the exec demanded crisply as he strode toward the group. 

Ski fought the urge to grin. Mister Morton would put the pompous tyrant in his place. No way would the exec stand by and be drilled for details when his best friend was in danger. “Captain DeWitt was questioning what we were doing, Sir,” Ski spoke before Curly could answer. He knew he’d always been quick to mouth off, and it was bound to land him in trouble one day but, damn it, he couldn’t help it. That was the skipper out there!

“Get moving,” Morton ordered. “You heard the admiral.”

Mention of Nelson’s directive from such a high-ranking officer as Seaview’s exec seemed to do the trick. DeWitt fell silent, watching through narrowed eyes, and Ski and Patterson headed for the exit hatch.

The moment his back was turned, Ski forgot all about their interim captain. His priority was a small yellow sub and the man who had earned the title ‘Skipper.’

***********

Lee knew his ribs were badly bruised. It hurt when he inhaled, but he didn’t have time to worry over the particulars. The sound of divers emerging through the bottom hatch of the FS had been enough to drag him back to consciousness. 

He fumbled the restraining straps free, doing a quick visual of the damage to the instrumentation. There simply wasn’t time to ferret out the problem or what had brought him down. Wobbly on his feet, his battered ribs protesting vehemently, Lee grabbed a wetsuit from a locker in the rear. He already had his flight jacket off and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when Kowalski and Patterson clambered into the sub.

There was a flash of relief in Ski’s eyes as he pushed up his mask. The rating smiled broadly making no effort to hide his pleasure at finding Lee whole and functioning. “Sir, we didn’t know what to expect. The admiral wants you in the control room immediately.”

That suited Lee fine. The sooner he could tell Nelson about the hidden traps Parker had planted the better. “Are external communications still down?”

Kowalski nodded. “Sparks is working on it.”

“Any other problems?”

Patterson looked puzzled. “Like what, Sir?”

“Malfunctions.”

The two crewmembers exchanged a glance. “No . . .”  Patterson replied carefully, reading into his question. “Should there be?”

“We’ll worry about it on Seaview,” Lee decided. He worked as quickly as he could to strip off his clothes and pull on a black wetsuit. An involuntary grunt slipped from his lips when maneuvering into the tight neoprene sent pain streaking across his damaged ribs. Both crewmen helped him after that, realizing he was hurt, but careful not to address the injury. They’d already come to recognize his habit of placing his health secondary to his crew and boat.

A short time later, dressed in his wetsuit, Lee strode into the control room, Kowalski and Patterson on his heels. He was still dripping water, his hair a riotous tangle of damp curls. The swim from the Flying Sub had taxed him more than he wanted to admit and, by that point, he was existing on fumes. He’d forgotten what it felt like to sleep or eat, to have a moment that wasn’t filled with pain or the memory of pain. He only hoped the growing unsteadiness he felt didn’t show on his face given Nelson and Chip weren’t the only ones at the plotting table. His mouth tightened when he saw Jiggs Starke and Kurt DeWitt.

“Sir.” Lee looked directly at Nelson, wasting no time in coming to the point. “I need to organize a detail to sweep the boat.”

“ ‘You’ need to...” Starke sputtered, plainly outraged by his audacity in assuming command. But Lee barely heard him. He was looking at Nelson, noting the cold fire in the admiral’s blue eyes. It struck him abruptly that Nelson was angry, and not just angry, but furious.

“Captain Crane.” Nelson bit the words off one syllable at a time. “You better have a damn good reason for wrecking three years of research and development. I told you to prep the FS. To run her through a systems check, not take her on a joyride.”

“Admiral. Forester called.” Nelson had every right to be ticked his prized prototype was buried to her windows in bottom sediment, but Lee couldn’t help feeling his anger was too tightly controlled - - almost as if something else drove the emotion. Something to do with Lee personally. Too fatigued to sort it out, he explained his haste in reaching the boat.

“Forester said they broke Parker’s conditioning. He admitted to setting several booby traps on Seaview. Several unsprung traps.”

Chip gave a low whistle. “Our off-boat communications are down.”

“Could be Parker,” Lee returned quickly. “But I have a feeling these are of a more serious nature.” His gaze shifted back to Nelson. “There was no way to reach you, Admiral. The nearest boat, the Kirkland Dunn, was twenty-four hours out.”

Nelson gave a curt nod, not ready to relinquish his anger. He waited a beat before deliberately shifting his attention to DeWitt. “Captain, I suggest you follow through with organizing several search details immediately.”

Lee stiffened, the slight in bypassing him for DeWitt a reprimand in itself. From the corner of his eye, he saw Starke’s mouth twitch upward in a satisfied smile.

“Captain,” Kowalski said behind him.

“Yes?” he responded and heard the word simultaneously echoed by DeWitt. He exchanged a sharp glance with the older commander, sensing a strong undercurrent of combativeness. 

Kowalski cleared his throat. “Captain Crane,” he clarified with emphasis.

Lee felt a surge of appreciation for the man who’d been his biggest naysayer when he’d first come aboard. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to applaud Ski for his loyalty or warn him not to be so outspoken. The rating was treading the line a little too closely.

“I’d like to be on one of the details, Sir,” Kowalski said ignoring DeWitt altogether and speaking directly to him. If it were up to Lee, he would have put Kowalski in charge, but it wasn’t his boat. Not at the moment. He looked expectantly at Nelson.

“Captain DeWitt will see to the details,” the admiral continued in the same frigid tone he’d used before. He scowled heavily, studying Lee. “I suggest you change into uniform, Commander, then meet me in my cabin. I’m going to have to devise a way to raise the Flying Sub off the bottom.”

**********

It didn’t take Harry long to decide his cabin was not the place to meet Lee - - mainly because he didn’t feel like waiting that long. He was on a short fuse and it was quickly expiring. It was as if all the things that had been bothering him suddenly careened together in his head. Only now they were compounded by more disturbing issues - - the hidden traps on Seaview, the damage to the Flying Sub, Lee’s foolhardy recklessness in reaching them. Granted, he understood Lee’s reasoning and, given the circumstances, he might have done the same thing, but the idiot had dumped three years of research on the bottom of the ocean and nearly gotten himself killed in the process.

What if Seaview hadn’t been in the vicinity? What if he’d been stuck down there, unable to bring her systems back online, air running out, no way to communicate his position? Thinking about it made the leash on his temper grow slippery and elusive.

The FS was disabled. He couldn’t leave it there for a foreign power to salvage. That meant a delay in returning the intelligence canister while he investigated the damage himself. Having Jiggs onboard made the setback less critical, but without a working radio there was no way to notify naval brass. Hopefully, the Kirkland Dunn was already on an intercept course, and he could channel a message through her. At the very least, they were going to have to find a way to secure the FS to Seaview if he couldn’t get it operational.

And there was no way in hell he was going to put Lee Crane behind the controls again. Not now. Not when his young commander looked ready to topple from fatigue. The others might not have noticed Lee’s exhausted state, but Harry had keyed in on it immediately.

Inwardly seething, he left the control room and headed for Lee’s cabin. He knocked once, a crisp rap of his knuckles then, without waiting for an answer, shoved the door wide and stepped inside.

Lee turned from his open wardrobe closet, surprised by the intrusion. His wetsuit was mounded on the deck at his feet. Mostly dressed, he was still in the process of finishing up with his shirt. It hung open on his chest, the tails untucked as he worked at buttoning the cuffs. 

Harry took one look at him, noted the purple bruising already spreading across his ribs, and slammed the door. 

“Admiral.” Lee seemed to sense the coming explosion and tried to steer him elsewhere. “I’m surprised my cabin wasn’t occupied.”

“You mean by DeWitt?” Harry spat. He bristled at the accusation. “The name on the doorplate says Captain Crane. I gave our temporary commander Guest Cabin B.” Had Lee really thought he’d give DeWitt his personal cabin? Yes, it was the ‘captain’s cabin,’ but it belonged to Lee Crane, Commander of Seaview. Curse Forester and Jiggs for keeping Lee dangling on a hook. 

He watched as Lee started with the top button on his shirt, working his way down. It didn’t show on his face but Harry could tell he moved gingerly, experiencing more than mild discomfort. Here we go again.

“I want you to go to Sick Bay.”

Lee looked up sharply. “Why?”

Harry gave a snort. “Should I play multiple choice or just point out the obvious - - you’re one step shy from crashing, and it looks like you cracked your ribs when you wrecked my sub.”

Lee winced. Harry had an inkling the discomfort had little to do with the pain of his injuries or even fatigue. It was Harry’s choice of words that cut deep - - ‘when you wrecked my sub.’ Maybe he was being too hard on Lee. His captain’s primary concern had been the safety of Seaview and her crew. A dedicated commander, he’d used the only means at his disposal to deliver the message about Parker. 

In the grand scheme of things Harry still wasn’t sold on the information. The boat had been searched from bow to stern after their last mission and again before their recent departure. True they’d only had twelve hours to prep for Jiggs’ spur-of-the-moment critical mission but that had been after a detailed systems check and a sweep for hidden devices. Parker was likely feeding false information in the hopes he would be seen as cooperative or was just so far gone he fabricated lies, thinking they were true. The People’s Republic had indoctrinated him to the point Harry feared he might not be able to get his life back. Thank God, Lee hadn’t been held captive nearly as long. “Sick Bay,” he said again.

A flash of anger flitted through Lee’s eyes. “Given you’ve stripped me of the authority to do little else on this tub, I might as well visit Jamie.”

Harry felt his temper spike. Anyone else would have nailed Lee for insubordination, but he only gritted his teeth, needing to vent every bit as much as his land-bound captain. “I’m not the one holding up your security clearance, Commander! God only knows what this latest stunt is going to do.” Irritated, he paced into the cabin, punctuating the exclamation with a wave of his hand. “You probably set the blasted thing back another three weeks.”

“Then you tell me how I should have handled it,” Lee snapped. Angrily, he slammed the door on the closet. The movement jarred him roughly and he gave a low moan, folding against the bulkhead.

“Damn, willful fool.” Harry’s anger instantly gave way to concern. Snagging the chair from behind Lee’s desk, he spun it around. “Sit down,” he ordered. He half expected a snarled protest, but Lee surprised him by wilting into the seat, his face damp with sweat. His skin had grayed with the unexpected spike of pain making the gaunt hollows under his cheekbones all the more prominent. 

“Your ribs?” he asked.

Lee shook his head, his eyes lowered. “They’re just bruised.” He grimaced and massaged his shoulder. “I’ll be all right, Sir. I must have wrenched my arm when I crashed.”

The bullet wound from Forester’s gun. It still hadn’t completely healed.

Harry fought to check his aggravation. He’d never bargained on all the ‘extras’ that came with having Lee Crane as captain of his boat - - frustration, worry, bouts of temper over the man’s innate stubbornness, a strange inclination to hover. Lee shirttails still hung over his belt, camouflaging his slim physique, but it was easy to see the clothes fit looser than normal. Silently, Harry cursed himself for letting Lee log the exhaustive hours he’d been maintaining at the Institute, existing on little sleep and less food. He should have put an end to it immediately, but burying himself in work had always been Lee’s way of coping. As long as he had structure he didn’t have to face what was really bothering him.

Lee hadn’t talked much about his imprisonment at the hands of the People’s Republic or the techniques used to brainwash him, but Harry knew he’d been subjected to torture. And knowing Lee’s refusal to bend, that cruelty would have been carried out for a prolonged period of time before he cracked. The thought of Lee suffering immediately awakened his protective instincts, a reaction that still caught him off guard. He rarely felt the inclination toward anyone else.

“I still want you to see Jamie.” He dropped his hand to Lee’s shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze. Amazing that the knotted anger he’d walked into the cabin with was now gone, smothered by concern. “I think you were banged up badly in that wreck. Have him examine that shoulder. And your ribs.”

“Admiral, I’m sorry about the sub.”

“Do you know what went wrong?”

“No. I was, um . . .”  Lee glanced away guiltily. “. . . distracted. By the time I realized something was wrong, I was snared in a downward spiral.” Now he did look back, the cabin lights accentuating the gold flecks in his eyes. “I had Sam Delandro check everything pre-launch. I think it might have been a circuit failure or a short.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “At least you had the sense to drag Sam into your madness.”

“Admiral - -”

“It’s all right, Lee. I’m sure the sub can be repaired. You might actually have done me a favor putting her through such a lengthy test flight. I never would have ordered anything so rigorous the first time out. The reality is she held together without issue longer than I expected.”

“Sir, I’d like to go back . . . check her systems.” Lee looked at him hopefully.

“Out of the question.” Harry felt his spine stiffen. No way was he going to allow Lee to put on a wetsuit and undertake an arduous dive with his ribs battered and his shoulder bruised.

“But I’m useless here. If you won’t let me on the FS, at least let me assist in the search detail.”

“I think it’s better you see Jamie and rest.”

“Admiral - -”

“That’s an order, Commander.”

Lee deflated, moodily looking away. “Yes, Sir.”   

Harry was tempted to grin but held the impulse in check. There were times, such as now, when Lee looked impossibly young. His sulkiness at being denied something he wanted just added to that impression. When Harry thought about it, the man he’d assigned temporary command of Seaview had once been Lee’s superior officer. Now they held the same rank. Harry knew DeWitt had never been a captain at age thirty-three.

“All right. Get going.” He tilted his head toward the door, urging Lee to Sick Bay. He knew the younger man was a doer and didn’t like sitting idle, but Harry had the feeling if he could get Lee to crash in his bunk he’d sleep twenty-four hours straight. Maybe once Lee was in the corridor, out of earshot, Harry would buzz Jamie and ask him to give Lee a mild sedative. He hated doing anything so underhanded, but - -

He watched with a faint grin as Lee stood and tucked in his shirt. A moment later, the younger man headed for the door and stepped into the corridor. Harry waited a beat before reaching for the mike on Lee’s desk.

“Jamie,” he said quietly. “This is Nelson. Captain Crane is on his way to see you. I want you to do something for me . . .”

 

**********

Lee knew he was close to reaching a danger zone. A point where he was so exhausted his body would simply stop functioning and his mind would shut down. But until he tumbled into sleep, unable to stay on his feet, there was still the problem of hidden explosive devices on his boat. Nelson had ordered him to Sick Bay but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a circular route, nosing in a few compartments along the way.

He was nearing Nelson’s lab when he noticed the hatch ajar. Guessing one of the search crews was inside Lee stepped through the opening and came to an immediate halt, spying Kurt DeWitt near the specimen tanks.

“What are you doing?”

DeWitt stiffened defensively, then calmly turned to face him. “Isn’t it obvious? Searching for your hidden devices.”

Lee frowned. As an interim captain, DeWitt wasn’t familiar with Seaview. It made more sense for him to stay in the control room and coordinate the search from there. At the same time, Lee understood the role of a ‘hands on’ captain. He’d just never known DeWitt to react that way, at least not during the span when Lee had been a lieutenant in his command.

“Any word from the search details?” He moved toward the worktable situated in the center of the lab. Pieces of Nelson’s latest experiment were scattered across the top - - specimen containers, chemical vials, a glass pestle and mortar. Clearly, the admiral had kept himself busy tinkering on something or other while Seaview carried out her mission for Jiggs Starke.

“Nothing yet.” DeWitt clasped his hands behind his back, bracing his feet apart. The stiff stance, as always, made him seem superior and unapproachable. “This must be difficult for you, Crane.”

Uncertain what he meant, Lee slid onto a stool at the table. “What is?” 

“Having someone else command your boat.” DeWitt strolled nearer. “I imagine it stings even more given you’re here now, forced to play the role of observer.”

Undecided if he was being sincere or fishing for a rise, Lee stayed silent. Coming from another commander Lee might have accepted the statement at face value, but DeWitt had never cared for him. Then again, he didn’t care for most people. Especially not a-then-overachieving young lieutenant who’d had the potential to eclipse his career.

Turning away, Lee braced his elbows on the table. He plucked the glass pestle from its mortar and rolled it between his fingers. “The situation’s only temporary,” he said quietly. A prickle of pain leeched outward from his wounded shoulder, and he rubbed it distractedly.

DeWitt noted the action with the barest curl of his lips. “You’ve had a lot on you . . . debriefings, Mare Island, readjusting to your role at Nelson’s Institute, the aggravating delay in your clearance . . .”  His voice had changed, lower now. 

Lee blinked, fighting off growing lethargy, only half listening. He rubbed his eyes, realizing lack of sleep was finally starting to catch up with him. Maybe Nelson was right. Maybe he should be in Sick Bay.

“It must be hard for you to concentrate on anything,” DeWitt continued in the same rhythmic voice. “Especially given how exhausted you look. I bet even simple tasks are a challenge. For example - - what day is it, Commander?”

Lee jerked violently. “What?” He whirled to face the other man.

DeWitt shrugged, his lips curling in what passed for a harmless smile. “I was observing how tired you look. Maybe you should stop by Sick Bay, Crane. The search detail is under control and, as much as it pains me to say it given your situation, your boat is running smoothly without you.” Another smile, just as guileless. “Excuse me. I have a submarine to run.”

Lee watched him leave, his heart racing out of control. What day is it, Commander? Had DeWitt actually said those words? Those exact words? Lee tightened his hands on the pestle, a black swell of rage blinding him to everything but the memory of torture and pain . . . the cold, cramped confines of the cage, the hot glare of floodlights and the agony of the Disruptor.

His head reeled with the implications. He heard the voice again . . . taunting him . . . that strange muffled voice he’d come to associate with agony and hour after hour of ceaseless questioning and commands. It wasn’t possible . . . not on his boat. Not on Seaview. With a cry of outrage, he snapped the pestle in half, only half conscious when the broken glass cut into his hands.

Swearing, he flung it aside and raced for the hatch, intent on finding Nelson.

**********

Harry knew Jiggs wasn’t happy but at least his friend understood the need to secure the Flying Sub before they returned to Santa Barbara. Once the Kirkland Dunn reached them, he’d be able to transfer the canister and Jiggs to the other ship if issues with the FS prototype were still unresolved. Until then, he planned on visiting the small submersible craft with a few divers in the hopes of determining what had gone wrong. DeWitt and Chip had the search details under control though nothing had been found so far. Harry wondered again if Parker had been on the up-and-up or merely ranting for the sake of attention. 

“All right,” Jiggs conceded pacing before the broad desk in Harry’s cabin. “I don’t like it, but as long as the canister is secure, a day or two won’t matter.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. He’d been careful with the canister, taking extra measures to keep it safe. Maybe it was an intuitive sixth sense, but having their external communications go down shortly after retrieving the container from the bottom had made him overly precautious.

Jiggs raised a brow, shooting him a sideways glance. “Think you’ll be able to repair your submersible? It looked like Crane cracked it up good.”

“It was system failure, not pilot error,” Harry countered, honing in on Jiggs’ remark rather than addressing his question. “Fortunately, Lee wasn’t badly hurt. I...” Before he could continue, the intercom flared abruptly to life.

“Admiral Nelson, this is Jamieson.”

Refocusing, Harry leaned forward and depressed the mike. He was glad for the interruption, irked that Jiggs continued to look for the negative in anything Lee did. “What is it, Will?”

“I thought I’d let you know Lee hasn’t shown up in Sick Bay.” Jamie paused. “It’s been a good twenty minutes since you called. Do you want me to send a corpsman to his cabin?”

“No.” Harry sighed. Clearly, his headstrong captain had ideas and priorities of his own. “I’ll look into it. Just let me know when he gets there.” He signed off, feeling a crackle of aggravation. He knew Lee would eventually show up in Sick Bay - - Harry had made the directive an order after all - - but apparently the younger man had no qualms about taking his time getting there.

A knock at the door distracted him long enough to bark out a sharp ‘come in.’  He was surprised when Lee stepped inside, having already convinced himself the dark-haired man was shadowing the search details. Within seconds, the slow burn of anger he’d felt sputtered to a weak ember. Lee looked pale, uncharacteristically shaken. There was a handkerchief wrapped around his right hand, dark with blood. Concerned, Harry rose to his feet.

“Lee? What’s wrong?”

“Sir, it’s important I talk to you.” Plainly on edge, Lee shot an uncomfortable glance at Starke. “It involves the security of Seaview.”

“Something to do with Parker’s explosive devices?” Harry guessed.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’d like to talk to you alone, Admiral.”

Jiggs harrumphed what he thought of the notion. “Not if it involves the security of this boat, you won’t. You’re forgetting, this is my mission, Crane. If you have something to say, spit it out. I won’t have that intelligence canister jeopardized.”

Lee drew a breath. “You’re right.” Rattled, he twisted the onyx ring on his left hand.

Harry frowned. His young captain looked closer to collapse each time they crossed paths. That alone was reason enough for Jiggs to hold his security clearance in check. Why didn’t Lee see that and realize how imperative it was he care for his health?

“Admiral, I think . . .” Lee stepped closer to the desk, obviously struggling with what he needed to say. “I realize this is going to be difficult to accept, but I believe Captain DeWitt is an agent for the People’s Republic.”

“What?” Outraged, Jiggs stalked to his side. “Have you lost your mind, Mister? Kurt DeWitt is a respected naval officer with a long service career. I’m not going to stand by and let you malign him just because he usurped your command.”

“Seaview has nothing to do with it,” Lee snapped. 

Harry saw anger blaze in Jiggs’ eyes and rushed to intervene. “Lee, you have to realize how staggering the accusation sounds.”

“I don’t make it lightly, Sir.”

“You damn well shouldn’t make it at all,” Jiggs fired back. 

Lee stiffened, turning to face the COMSUBPAC admiral. “And you shouldn’t be so blinded by personal opinion that you’re unwilling to concede the possibility. What’s more important - - DeWitt’s reputation or the safety of this boat, her crew, and your intelligence canister?” Lee paused, his glance deliberately cutting. “Sir.”

An ugly flush of color washed over Jiggs’ face. “Damn your insubordination! I’ll have you on report!”

“Given you’ve yet to clear me for command, I’m not even officially onboard!”

“That’s enough!” Harry bellowed, realizing the clash was headed for disaster. Lee was so far gone - - physically and mentally exhausted - - he wasn’t using his head. If he kept snarling at Starke the way he was, his career would end up in the trash. And Jiggs wasn’t any better, snapping and growling like a three-headed ogre, hell-bent on slaughter.

“Lee.” Harry speared him with a steely glare. “I think you’d better explain yourself. What could possibly make you believe DeWitt’s been compromised?”

Uncomfortable, Lee wet his lips. “It’s something he said to me a short while ago. I came across him in your lab. He said he was looking for explosive devices.”

“And why shouldn’t he be?” Jiggs demanded.

Lee continued as though he hadn’t heard. “He used a trigger phrase. Something Wynter kept repeating.” Self-consciously, he looked away. “When . . . when he was torturing me.”

Harry felt a chill sweep through him, his stomach knotting in a tight fist at the thought of Lee subjected to torture. He knew what it cost the younger man to mention it . . . to talk about Wynter, a name Harry had grown familiar with from Lee’s sessions at Mare Island. He didn’t know all the details, wasn’t sure he wanted to. He only knew Wynter had put Lee through physical and psychological hell without leaving a mark on him.

He trusted his captain, believed in him, but Jiggs was right - - DeWitt’s record was impeccable and every minute of his time was accountable, dating back several months. He felt a flicker of indecision. As exhausted as Lee was he might have just misconstrued whatever it was DeWitt said.

“Lee. I think . . .” He wasn’t certain how to approach the issue without having his captain grow volatile. “You’ve been through an ordeal, lad. It’s possible you misread - -”

“Don’t patronize me, Admiral,” Lee snapped. “I know what I heard.”

“And what exactly was that?” Starke challenged. “You’re so damn sure of DeWitt’s duplicity, tell us what he said.”

Harry glanced at Lee expectantly. It was a reasonable request. 

Tight-lipped and sullen, the younger man looked away. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t understand the significance.”

Harry exhaled loudly, scraping a hand through his hair. It didn’t take a genius to realize Lee had retreated behind a wall. Harry felt partially responsible for that withdrawal but, realistically, he had nothing concrete to support the younger man’s accusation. Only gut instinct. 

And instinct told him whatever he might think of DeWitt was ultimately irrelevant. He had faith - - blind faith - - in Lee Crane. Refocusing, he nodded to the spotted handkerchief wrapped around Lee’s palm. “What happened to your hand?”

With a guilty flinch, Lee dropped his eyes. The soiled bandage was already stiffening with dried blood. “A small accident.” His mouth tightened. “I lost my temper.”

Harry frowned but, before he could query Lee further, an alarm claxon shrieked through the cabin. Almost immediately, a voice burst over the intercom. “Fire detail to science lab A. Repeat: fire detail to science lab A.” 

Harry cast one glance at the others and bolted for the door.

**********

Lee pushed into the lab on Nelson’s heels, Starke a step ahead. Thankfully, the fire had been contained, but smoke still hung in the air, dissipating into thinning plumes. Kowalski and two others had responded to the call, extinguishing the fire in a matter of seconds. The remains of something indistinguishable smoldered on the deck in the vicinity of the specimen tanks.

Lee rolled a fist against his mouth, suppressing a cough. “Where’s DeWitt?”

Kowalski looked confused. “I don’t know, Sir. Patterson, O’Malley and I were on search detail in the adjacent corridor when we smelled smoke. Pat set off the alarm while I raced in here with an extinguisher.”

Lee moved to the nearest hand mike, plucking it off the wall. “Mister Morton, this is Captain Crane.”

It took only a second for Chip’s voice to crackle through the connection. “Here, Sir.”

“There’s been a fire in the science lab. Captain DeWitt seems unaware of the situation. Surface the boat and scrub the air of smoke.”

“Now wait just a damn minute, Crane,” Jiggs protested. “You’re not in command.”

Lee returned the mike to its hook. “Maybe not, but I think we can agree the boat needs to be scrubbed. You’re not suggesting DeWitt would do any differently?” He looked aside at Nelson. “Admiral?”

The older man had moved away to examine the smoldering remains on the deck. “The order stands, Jiggs,” he said over his shoulder. He squatted on his haunches, prodding the charred remnants with an index finger.

“Sir?” Patterson craned his neck to see better. “What is that?”

“A small explosive device of some kind. I guess we’ve found the first of Parker’s booby traps.”

“That’s not possible.” Lee’s mind raced as the implication sank home. DeWitt had been in the lab before him, supposedly searching for hidden devices. What if he’d been planting them instead? Was he letting his imagination run wild because of that single innocuous question . . . what day is it, Commander?

But it wasn’t just the question itself. It was the way DeWitt had said it, almost as if he’d been there. Almost as if . . .

Frazzled, Lee rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t think, much less reason, past and present careening together in his head. For a minute, he was back in the cage again, every shuddering breath he dragged into his lungs awakening a butcher-stab of pain across his heart. Wynter was there . . . lingering in the shadows, taunting him, tormenting him, his face never seen but his voice a constant presence. 

Lee stepped closer to Nelson, angling for a better view of the blackened apparatus.

“DeWitt was in here earlier.” He palmed sweat from his face, vaguely aware his hand was unsteady. It was too hot, the sweltering closeness reminding him of the cramped confines of the cage . . . the raw heat of the flood lamps, the glare constantly holding sleep at bay, drenching him in gummy perspiration. They’d taken a clean uniform from his house before they’d released him - - he remembered that now, the old one filthy and stained. They made him shower and change clothes, given him his keys back, then sent him on his way to sabotage Seaview. To kill Nelson.

He shuttered the thoughts aside.

“DeWitt did a sweep of the lab.”

“And didn’t find anything,” the interim captain confirmed, appearing suddenly behind them. He stepped through the open hatch, his dark eyes taking in the group. He nodded to Nelson and Starke, choosing to ignore Lee and the crewmen. “Gentlemen.” He gave a slight inclination of his head, one hand resting on the open hatchway. “I can confirm this room was free of explosive devices when I left. What took place after that would be a question for Captain Crane.”

Lee balked. “What does that mean?” As muddled as his mind was, he had a fairly good inkling where DeWitt was headed. 

The older man went straight for his jugular. “You were here when I left. You had the perfect opportunity - -”

“Wait a minute,” Kowalski said hotly.

Lee stayed him with a hand when he would have surged forward. Turning a cutting gaze on DeWitt, he tried to ignore the steady pounding against his temples. “You’re suggesting I planted the device myself?”

“Your words, Captain, not mine.” DeWitt studied him unflinchingly. “I do, however, find it coincidental you show up just after our external communications go down with a story about hidden explosives - - a story we have no way of confirming. How do we know you still aren’t under the influence of the People’s Republic? You’ve already been compromised once. If I wanted to plant a bomb and take Seaview out for good, your story makes a perfect cover.”

Something inside Lee snapped. “You self-righteous bastard!” Lunging forward, he slammed DeWitt into the bulkhead. The abruptness of his movement sent a film of blackness swirling before his eyes. He heard someone yell, but the sound was overshadowed by a loud buzzing in his ears. The room started to spin, fading at the edges. Before he could clear his head, hands gripped him and wrenched him roughly backward, ripping his fingers free of DeWitt’s collar.

“Hold him!” Nelson snarled, angrier than Lee had ever heard him.

Lee blinked, aware Kowalski had an arm locked over his throat. “Ski, let me go.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Sailor,” Starke ordered. He looked from DeWitt who was indignantly straightening his shirt to Nelson who’d turned the full force of his glare on Lee. “I want him locked up, Harriman.” Starke shook a finger in Lee’s direction. “Throw him in the brig or confine him to quarters. He just attacked a fellow officer, and I have several witnesses to prove it.”

Lee felt Kowalski loosen his hold. “Sorry Sir,” he said to Starke. “I was looking in the other direction, talking to Pat. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I wasn’t either, Sir,” Patterson seconded. “I didn’t see a thing.”

“Same goes for me,” O’Malley chimed in.

Lee felt his mouth twitch. He knew Nelson would rake him over the coals, but for the moment it felt good to have the support of his crewmen. 

Starke looked ready to blow a gasket. “Harriman, are you going to stand for this? You saw what happened. You can’t deny it.”

Nelson raised a staying hand, trying to calm him. “I think we’re all just a little edgy. There was no harm done.” He frowned over his shoulder at DeWitt. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”

“As you say.” DeWitt flicked a sour glance at Lee. Regaining his haughty poise, he adjusted his collar. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a boat to run.”

Starke gave him a nod of dismissal and he left. As soon as he was gone, the gray-haired man stepped toe to toe with Lee. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this, Crane,” he threatened in a low voice. “You’re forgetting I hold all the cards to your security clearance. You just dealt yourself the losing hand.”

“Jiggs!” Harry snapped. “That’s enough! Captain Crane is my officer and therefore my responsibility. I will address the situation in my own way, including what disciplinary steps will be taken.”

Jiggs grunted, unimpressed by the idea, but conceding nonetheless. He left with a backward glare for Lee, following DeWitt into the corridor.

Realizing he might very well have made a serious blunder, Lee exhaled a pent-up breath. Kowalski’s hand was under his arm, seemingly to keep him restrained, but Lee did something unexpected and sagged into the support. He felt Kowalski tense reflexively, surprised by the action. Lee had to admit he was more than a little shocked too. He didn’t usually depend on other people, at least not anyone beside Chip and Nelson. But he was going to drop soon if he didn’t sit down and, more and more, he and Kowalski were forming a bond.

He certainly wasn’t going to get sympathy from Nelson. Judging by the look on the admiral’s face, the older man would as soon vivisect him as offer help. He’d blundered big time and knew it. As it stood now, he might as well kiss his security clearance goodbye. Jiggs Starke had made that plain.

“Come with me.” Without another word, Nelson gripped his arm and gruffly yanked him into the corridor. Lee staggered off balance, quickly righting himself when Nelson dragged him down the passage, seemingly unconcerned with the trouble he had keeping up. 

“Admiral - -”

“Don’t. Say. A. Word.” The command was spit out like nails, each syllable harsher than the last.

Lee clamped his mouth shut - - partially to swallow an explanation and partially to stifle a moan. Nelson’s tight grip on his wounded arm sent tendrils of pain snaking into his shoulder. He was starting to tremble with fatigue and debated about admitting the weakness, when the admiral abruptly turned a corner and steered him into the ammunitions room.

Lee stumbled, banging against a small arms supply cabinet. He splayed his hand on the surface and pressed his cheek to the cool metal, fighting to stay upright. He could feel himself growing shocky, the last of his stamina leeched out in a low moan. His legs buckled beneath him and the room lurched into a sickening carnival-spin. He would have toppled if not for Nelson’s timely appearance at his side. The admiral wedged a shoulder under his arm and guided him to a nearby equipment crate where Lee gratefully sagged to a seat.

Exhausted, he braced his elbows on his knees and cupped his head in his hands. His lips were parted, the hitch of his breath a harsh wheeze between his teeth.

Nelson slid a hand onto his back. “I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was imperative I be convincing.”

Dazed, Lee blinked up at him. “What? I . . . I don’t understand.” 

“You acted out of turn, Lee - - you were insubordinate and attacked a fellow officer. Jiggs or DeWitt might have been a step around the corridor watching. I had to appear furious over those actions.”

Still unable to follow, Lee wiped sweat from his eyes. His fingers trembled badly, and the throbbing in his temples had ballooned into a savage pulse that made his gut roil. “But you’re not furious?” He grasped at what he hoped that meant. “You believe me about DeWitt?”

“I believe there’s a saboteur aboard,” Nelson conceded carefully. “Whether or not that person is Captain DeWitt remains to be seen, but I’m inclined to follow your instinct. The explosion in the science lab was a diversionary tactic. The bomb wasn’t large enough to do any significant damage other than draw attention.”

Lee fit the pieces together. “So the person who planted it could steal the intelligence canister from your safe while you were engaged elsewhere.” He frowned, tugging at his collar to open his shirt. “But, Admiral, your safe...”

“...isn’t foolproof,” the older man interrupted. He paced a short distance away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Fortunately, I’ve taken other measures to secure the documents.” He turned to glance at Lee. “I removed them shortly after the canister was brought on board, replacing them with microfilm of no value. I doubt our saboteur knows what the film contains; only that he is to recover the canister. More than likely he’s left a substitute in its place. Empty, of course, which we’re not to discover until we’re back in port.”

Lee nodded, pleased Nelson had chosen to confide in him. It meant the admiral didn’t suspect him. “So you don’t think he’ll try to destroy Seaview?”

“Not this time. I don’t think our man wants to blow his cover. He must feel it will be useful later.” Nelson paused thoughtfully as if considering the possibilities. “DeWitt could have been the one to plant the bomb in the science lab, but it could just as easily have been another member of the crew who entered after you left.”

Lee frowned. Another member of the crew hadn’t used the same trigger phrase DeWitt had. It was all a little too coincidental for him.

Nelson seemed to sense what he was thinking. “I know you have strong suspicions, Lee, and I’d like to give you the chance to prove them.”

Caught off guard, Lee blinked. “Sir?”   

“First things first:  you’re not going to accomplish anything if you don’t get some sleep. You look ready to keel over now.”

“Admiral, I...”

“Enough.” Nelson raised a hand to stop any protest he had forming. “I’m going to tell the others I’ve confined you to quarters for the duration of the cruise. I’ll reinforce that with a guard outside your door.”

Lee looked uncertain, a flicker of betrayal passing through his eyes. “Sir, you’re not really going to lock me up?”

“No, lad.” Nelson smiled reassuringly. “That’s the close to my performance. I’m furious with you, remember?”

Lee grinned. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Top of the order for you is to see Jamie - - and this time I’m going to escort you to Sick Bay personally. After that, you’re to return to your cabin where I expect you to sleep for at least six hours. I’ll have food delivered for when you wake up, and you will eat, Captain, or I’ll have you locked up for real.”

“And afterward?” Lee raised a brow.

“I want you to find the stolen canister. Keep out of sight . . . use the ventilation ducts if you have to. I know I’m asking a lot given you probably need two full days of rest to be functional again, but I want this saboteur, Lee. If DeWitt and the crew think you’re locked up you’ll be able to move around freely.”

Lee nodded. It made sense. And he needed to do something . . . to be actively involved in the security of his boat. He’d sleep for a few hours, eat as Nelson ordered, then start hunting on his own. “What about the bombs? The ones Parker planted? Odds are I’ll cross paths with some of the search details.”

“You’ll have to be careful. Personally, I don’t think there are any bombs. The post and pre-cruise searches were too thorough. I think Parker was probably delusional, rambling nonsensically.”

“So that race to get here could have been avoided.” Lee shook his head, disturbed by the thought. Bitterness crept into his voice. “I wrecked the Flying Sub for nothing.”

Nelson grinned and gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You did a little more than scrape the paint, but it’s the thought that counts.”

**********

Harry headed for the observation nose after having seen Lee to Sick Bay and, ultimately, his cabin. Jamie had examined his ribs and shoulder, noting Lee was badly bruised. Fortunately, nothing had been broken. He’d cleaned and bandaged Lee’s hand, giving him a local anesthetic while he sutured the wound. He hadn’t asked how the damage happened, merely shook his head and declared Lee ‘a mess.’

Afterward, Harry had pulled the doctor aside, asking him to forget the sedative he’d ordered earlier. He didn’t provide details, only that he needed Lee functioning and alert in a few hours. A sedative, even a mild one, would keep the captain under too long. Jamie could have overridden the request but, after some gentle persuading, relented with a scowl. He did warn Lee was ‘dangerously exhausted’ but, in the end, his prescription had been for a hot meal and rest. 

Harry had no problem meeting the first requirement but knew he was already interfering with the second by having Lee search for the canister. He could have had someone else scour the boat but hoped by confiding in Lee it firmly established his trust. That was something he desperately wanted to rebuild. He still wasn’t certain who the thief was, but he was positive it wasn’t Lee Crane. He’d already checked the safe in his cabin and, as suspected, the real canister had been replaced with a duplicate. The People’s Republic had gotten to Lee in the past which told him anyone on the boat could have been compromised.

At the very least, he knew Lee was himself. He’d learned the hard way the last time. In retrospect, he should have known there was something wrong with Lee during their last cruise. He’d sensed a disquieting difference in his captain from the moment Lee first stepped on board. And then there was the fiasco of Lee not being able to lower the sub as he’d asked. Granted, dropping a vessel the size of Seaview on a plum line wasn’t easy but, if there was anyone who could pull it off, it was his young commander. 

Instead, Lee had kept botching the job, finally exploding with a verbal outburst in the observation nose. Harry still regretted striking him but, at the time, it seemed the only way to wrench him back to his senses. Even then he’d made mental excuses. Lee was exhausted . . . he’d been through a trying, emotional ordeal with his mother . . . he wasn’t thinking straight, needed rest . . . eventually everything would return to an even keel. In the meantime, they had a critical job to complete and nothing else mattered.

He gave a soft snort as he clattered down the stairs into the nose. Nothing else. The truth was he’d been too damn focused on the mission to really get to the bottom of what was bothering Lee. If he’d dug deeper initially, he might have saved Lee the hoops he was forced to jump through now.

Just thinking about the hold up with his security clearance made Harry grimace. He deliberately quelled his irritation when he spied Jiggs. His friend was alone, standing before the windows, watching as seawater rolled and churned against the clear herculite. 

“I hope you took care of things,” Jiggs groused, glancing over his shoulder as Harry approached. The sharpness of his tone indicated he’d yet to cool down after the events of the science lab.

“I confined Lee to quarters for the duration of the cruise, if that’s what you mean.”

Jiggs grunted. “You should have locked him in the brig.”

“I stationed a guard outside his door.” Harry grinned, but the smile was tight and sour. “I trust that meets with your approval?”

“The man was out of control, Harriman.”

“I know that. But you need to understand he’s been through an ordeal, and you and Forester compounded that by putting him through hell at Mare Island. He’s exhausted.”

“All the more reason not to reinstate him as captain.”

Harry felt a flicker of anger and fought to hold it in check. “We’ve been through that already. My position is non-negotiable, Jiggs - - my submarine for Lee’s clearance.”

“You’re a mule-headed cuss, Harriman.”

This time Harry’s smile reflected humor. “I have my reasons. Look at it this way, Jiggs. I’m actually doing you a favor. Good captains don’t drop out of trees.” Claiming a chair at the conference table, he rummaged for a cigarette. “We were both lucky you could get DeWitt on such short notice.” He paused to snap open his lighter. “How did that happen?”

“Coincidence.” Jiggs claimed the seat across from him. “He happened to contact me about something unrelated when I was trying to drum up a captain. It was stroke of luck he was available.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. DeWitt had popped out of the woodwork at precisely the right minute. A fluke as Jiggs suggested, or careful planning on the part of an enemy agent? He exhaled a long string of smoke thinking back to Lee’s insistence the man was an operative for the People’s Republic. His captain said he’d used a “trigger phrase” but hadn’t elaborated. Harry couldn’t help wondering exactly what the phrase was. There was no question Lee had been agitated, badly shaken when he’d appeared in Harry’s cabin. Was it possible the People’s Republic had gotten to DeWitt after the canister was stolen? 

He took another drag from the cigarette, his mind working through the possibilities. What about earlier? Specifically a particular weekend in March?   

“Maybe a little too coincidental,” he said at last.

“What does that mean?” Jiggs looked at him sharply. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into Crane’s garbage about DeWitt being an enemy agent?”

“I know Lee. He’d never make the accusation unless he had good reason.”

Jiggs snorted his disgust. “Well, I know DeWitt. I don’t want you or anyone else grilling him. Not a single mention of it, Harriman. I will not have the man made to feel like a criminal when he’s stepped in to help out at a critical juncture.”

“Understood.” Harry nodded his agreement. He hadn’t planned on confronting DeWitt anyway, just observing him. If Jiggs thought he was letting the matter drop, so much the better. He didn’t need his friend biting off heads because he was on the defensive.

“Admiral Nelson.” The sudden tap-tap of footfalls on the spiral staircase drew his attention. Within seconds, Seaman Ryder crossed to the conference table. “ Mister Morton asked me to locate you, Sir. He’d like you to join him in the radio shack.”

Harry frowned. “Why didn’t he page?”

“I don’t know, Sir. He didn’t elaborate.”

“All right. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Harry extinguished his cigarette in a clean ashtray. As Ryder left, he looked back at Jiggs. “Where is DeWitt anyway?”

“Aiding the search details. Given what happened in the science lab, I think he needed to cool down.” He paused, shooting Harry a pointed glance from under his brows. “Unlike Crane, the man knows how to control his emotions.”

Harry was tempted but didn’t rise to the bait. He muttered something unintelligible and left in search of Morton.

**********

Harry found Chip in the radio shack with Sparks, the two officers engaged in quiet conversation. Both looked up as he approached, Sparks scooting his chair a little closer to the console, Chip straightening to face him.

“Admiral.” Chip gave a slight inclination of his head, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t want to risk the intercom.”

Instantly alert, Harry tensed. “What’s the problem?”

“Sparks has managed to restore outside communications.”

“And why would that be an issue?”

“It isn’t, Sir.” Chip exchanged a glance with the radio officer. “The problem lies with the reason it went down in the first place. Sparks can explain it better than I can.”

Harry looked to the junior officer expectantly.

“Sir, I initially thought we were experiencing circuit failure,” Sparks relayed. “Even when I changed out components, adding new, the system fried anything I tried to integrate. I thought it was in the wiring, then later, something deeper in the guts.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“No, Sir. I tried every trick I could think of . . .”  Sparks paused and wet his lips. “ . . . until I realized it had nothing to do with the system. When I looked elsewhere, I realized outside interference was at fault all along.”

Harry tilted his head, understanding. “A jamming frequency?”

“More advanced than that, Sir. This wavelength didn’t jam our transmissions, it disabled them.”

“Can you pinpoint where it’s coming from?”

“Not precisely.”

“Is it outside the sub?”

“No, Sir.” 

Harry drew back, looking between Sparks and Morton. “Now I understand why you didn’t use the intercom,” he said to Chip. Silently, he considered their options before returning his attention to Sparks. “Are you able to track its source on Seaview?”

Sparks shook his head, frustrated. “That’s just it, Sir. I know the source is onboard, but it’s elusive - - there one second, gone the next. It’s been impossible to pin down.”

“Keep on it,” Harry said. “Inform Mister Morton or me the moment you find the source. In the meantime, keep a lid on the fact our radio is working. For the time being, I want it to appear we haven’t made any headway. This information stays strictly between us.”

“Aye, Sir.” Sparks nodded, turning back to his station.

Harry motioned Chip outside, asking him to step into the corridor. Once out of earshot of the crew, he turned to face the taller man. “There is one message I want you to send.”

Chip raised a brow but said nothing.

“See if you can discover Captain DeWitt’s whereabouts from March 26^th through the 28^th.”

Chip started to nod, but stopped abruptly. “That’s the weekend Lee went missing.”

“Exactly. Be discreet about it, Mister Morton.” He knew he didn’t have to be plainer than that. By informing him of the problem with the radio, Chip and Sparks were now in the clear. If either were an enemy agent they would never have informed him of the interference.

“Aye, Sir.” Chip hesitated, plainly wanting to say something more.

“What is it?” Harry prompted. 

“I, just, uh . . .” Chip cleared his throat. “It’s about Lee, Sir. Some scuttlebutt drifted up to the control room about a disturbance in the science lab.”

Amazed, Harry shook his head. “That certainly didn’t take long.”

“Word has it Lee attacked DeWitt, and Starke wants him thrown in the brig.” Uncomfortable, he hedged. “Sir . . . Lee didn’t really - -”

“I’m afraid he did.” 

The executive officer paled. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Harry clarified. “When your watch is over report to my cabin and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

“Aye, Sir.” Still Chip hesitated, obviously worried. “You didn’t really . . . you didn’t have Lee thrown into the brig, Sir?”

Harry grinned. “He’s resting in his cabin, Chip. I admit I was tempted, but my frustration with him has nothing to do with what took place in the science lab. I’ll explain everything when you come to my cabin.”

***********

Over six hours later, Chip stepped into Lee’s cabin balancing a tray laden with food. The tantalizing aroma of baked lasagna wafted through the warming covers, mingling with the lighter vinaigrette of a tossed green salad and the creamy richness of peanut butter pie. Even though he’d already eaten, Chip felt his mouth water.

“Hope you’re hungry, Skipper.” He switched on the overhead light and slid the tray onto Lee’s desk. His friend was still out, the jumble of blankets knotted around his waist indicating his sleep hadn’t been entirely peaceful. Lee lay on his stomach, his face turned toward Chip, right arm shoved under his pillow, the other crooked close to his face. One leg was bent at an angle, the knee jutting off the edge of his bunk.

To Chip, he looked anything but comfortable. Given all Nelson had told him, Chip guessed Lee was far from rested. Unfortunately, his orders were to rouse the captain from sleep, make sure he ate, then turn him loose on the boat. 

In the six-plus hours he’d been out, Nelson had made headway with the Flying Sub, pinpointing a problem with the stabilizer. He’d already made several dives to the small vessel and was working on restoring functionality, aided by two crewmen from engineering.

In the meantime, Chip had managed to track down some interesting details about DeWitt. The older man had been out of town, supposedly visiting with a friend when Lee had been abducted in March. Chip wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but, given Lee’s insistence that DeWitt was an agent for the People’s Republic, it didn’t bode well.

Lee groaned softly in his sleep and shifted, turning his face toward the bulkhead. Unconsciously, he fisted his bandaged hand in the blanket, leaving Chip with the distinct impression his dreams were troubled. 

“Lee.” Stepping closer, he slid his hand onto his friend’s shoulder. He couldn’t remember the rules about waking someone from a nightmare - - good or bad? 

Sleeping, Seaview’s captain looked considerably younger than his thirty-three years, his defenses down, a subtle vulnerability sculpted in the curve of his face. Chip was reminded of the serious young plebe he’d first met at Annapolis. Sometimes it was hard equating that quiet, withdrawn youth with the flawless commander and seasoned ONI operative Lee had become.

He grinned, remembering those first awkward days with his new roommate. Their initial friction had passed quickly, and he’d soon found himself with a propensity to hover - - often to Lee’s chagrin. It was a tendency he’d never outgrown, an instinctive big brother syndrome that kicked in even now. Lee was in no shape to go crawling around the boat on a scavenger hunt for a missing canister, but all the arguments in the world wouldn’t dissuade him. Worse, he’d convinced Nelson he could handle it.

Huffing out a breath, Chip pressed the back of his hand to Lee’s cheek, testing for fever. His friend felt warm but not overly hot. Grateful for small triumphs, he breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Hey.” Gently, he shook Lee’s shoulder, rewarded by another groan. This time Lee blinked his eyes.

Chip bent nearer, drawn by a sliver of toasted honey beneath the heavy fringe of his lashes. The exec’s mouth curled instinctively, those ridiculously long eyelashes so characteristic of Lee he felt a sensation of warmth hunker in his gut. Ever since he’d heard the scuttlebutt about what had taken place in the lab . . . since he’d talked to Nelson and realized what a mess Lee was physically and emotionally, he’d been on edge. It was one thing to have his captain in trouble, another to have his best friend and almost-brother mired in the same turmoil. “You awake?”

Lee blinked and opened his eyes completely. “I am now.” He shifted, tangled in the blankets as he attempted to sit up. Chip gripped him under the arm and pulled aside the snarl of sheets. Freed, Lee swung his legs over the side of the rack and scuffed a hand through his hair. He was bleary-eyed, his white pajamas rumpled, the top only partially buttoned. Chip could see a smattering of purple bruising where it gaped on his chest. 

“Bad dreams?” he guessed.

Lee avoided the question completely. “What do I smell?” he mumbled.

“Food. Of which I’ve been ordered to make sure you eat every forkful.”

Lee slanted a sideways glance. “Jamie’s orders?” 

“Jamie and Nelson.” Chip hesitated, his thoughts racing backward over the last few hours. If Lee didn’t want to acknowledge the fact he’d been having nightmares - - something Chip had long suspected - - he wouldn’t press the issue. But he was damn well going to get a definitive answer on DeWitt. “The admiral brought me up to speed on everything, including what went down in the science lab.” He shook his head, still unable to believe what he’d heard. It only served to confirm Lee wasn’t himself. “Did you really attack DeWitt?” 

“Definitely not my brightest moment,” Lee conceded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought Nelson was going to chew my head off.”

Chip grinned faintly. “I hear he put on a good show.” He motioned to the desk. “Come on, Lee. Sit down and eat. There are a couple things we need to talk about.”

“In a minute. I want to shower first.” Lee stood, but he was wobbly on his feet and swayed off balance.

Chip swore softly, catching his elbow to steady him. He didn’t understand how Lee was going to function, crawling all over the boat, when he was still a prime candidate for Sick Bay. It would have been much easier if Chip or someone else on the crew could conduct the search, but they all had stations to man. DeWitt or Starke would be sniffing around in a heartbeat if Nelson pulled someone from assigned duties. The trick was not to arouse suspicion and, with Lee supposedly locked in his cabin, it made sense the task fell to him. Even so, Chip frowned doubtfully. 

“I think you should eat before you shower. You need the strength, and the food will get cold otherwise.”

“Stop mother-henning me.”

“Humor me and it’s a deal.”

Lee sent him a sharp glance. “Mister Morton - -” The crispness of his tone told Chip he was gearing up for a heated rebuttal. Then just as quickly he let out a sigh and sank into the desk chair, apparently deciding the argument wasn’t worth the effort. 

Chip blinked, surprised to have gained the upper hand given Lee’s natural willful streak. Counting his blessings, he pulled the warming covers off the plates. “Okay, Captain, dig in.”

Lee scowled, but he grudgingly picked up his fork and started on the lasagna. While he ate, Chip brought him up to date on what Sparks had discovered about their external communications, and also Nelson’s progress on the Flying Sub. Lee listened attentively, interrupting every now and then to ask questions. Finally, Chip shared the information he’d gained regarding DeWitt’s whereabouts the weekend Lee had gone missing.

“He was basically unaccounted for, out of town, visiting a friend.”

“So he could have been compromised at the same time I was.” Finished with the meal, Lee shoved his plate away. 

He hadn’t eaten everything as ordered, but he’d made a sizeable dent, impressive enough that Chip didn’t plan to push for the remainder. The food had heightened the color in his cheeks but he still looked drawn and tired. It was going to take a lot more than pasta and tossed greens to get him healthy again.

“They had Parker at the same time,” Lee observed, sinking back in his chair. “It’s possible they grabbed all three of us and have been holding DeWitt in reserve. I have to keep reminding myself he would have been subjected to the same conditioning and torture I was which makes him a pawn too.” He frowned. “Except I can’t help feeling - -” He stopped abruptly, letting the sentence hang.

“Except what?” Chip prodded.

“Nothing.” Lee looked away. Whatever it was he’d planned to say, he’d obviously decided against it. “I’m going to shower. You don’t have to hang around.” He pushed back from the desk and stood.

Chip eyed the food on his plate, once again deciding it wasn’t worth pursuing. Making sure his friend was steady on his feet, however, was another matter. “Go ahead, I’ll wait.” He picked up the fork Lee had dropped and started in on the remains of the peanut butter pie. “Ryder’s stationed outside your door, standing guard as far as everyone knows since Nelson is playing this thing to the hilt. Scuttlebutt has it you’ve been demoted to his bad side.” He swallowed a mouthful of pie, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s kind of entertaining actually. You’ll be glad to know the crew is 100% behind you. Apparently that nasty impression you made when you first came aboard has finally been forgotten. Either that, or serving under DeWitt is enough to make anyone, even you, seem like a saint.”

“Funny.” Muttering under his breath, Lee walked toward the head. 

Chip stole a sideways glance, his amusement fading as he noticed how stiffly Lee moved. 

He sighed.

The sooner the missing canister was located, the better for all of them.

***********

The shower helped loosen his muscles and ease the sting of his battered ribs. Sleeping had only made everything lock up until he woke twice as sore as when he’d tumbled into his rack. The food had helped - - it actually felt good to have something warm in his gut - - and the shower revitalized him, at least temporarily.

Lee wrapped a towel around his waist and padded back into his cabin. Preoccupied, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about DeWitt and how the older captain had been unaccounted for the weekend he’d been abducted. The man could have been kidnapped, subjected to the same horror he’d endured or - -

He shut the thought down, unwilling to follow where his mind led. It didn’t add up. He was just letting his imagination run rampant. Even Nelson would think he was crazy and Starke would threaten him with dismemberment for merely suggesting it. Frowning, he yanked open the door to his wardrobe closet.

“What the hell happened to your ribs?” Chip groused from the direction of his desk, shattering his reverie. 

Lee glanced down, noting the ugly bruising leeched across his right side. The discoloration had deepened in hue, ghastly purple mottled with splotches of red and yellow at the edges. Toweling off in the bathroom had served to remind him how sore he was. “A parting souvenir, courtesy of my crack-up in the Flying Sub.”

“Don’t be so damn cavalier,” Chip snapped. His tone was barbed, but Lee heard concern as much as anger. It probably hadn’t been the smartest move walking back into the cabin, clothed only in the towel slung around his waist. He knew the bruises looked grisly. He’d already grown accustomed to the sight, but to an overly protective executive officer and pseudo big brother they were cause for alarm.

Chip shot to his feet. “Did Jamie see that?”

“Yes,” Lee said patiently. “Nothing’s cracked or broken. It looks worse than it is.”

Not entirely convinced, Chip eyed him suspiciously, but mention of Jamie did the trick and he backed off. Lee pulled a clean uniform from the closet, changing the subject and asking after some basic operational details. As he dressed, Chip brought him up to date on their position and speed. 

“The Kirkland Dunn should reach us in another day,” the blond-haired man said. “If Nelson doesn’t have the Flying Sub operational, he’s going to transfer the canister and Starke to the destroyer.”

Lee nodded, dragging a comb through his damp hair. As usual, it had degenerated into a riot of curls when wet. “I guess there’s nothing new on any of the explosive devices Parker hid?”

Chip shook his head. “It’s looking like the admiral was right and Parker was spouting a lot of gibberish. Either he’s delusional or he wanted to send us on a wild goose chase.”  

Lee sighed. He was glad nothing had been planted on the boat but felt bad for having crashed the FS in his haste to reach Seaview. The conflict must have shown on his face.

Chip gave a low grunt and sized him up with a scowl. “Nelson doesn’t blame you, Lee, so get that crap out of your head. What happened with the FS was an accident. The result of mechanical failure. You responded to a threat with the only means at your disposal. Any of us, Nelson included, would have done the same thing given the information you had.”

“I suppose so,” Lee agreed quietly, buttoning his shirt. Even so, the sting wasn’t so easily set aside. He straightened his collar, forsaking a tie, then tucked the shirttails into his pants. “You should probably go, Chip. I’ll wait a few minutes, then uh . . .” He nodded toward the ventilation duct on the opposite side of the room. It wasn’t the most ideal way to move around the sub, but there was one cabin in particular he wanted to check, and the duct would get him there undetected. It would also keep Ryder in the clear, leaving the crewman under the impression he remained under lock and key.

Chip nodded, stacking the warming covers back on the tray. “All right. I don’t agree with this whole scheme, considering the shape you’re in, but I know it’s senseless to argue. I just hope once this mission is over you plan on sleeping for a week.”

Lee grinned faintly. “Once this mission is over, I’d like to get my boat back.”

***********

The air ventilation ductwork certainly wasn’t the most efficient or comfortable way to move around Seaview, but in a pinch it got the job done. Lee pried the grate from the opening in his cabin, slithered inside, then snapped the grille in place behind him. Hopefully, if someone did come looking for him, it would take a short while before they figured out where he’d gone.

Maneuvering on hands and knees, he crawled through the duct, following the bend when the passage forked to the left. It was uncomfortably close in the narrow space, warm and mostly dark. Every thirty feet or so, a backwash of light filtered through a connecting grille, painting the sheet metal a ghostly white.

Lee inched forward, wincing when the pressure on his bad arm awakened a knot of pain in his shoulder. He grimaced, mentally trying to shake the discomfort aside. A little further and he’d reach his first destination, able to pop the grille and drop into DeWitt’s cabin.  

Another turn and the duct forked in two directions. The voices of a passing search detail trickled through a small ventilation grate. Lee waited, listening as they moved past. Sound was amplified in the hollow metal tube, warping distance, but he was familiar with the distortion. After a minute or two he inched forward again, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck, seeping into his collar. He wiped a sleeve across his brow, mopping up perspiration before it could drip into his eyes. The confines were quickly beginning to grow sweltering.

Two minutes later, he crouched behind the grate exiting into guest cabin B - - DeWitt’s quarters for the cruise. He craned his neck, making sure the room was empty before forcing the grille and dropping to the deck. Immediately, a draft of cooler air wafted across his face, drying the sweat on his brow.

Lee wasted no time, moving to the head and cracking the door to make sure DeWitt wasn’t inside. Once he knew he was alone, he began a systematic search of the cabin, starting with the desk. He went through each drawer, checked the underside, then the bottom of each chair. Next, he pulled back the mattress on the rack, rifled through the drawers underneath and searched the closet. Coming up empty, he continued his search in the head, starting by feeling under the sink. He was almost done, disgusted by his lack of progress, when he felt a sudden pressure against the back of his neck.

“Don’t move,” a silky, cold voice instructed.

Lee tensed, instinctively raising his hands to show he wasn’t armed. His eyes darted to the side and the mirror above the sink, catching DeWitt’s reflection in the glass. The older man held a silencer-equipped .45 pressed to the back of his neck.

“You’re out of your element, Crane. You’re supposed to be locked in your cabin. Somehow, I don’t think Nelson will be very surprised if I tell him you’re roaming the boat. Why do I think he put you up to this?”

Lee thought quickly, calculating his position. DeWitt didn’t trust him, but if he was truly a loyal naval officer and nothing more, there was no reason for him to pull a gun. “I’m looking for the canister. Someone stole it from the admiral’s safe. If you’ve got nothing to hide, back off and let me go.”

“So you just started your search in my cabin? Why not Morton’s or the crews’ quarters?” The gun dug deeper. “What about your buddy Kowalski or the other suck-asses on this boat? Am I the only one under suspicion?”

Lee waited, saying nothing. 

DeWitt made a tsking sound. Something about it was disturbingly familiar sending a chill down his spine.

“You know, I’ve never liked you, Crane. You were always too driven, too damn perfect at everything you did. You know how there are some people in life that make you want to puke? All you have to do is look at them and your gut curdles into your throat? You’re that person for me, Crane. From the moment they put you in my command all those years ago, I wanted to take you down a peg.”

“I didn’t realize I was such an obsession.” Lee knew it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say given the man held a gun on him, but the gloves had come off. “Until you stuck your ugly face on my boat, I hadn’t given you a single thought since we parted company.”

DeWitt snorted softly. “You are one cocky S.O.B., but that glib attitude doesn’t work on me. I remember you screaming, twisting in a cage not that long ago. The Disruptor taught you the punishment for overconfidence.” His lips drew back against his gums in a malignant grin. “You remember, don’t you - - what day is it, Commander?”

Lee hissed, a tight breath escaping between his teeth. Just that quickly, everything he’d thought, everything he’d considered an impossibility became staggeringly real. DeWitt hadn’t been abducted or brainwashed. There’d been no need because he’d been the one in control all along. He wasn’t just an operative of the People’s Republic. He was a leader, a man who’d been living a double life for years, posing as a trusted officer of the U.S. Navy.

A chill swept through Lee as the sickening realization thudded home. DeWitt couldn’t be accounted for that weekend in March because he’d been busy subjecting Lee to torture. He’d used a different name, but the heinous reality was exactly as Lee had suspected - - DeWitt and Wynter were one and the same.

“You’ve put the pieces together, haven’t you?” DeWitt leaned closer, breathing against his neck. “It isn’t easy living a double life, stealing secrets, feeding information through constantly changing channels. The People’s Republic never had to indoctrinate me because I supported everything they believed in from the start. I was eager to join them, Crane. Eager. I’ve been in their pocket for decades.” He shook his head, a sneer twisting his mouth. “What gives the U.S. government the right to police the world - - so smug and superior, the great super power that holds the balance of nations in sway. It sickens me.”

“You sicken me, traitor.”

“Ah, but for a while there, we thought alike, didn’t we?” A hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing hard. “You remember your lessons, don’t you, Commander? I’ve always enjoyed my work but never so much as when I had the chance to break you.”

Lee ground his teeth, angry despite the knowledge he was being deliberately manipulated. “Your conditioning didn’t hold. You might have gotten into my head but you couldn’t change my convictions . . . what I believed in my heart.”

“How pathetically poetic,” DeWitt mocked. He drew back, tracking the gun between Lee’s shoulder blades. “On your stomach, Commander.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get on the deck. Onto your stomach.” The gun prodded the middle of his back.      

Lee hesitated, debating about making a move in the cramped confines of the small compartment. DeWitt seemed to read his indecision and switched his grip, jamming the pistol behind Lee’s ear. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’d as soon pump a bullet into you as leave you in one piece. Since the powers-that-be seem to think you might be of further use to us one day, my instructions are to leave you alive, but I have full discretion over the matter.” His mouth hardened in a tight line. “I’m not going to tell you again, Crane. On your stomach.”

Out of options Lee knelt then stretched flat, folding his arms above his head. One elbow butted against the toilet, the other the chrome edge of the shower. It took only a second for DeWitt to snatch his wrists and wrench both arms behind his back. He sucked in a reactionary breath at the rough handling, gritting his teeth as his wrists were lashed together with a piece of chord.

“Do yourself a favor,” DeWitt said as he yanked the binding tight. “Forget about things for awhile. I’ve rigged it so internal communications will go down shortly. There’s going to be a small explosion - - maybe a few - - and some flooding. Nothing overly severe, just enough to serve as a distraction while I launch the mini sub. I’d estimate a minimal loss of life, maybe a dozen men.”

“You bastard, you can’t!” Incensed, Lee tried to twist around.

DeWitt wedged a knee against his spine, pinning him to the deck. “I could have just jettisoned the canister, you know,” he said almost conversationally, “and no one would have been the wiser. At least not until Starke got his prized container back to port.”

Lee didn’t say anything, aware the canister DeWitt had stolen was a fake. It gave him a perverse sense of pleasure knowing Nelson had managed to one-up the bastard.

“I could have maintained my front as a dedicated naval officer,” DeWitt continued, seemingly intrigued by his own logic. “But I couldn’t take a chance with so many flaws. First, communications with my base inadvertently took your radio offline, then Parker babbles nonsense about bombs that don’t exist and finally, you show up - - the one subject I couldn’t successfully bend to my will. You’re considered a failure, Crane, and as a result, I am too. My superiors feared it would only be a matter of time before you realized who I was. I reminded them you never saw my face and my voice was disguised, but they were adamant. When I knew my protests wouldn’t sway them, I tried to make you come unhinged.” His smile grew sharp and savoring. “In that I almost succeeded. If not for Nelson, you’d be in the brig, and your career would be on the line.”

“Don’t count yourself that important,” Lee said bitterly.

DeWitt ignored him. “The admiral is oddly protective of you,” he mused as if realizing it for the first time. “More than the average appreciation of an employer for an exceptional employee. And as much as it galls me to admit, you are exceptional, Crane. Turned traitor, you would be a remarkable prize.” He lowered his eyes, studying Lee thoughtfully, a glimmer of something ugly and possessive in his gaze. “It’s why we’re not through. Why I plan on continuing your education someday.”

Lee felt his gut curdle. “I’ll kill you first.”

DeWitt laughed softly. “I doubt that. And now . . . as much as I’d like to continue this riveting conversation, it’s time I took the canister and left. If you’d split the bottom corner of my mattress, you would have found it tucked inside.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. “Your mini sub will get me far enough away for a rendezvous with a submarine belonging to the People’s Republic. Count yourself fortunate that our only interest is in the canister at this point, and we’re not prepared to engage Seaview or destroy her with explosives. Obviously, I can never go back to being Kurt DeWitt, Commander, U.S. Navy, but I promise you haven’t seen the last of me, Crane.” Leaning forward, he jammed the handkerchief between Lee’s teeth, pulling it tight and knotting it at the back of his head.

Lee grunted, wheezing for air against the clotted cloth. He tried to twist onto his side, but DeWitt kicked hard him in the ribs. The pain made him choke back a groan, corkscrewing his knees closer to his chest to protect his tender middle. Leaving him gasping, DeWitt exited to the main room of the cabin and pulled the door shut. A second later, Lee heard the tumbler drop in place, locking him inside. 

He kicked hard, battering the door with his heels. Pain jacked through him, fiery and sharp, so wretchedly hot it made his head spin. He kicked again but DeWitt ignored him, already moving away. A few seconds later, Lee heard the outer door of the cabin open and close and knew DeWitt had left to do as he promised. Panting against the gag, he folded onto his back, bending his legs at the knees. He twisted, working his hands in the cords, the bite of leather digging into his skin. He stifled a groan when the contortions made his arm and ribs protest with pain. It took another minute of straining, but the restrictive binding finally fell free, slick with blood. Lee sat forward and ripped the gag from his mouth.

From far away came the muffled boom of an explosion. The boat rocked, and he was thrown to the side, banging against the shower door. An alarm shrieked, followed by the crack of Chip’s voice over the intercom:

“Damage control, report.”

It took only seconds for the answering response. “Damage control, Sir. Flooding in frames 22 through 28, possibly further down. We’re taking on wa...” And just that quickly, the transmission ended, cut abruptly short

Lee clawed upright, his heart plummeting to his gut. He knew internal communications had gone down exactly as DeWitt had promised.  

It was only the start. 

The traitor had made good on his threat of bombing Seaview.

**********

Careful to maintain a neutral expression, Chip fumed silently as he marked off a course adjustment at the plotting table. He’d left Lee in his cabin a short while ago, returning to the control room. It was bad enough having DeWitt aboard, but at least the frigidly superior captain had been scarce of late, roaming the boat with the search details. Starke, on the other hand, was like a turkey vulture, constantly circling, making his presence felt. Chip wished Nelson would collect him and yank him the hell off the conn, but the admiral was busy with repairs to the Flying Sub.

Eyes lowered, he made another adjustment and thought of his friend crawling through Seaview’s ventilation ducts. What would Starke think, he wondered, if he knew someone had attempted to steal his precious canister? That Lee, a man he’d vehemently scorned and ordered locked up, was trying to track the thief even now?

Chip fought to keep his distaste from showing. It irritated him Starke was the one holding up Lee’s security clearance while his friend continued to push past the point of endurance in service to Starke and his country. The COMPSUBPAC commander had made no secret of his pleasure at having Lee confined to quarters, loudly proclaiming Nelson’s discipline hadn’t gone far enough. Everyone on board knew if it had been up to him Lee would be in the brig, facing a military tribunal the moment they returned to port. As it was Starke continued to boast about holding Lee’s security clearance in limbo. Chip knew the only leverage Lee had was Nelson.

And Admiral Harriman Nelson was someone even Starke, at his worst, would think twice about crossing. 

“Mister Morton, where is Captain DeWitt?” 

Starke appeared at his shoulder, his demeanor clipped and imperial. Chip fought the urge to sneer, schooling his face to perfect composure. “I wouldn’t know, Sir. He hasn’t seen fit to relay his whereabouts for some time.” Let Starke chew on that and measure it against his perfect, poster-child captain.

Starke frowned, put off by the answer. Chip stiffened his spine expecting the man to bark an order about finding him. But before Starke could open his mouth an explosion rumbled through the deck, shuddering deep in the belly of the sub. Seaview lurched violently to the side, throwing him hard against the hydrophone station. He scrambled for the nearest mike, tossed again when the sub heaved in the opposite direction. Starke reeled with him, jarred from his feet.

Chip grappled for his arm, hauling him upright, even as he wrenched the mike free. All around him alarm claxons were sounding, the lights in the control room dropping to auxiliary power. “Damage control,” he spat into the mike. “Report.”

Almost immediately, a voice responded:  “Damage control, Sir. Flooding in frames 22 through 28, possibly further down. We’re taking on wa...” And just that quickly, the transmission ended, cut abruptly short.

Chip went cold to the bone. He held the mike closer, snarling into the handset. “Damage control!” But he knew it was useless even as he barked out the command. A dread certainty burrowed in his gut, telling him internal communication had gone down with the same inexplicable swiftness that had taken external down several days ago. 

“O’Malley,” he called to a whippet-thin seaman near the far hatch. “Get down to frame 22 and find out what’s going on.” He didn’t wait to see if the order was obeyed but snatched a fire extinguisher from beneath the plotting table. Pivoting, he opened the valve, turning it on the navigation panel where a small blaze had sprouted. The flames sputtered and died, smothered beneath a glut of white foam. Overhead, the lights flickered, flaring once before returning to normal. All around him, crewmen manned their stations, double checking instrumentation and looking for damage.

“What in Hades just happened?” Starke demanded, appearing at his elbow, bristling and angry.

Chip spared a glance. “I don’t know, Sir. I’m currently trying to find out. Internal communications have gone down. We’re taking on water in lower frames.”

“I have ears, Commander. I heard the report,” Starke snapped. “And don’t try to tell me that explosion was the result of one of Parker’s devices. First, outside communications go down, now internal. I’m starting to think DeWitt was right, and Crane used the excuse about Parker to get onboard so he could sabotage Seaview and this mission. Everything has gone haywire since he showed up. It’s all a little too coincidental for me.”

Chip clenched his hands, unable to believe Starke could be so blinded by prejudice. He knew the admiral didn’t care for Lee, but was shocked to find him so single-minded. “Sir, Captain Crane has been locked in his cabin for the last seven hours. He couldn’t have possibly set off - -”

“Mister Morton,” Patterson interrupted abruptly, his voice laced with surprise. At his station, a single yellow button had winked on, solidifying to a steady amber glow. Shocked, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sir. Someone is trying to launch the mini sub.”

***********

Lee found a nail file in the medicine cabinet and worked at the lock until the door swung free. DeWitt hadn’t bothered securing the outer door and, in no time, Lee was in the corridor racing for the missile room. An insistent tug urged him toward the flooded compartments, but he forced it silent. He thought of DeWitt’s statement the bomb would claim a dozen or so lives and prayed the man had only been goading him. His natural instinct was to assist with the flooding, to ensure his men were safe and help secure the passage. But, if there were other bombs as DeWitt had hinted, then the traitorous captain became his first priority. 

Turning the corridor, he nearly collided with Kowalski who was scrambling in the opposite direction.

“Skipper.” Ski came to a grinding halt, surprised but thankful, to see him out of his cabin. “Sir, the explosion. I was headed to - -”

“Forget it; I know where you were headed.” Leave it to Kowalski to always be in the thick of things, no matter how dangerous. It was one of the reasons he gelled so well with the younger man. “The damage control team will have to secure the flooding. I need you to find the admiral.”

“Sir?” Befuddled, Kowalski blinked. 

Lee knew he found it hard to believe his captain would order him elsewhere when the boat was flooding. But Kowalski didn’t understand what was at stake, and he didn’t have time to explain. Even if there wasn’t another bomb, Lee couldn’t let DeWitt escape. After decades as a double agent he was far too valuable to the U.S. as a source of intell - - and much too damaging if he slipped free.

“Listen to me,” he said sharply. “Find Nelson. Tell him DeWitt took the canister and is trying to escape in the mini sub. Tell him DeWitt is Wynter.”

“Sir?” Kowalski blinked, not understanding.

“He’s a double agent and has been for decades. Tell the admiral I’m headed to the missile room to stop him.”

Kowalski’s bewilderment quickly turned to rage. “Why that no good, traitorous dirt-bag.”

 “Ski!” Lee gripped his arm hard. “Did you get all that?”

The rating nodded swiftly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then hurry. Find Nelson.”

Before he could answer, Lee released him and bolted down the corridor.

**********

Lee stopped his mad dash only long enough to grab a gun from the weapons locker in the armaments room. There should have been a watch stationed inside the missile room but, when he arrived, he found the guard collapsed near the hatch. Crouching, he held the gun poised in one hand as he felt for the man’s pulse with the other. A steady beat thrummed beneath his fingertips. 

“Doughtery.”  Lee did a visual sweep of the room and gave the rating’s shoulder a firm shake. 

“Sir.” The man groaned and lifted a hand to his forehead where a large welt was already forming under his hairline. Disoriented, he blinked groggily up at Lee. “Captain DeWitt . . . he was here. I  . . .”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lee slipped a hand under his arm and helped him to his feet. “Get to Sick Bay. I’ll take care of DeWitt.”

“But, Skipper - -”

“Go.” Lee shoved him through the hatch, turning back to the room. It appeared empty, but the towering bulk of the silos hid his view of the mini sub. He knew it would take DeWitt a few minutes to launch. Had he made it in time, or was the sub already gone, escaping into the sea? Chip would be alerted to the launch in the control room but, with communication down, there was no way to determine who maneuvered her. For that reason alone, he’d be unlikely to take action. 

Lee eased around the silos, carefully skirting the rear of the diving hatch. He caught a glimpse of DeWitt in the sub. The older man had the canopy raised, his head bowed as he ran through a hasty instruments check. Lee extended his arm but, before he could squeeze off a shot, DeWitt glanced up, alerted by some sixth sense.

“Crane,” he spat, jerking his hand into the open.

Certain he had a gun, Lee tucked and rolled, pulling the trigger. The bullet pinged wide, and he scrambled for cover. If he could keep DeWitt engaged and on the defensive until Nelson arrived, together they might be able to stop him from launching the sub. With any luck, Kowalski would trail the admiral into the missile room.

Partially shielded by the diving hatch, Lee angled for another shot.

“Fool!” DeWitt cursed, standing upright now. “You still haven’t learned!”

He jerked the thing in his hand, and Lee felt a sharp sear of pain through his chest. The agony was all too familiar, one he desperately wanted to forget. With a startled cry, he folded to his knees. He heard the gun clatter against the deck, only vaguely aware he’d dropped it. The room telescoped down into a sea of white noise and physical torment. Gasping, he rolled onto his back, the sickening realization of what DeWitt held crashing over him in a bone-chilling rush. Not a gun. He ground his teeth, fighting back a scream. The Disruptor!  

It was worse this time. Excruciating. He couldn’t breathe, the pain a barbed spear that plundered his chest and pinned him to the deck. It paralyzed his mind. Left him writhing and panting for breath, drenched in a cold sweat.   

He heard footsteps, but the torture had stripped his senses until he was only dimly cognizant of his surroundings. DeWitt stood over him, the heinous rectangular box in his hands.

“You should have stayed away, Crane,” he said dispassionately. With a satisfied smile, he wrenched the dial higher.   

Lee screamed. Pain ripped through him, and he knew with dread certainty this time DeWitt would kill him.

***********

Harry’s mind raced. He knew Lee had been fixated on DeWitt from the start, believing the man was under the influence of the People’s Republic. While Harry had remained uncertain, his instinct had been to put his faith in Lee. Now he had something concrete to validate that belief, far more staggering than he’d anticipated.

According to the message Kowalski delivered, DeWitt hadn’t been brainwashed. He was a seasoned operative, a double-agent working for the People’s Republic with the same stealth and secrecy he had for decades. Even more shocking, he was Wynter, the man who’d tortured Lee for one horrifying weekend in March.

It made perfect sense he’d conveniently ‘fallen out of the woodwork,’ phoning Starke at precisely the moment the COMSUBPAC commander had been in need of a captain for his cruise. DeWitt had been ordered to reclaim the canister and now, thinking he’d accomplished that, was prepared to leave the boat.

But why blow his cover?

Harry chewed around the thought as he bolted down the corridor toward the missile room, Kowalski clinging to his heels. Lee had somehow seen through his subterfuge, forcing DeWitt’s hand. But what exactly had tipped him off?

Harry thought back to the moment in his cabin when Lee first accused DeWitt of being an enemy operative.

He used a trigger phrase, the captain said. Something Wynter kept repeating when . . . when he was torturing me.

Harry still didn’t know what that phrase was . . . didn’t know what Lee had endured at the hands of the sadistic Wynter. His young commander had been tight-lipped about his captivity, sharing only as necessary to expedite his security clearance. So what had happened to make him positive DeWitt was the man who’d tortured him? It had to be more than a single key phrase. From everything Harry knew Lee had never seen Wynter’s face.

The thoughts scattered as he slipped into the missile room, gun at the ready. 

At first, other than the absence of a seaman stationed on watch, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then he heard Lee scream, and the sound slashed through him like a knife. 

“Kowalski, go!” He sent the rating flanking in the opposite direction. He’d only taken a few steps when the pain hit him, exploding across his chest with the fanged teeth of a ripsaw. Driven to his knees, he choked for air. From the corner of his eye he saw Kowalski crumble, afflicted by the same brutal assault.

Harry tried to crawl forward, clutching the .45 he’d taken from his cabin. Just a few inches and he had a clear view of DeWitt standing over Lee, a strange rectangular box in his hands. The traitor’s face shone with grim rapture as he watched Lee writhe on the deck at his feet.  

Flat on his stomach, barely able to raise his arm, Harry fired in DeWitt’s direction. He heard a surprised grunt and saw the man wheel away, instinctively clutching his shoulder. The rectangular box tumbled to the deck, and Lee forced himself on top of it. Harry couldn’t see what he did but, within seconds, the pain abruptly stopped. By then DeWitt had vaulted into the mini sub and was in the process of lowering the canopy.

Harry clambered to his feet, racing for the controls. He worked frantically, but it was no good - - DeWitt had obviously overridden the instrumentation. He spun, intending to fire, but the sub had already vanished from view, lowered into the ocean.

Kowalski, too, seemed to realize their chance of stopping DeWitt had passed. Unsteady on his feet, the rating stumbled to Lee’s side and gingerly rolled him onto his back.

“Skipper?” He felt for a pulse at Lee’s throat, expelling an audible sigh of relief as Harry joined him. “He’s breathing, Sir, but he must have passed out.” Wincing, the rating rubbed a hand across his heart. “What happened? It felt like my chest was going to explode.”

Harry reached past him, retrieving the rectangular box DeWitt had dropped. “I think it has something to do with this. It must be some kind of torture device.” His glance was immediately drawn back to Lee, the significance of what he’d said sinking home. Shaken, he pressed his hand to Lee’s cheek, swallowing hard when he felt cold flesh beneath his fingertips. Lee was entirely too still, his complexion the chilling parlor of bone. “Kowalski, find Dr. Jamieson. Tell him Captain Crane is breathing but has been seriously hurt. Get him here quickly.”

“Aye, Sir.” Kowalski didn’t have to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted from the room. 

Harry thrust the box aside. “Lee...” He slipped an arm beneath the younger man’s shoulders, raising him until Lee was half-supported in his lap. “Can you hear me?” He freed the top three buttons of Lee’s shirt, clearing a path for unrestricted air flow. It disturbed him there wasn’t a mark on Lee - - no gunshot wound, evidence of trauma, not even a scratch - - yet his frightful stillness was indicative of a serious injury. Even his breathing was ominously shallow.

Something internal? Something debilitating? 

Harry grimaced, remembering the violent spike of pain through his chest. For one horrifying moment it had felt like his heart was going to give out. If DeWitt had used his torture contraption on Lee, prolonging that agony - -

He heaved the thought aside, unwilling to dwell on the consequences. Calmly, he rubbed Lee’s arm, hoping to impart a measure of assurance. “I don’t know if you can hear me but Jamieson is on his way. You need to hang on, Lee.”

He felt a weak squeeze on his forearm and glanced down to see Lee’s fingers curled around his wrist. A lump rose to his throat, fighting for dominance with an emotional grin. “That’s it, lad. Stay with me . . .”

***********

Several hours later, Harry sat in Sick Bay, a chair drawn close to the bunk where Lee slept soundly. The young captain was out, resting without the aide of sedation. Jamie hadn’t wanted to risk it after running an EKG. While the test results showed no marked abnormalities or irregular rhythms there were signs of trauma - - recent and past. Harry had a feeling Lee’s medical reports from Mare Island might have looked the same. He believed Jamie, however, when the doctor said Lee would recover and no permanent damage had been done. Harry submitted to his own EKG, having Kowalski do the same. Afterward, he’d turned DeWitt’s loathsome torture contraption over to Starke but had been too angry to do more than warn him of its properties. He had no clue how it disrupted the heart’s natural impulses and didn’t care. His concern was for Lee and getting him back on his feet.

Tired, he sagged in his chair, thankful for the darkness of his surroundings. He’d had Jamie douse the lights, thinking it would help Lee rest more soundly. The first hour or so, Seaview’s captain had tossed fitfully as if plagued by troubling dreams, but exhaustion had eventually taken its toll. Lee had barely moved since, consumed by a deep and much-needed rest.

The skin beneath his eyes looked bruised, ringed by shadow. He’d yet to regain his normal color, the too-warm flush of his cheeks creating an unhealthy contrast against his chalky complexion. Despite those imperfections, having him finally asleep, safe from danger was a balm of healing for Harry. 

He’d been shaken and more than a little surprised when he’d realized how much Lee had come to mean to him. True, there’d always been a connection between them dating back to Annapolis, but that bond had magnified over time. He’d seen it bolstered by their service on the Nautilus, deepening further still when he’d recruited Lee for Seaview. He’d always respected Lee’s strengths and skills, his gifted and exceptional abilities as a commander. But somewhere along the way he’d allowed himself to be swept up in Lee’s vulnerabilities too.

He swallowed hard. Bowing his head, he rubbed two fingers against his temple. He hadn’t even realized the transition was taking place, a subtle evolution that made Lee far more than captain, co-worker and friend. The change was frightening when he thought about it . . . when he stopped to mentally acknowledge how much he cared. 

Such an unusual word. It wasn’t as if he’d never felt strongly about someone before. Weren’t he and Jiggs proof of that, their friendship spanning decades? And, of course, there was Edith, his sister. He’d even been in love once, married to a woman who was now a famous fashion model. But what he felt for Lee was strangely akin to the depth of emotion a father felt for a son. 

When the hell did that happen?

Even more, how would the change - - or at least his awareness of it - - impact their working relationship? Jiggs already thought he made far too many allowances for Lee as it was. And hadn’t he threatened to withhold Seaview from service if Lee wasn’t reinstated as her captain? Was there anyone else for whom he would have willingly taken such a hard-nosed stand? 

He sighed.

No. 

He’d rattle a few bars and bellow menacingly, but withhold his sub? Not likely.

So where did that leave things? 

It left him sitting in the dark by his commander’s bedside, his gut churning acid because he’d almost lost the man he’d come to think of as a son. It was one hell of a staggering bombshell.

Harry rubbed his eyes. First order of business, he was going to have to tread carefully with Lee, given the discovery. His young commander was competent and professionally flawless, but also regimentally reserved when it came to his personal life. Harry knew he’d lost his father when he was eight and that his childhood hadn’t been ideal, but he didn’t know the details. What he did know was that Lee allowed very few people close to him and, even then, was often guarded. He wore his privacy like a cloak and rarely, if ever, allowed doubt or vulnerability to show. It was probably one of the reasons he’d avoided discussing Wynter and his captivity. 

Lee Crane did not handle personal failure well.

Harry glanced up when the door opened. A bright triangle of light spilled across the deck, forcing him to squint at the intrusion. Jiggs stood framed briefly on the threshold then stepped inside. Harry heard him mutter something about ‘infernal dark’ and ‘why-the-hell-did-Edison-invent-the-light-bulb-if-no-one-has-the-common-sense-to-use-it?’

“Close the door,” Harry greeted. “The dark will help Lee sleep better.” He turned back toward the bunk, not ready to relinquish his hostility. It wasn’t Jiggs’ fault DeWitt had hurt Lee - - almost killed him - - but it damn well felt that way and he needed someone to blame. He was angry at himself for not listening to Lee initially and angry at Jiggs for having spent the last several days championing DeWitt. It would have made a genuine apology hard to swallow, let alone a half-assed one.

“Talking to me yet?” Jiggs asked, shutting the door with an audible click. When Harry chose not to answer he dragged a chair close to the bunk and sat down. “Look, Harry. I know you’re ticked off about how things went down but, as much as I clash with Crane, you have to know I never wanted him hurt.”

“That’s never been in debate.” Harry knew his voice came off sounding gruff, but worry and stress had exacted a toll. He and Chip had taken turns sitting by Lee’s bedside as Seaview sped toward home. With communications restored, they’d made contact with Forester and the Kirkland Dunn as well as several heads of state and top Navy officials. The hunt for DeWitt had already been engaged, all ships and submarines in the vicinity placed on high-level alert. They’d even managed to raise the Flying Sub long enough to secure her to the diving bell hatch with winch cables in order to get her home. That left Harry with one remaining loose thread.

He covered Lee’s wrist with his hand where it rested on the mattress. “You’ll get his security clearance reinstated?” he asked Jiggs, though he kept his eyes on Lee.

“I’ve already ordered it. By the time we dock in Santa Barbara, he’ll have what he needs. It’s the least I can do.” Disgusted, Jiggs shook his head. “I feel like a damn fool, Harriman. It galls me I was so blinded by DeWitt . . . that I put him on this boat personally and tried to sway you into making him Seaview’s permanent captain.”

Harry gave a disdainful snort. “That didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Jiggs was only half-listening. “I must be ready for pasture. The man played me like a well-oiled machine.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Maybe it was time to cut Jiggs some slack. He wasn’t a vindictive man. He’d only been doing what he thought best, even if that ‘best’ put them at cross-purposes. Jiggs was old Navy and that naturally translated into Lee rubbing him the wrong way. He respected skill but couldn’t tolerate arrogance and, unfortunately for Lee, his natural poise and self-confidence sometimes came off as conceit - - at least as Jiggs saw it. Factor in his relaxed command style and Harry’s tendency to make allowances for him, and Jiggs had stamped an indelible black mark beside Lee’ name. “You weren’t the only one DeWitt fooled. He’d been leading a double life for decades.”

Jiggs grimaced. “I know about Wynter, Harry . . . what Crane went through after he was abducted. I should have told you before. I’ve seen Forester’s reports from Mare Island. All the psyche and medical profiles, even transcripts of the debriefings. That device you gave me . . . Crane referred to it as a Disruptor. It alternately accelerates and slows normal heart rhythm, creating abnormalities and arrhythmia. At extreme levels, it can cause cardiac arrest.” Jiggs wet his lips, rubbing his palms over his trousers. “Crane said they used it to condition him . . . kept him in a cage under spotlights and used it to torture him. After that, they strapped him in a chair and shot him with electrical current.”

Harry blanched. “You knew?” Rage rocketed through him. “You knew all he went through and still put him through hell waiting for his clearance?” He lurched to his feet, the desire to punch something  - - to punch Jiggs - - dangerously strong. “Damn you, Jiggs, I - -”

Lee moaned softly. 

Harry pivoted, swiftly swallowing his anger, fearful of waking his injured captain. The color drained from his face as fury gave way to concern. He bent over the bunk, tucking the sheets higher on Lee’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep, lad.”

“Admiral . . .” Lee’s voice was weak. He didn’t open his eyes, caught in the floaty limbo between dreams.

“Everything’s fine.” Harry brushed a hand over his hair. He wasn’t even aware he dropped his fingertips to Lee’s cheek until he found Jiggs watching him strangely. He waited a moment, making certain Lee had fallen back asleep, then motioned Jiggs toward the door. “We’ll continue this conversation in the corridor. I don’t want to disturb him.”

Back stiff, hands clenched at his sides, he walked into the hall not bothering to note if Jiggs followed. The anger came back, stronger than before. Used it to condition him . . . kept him in a cage under spotlights  . . . electrical current.

Jiggs keyed in on his rage the moment he stepped into the corridor. “You’re too damn close to that man, Harry. You keep to this path it’s going to be disastrous for both of you. He’s an officer, sworn to serve his country - -”

“You knew what he went through,” Harry spat, unwilling to let him finish. He plunked an index finger on Jiggs’ chest, backing the bigger man against the bulkhead. “And still you let Forester keep at him.”

“Of course I did! It’s the man’s job. You think I wanted Crane back on Seaview if he was unstable? I was thinking of your boat, Harry. Your crew.”

“And afterward? You willingly bought Forester’s garbage about ‘flashbacks’ and ‘delayed triggers.’ 

“Sure I did.” Jiggs shrugged, beginning to bristle. “I’ll be the first to admit Crane rubs me the wrong way. He’s too damn perfect and far too good at what he does. Hell, I’ll admit it - - he’s probably the best we’ve got - - which is all just a little too freaky given his age. Throw in his ONI background, and he’d be a formidable enemy if turned. You think I want someone like that - - someone that outstanding and gifted, commanding a submarine with the firepower of Seaview if I have the slightest doubt about him?”

Harry drew back, narrowing his eyes. His instinct was to snap a reply, but deep down he knew Jiggs had a valid point. It was probably why the People’s Republic had gone after Lee in the first place. 

“I had to be sure, Harry,” Jiggs continued, sensing he’d struck a nerve.

Not ready to yield, Harry scowled. “It was one matter to be sure about Lee, another forcing DeWitt down my throat.”

“Okay, I concede that.” Jiggs raised a hand in surrender. “I crossed the line but, damn it, Harry, I had my reasons. You had a good relationship with Phillips, a solid working relationship, exactly as it should be. This thing with Crane is different and it concerns me.”

“All right, you’ve had your say.” Calming a bit, Harry stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “Consider your reservations noted.” Jiggs was his oldest friend, but Harry had no intention of letting the other admiral put his relationship with Lee under a microscope. Especially when he was still reeling from the shocking revelation of exactly how much he did care. “You realize without Lee onboard, DeWitt would have never tipped his hand. In all likelihood, he would have jettisoned the canister for later retrieval, and we never would have realized he was a mole.”

Jiggs nodded somberly. “I’m still hoping we can track the bastard down. At least the canister is a fake, and we have the real intel. If DeWitt does make it back to his superiors, they’re going to be incensed we tricked him. From what I know of the People’s Republic, they’ll take it out of his hide.”

Which would set him on a course of revenge. Knowing the consequences DeWitt would face should have brought Harry a measure of satisfaction, given the torture the sadist had inflicted on Lee. Instead, it left him uneasy. A man like DeWitt would want retribution. He’d need to prove himself to his superiors by taking down the man responsible for his failure. Harry had been the one to switch the canisters, but DeWitt wouldn’t see it that way, focused solely on Lee’s role in his downfall. He’d failed in turning Lee, and now the commander had forced him into exposing his true identity as Wynter. Harry was afraid Lee had made a ruthless and extremely vindictive enemy. For that reason alone he wanted DeWitt found.

“Jiggs, I think I’ll go back inside now,” he said, the disturbing thoughts awakening a sudden urgency to check on his captain. Chip would be down as soon as he was off watch, wanting to sit with Lee, and Jamieson was around the corner in his office, but Harry felt the need to be close. He wanted to be there when Lee woke up . . . to assure himself his captain was fine, and give Lee the good news about his clearance reinstatement. 

“All right, Harriman.” Jiggs clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Tell Crane I asked about him. In retrospect, I wish I would have let him clobber DeWitt.”

Harry grinned faintly thinking of the incident in the science lab. Jiggs rarely admitted when he was wrong and, although the statement wasn’t quite a declaration of fault, it told Harry he’d reevaluated his opinion of Lee. Satisfied, Harry slipped back inside Sick Bay. It took a second for his eyes to readjust to the lack of light. As his vision sharpened, he became aware of a rustling noise. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked at Lee, seeing him struggling to sit upright.

Caught in the act, Lee froze then managed to swing his legs to the floor. “Admiral . . .” His voice was weak, accentuating his washed-out complexion, his face all sharp angles and planes. By contrast his eyes were inordinately bright in the dark room, a luminous wash of green and gold. “Wynter,” he said hoarsely. “  . . . he was trying to escape in the mini sub. I need to - -”

“You don’t need to do anything.” Harry crossed the room and pushed him gently back into the bed when he tried to stand. “Stay there. I’m going to get Jamie.”

“No. Wait.” Lee snagged his arm, drawing him up short. “I’m fine. I just . . .” He shook his head, his fingers slipping from Harry’s sleeve. With a tired exhale, he sagged back against the bulkhead. The mix of chagrin and confusion on his face only thinly masked his displeasure at ending up in Sick Bay. “I don’t remember much. The missile room . . .”

“DeWitt was using the Disruptor on you when Kowalski and I got there,” Harry explained carefully. He watched Lee’s face for reaction and saw him pale with the memory. “Ski and I got hit with it too.”

“You shot DeWitt.” Lee wet his lips. It wasn’t a question.

Harry nodded. “He dropped the Disruptor, and you managed to shut it down. Unfortunately, DeWitt overrode our controls and escaped in the mini sub. We’ve notified the State Department and naval brass. The fleet is on high alert.”

Lee cursed. “Do you realize the damage he’s done to our national security? What he’ll continue to do.” 

“We can’t change what’s happened in the past, but I think by exposing him we’ve crippled a major player for the People’s Republic. He escaped - - for now - - but the consequences would have been far more damaging had he been able to continue his subterfuge. You’re responsible for flushing him out.”

Lee deflated, folding back into the bed as if realizing the urgency had passed and there was little he could do. He winced when the movement awakened the ache in his ribs. Rolling his head on the pillow, he turned to gaze at Harry. “How did you know it was called a Disruptor?” he asked suspiciously.

Biding his time, Harry reclaimed his chair. In the darkness Lee’s eyes were mostly pupil, the luminous band of his irises offset by glittering spheres of onyx. “Jiggs told me,” he admitted at last and saw the younger man grimace. “He told me about your debriefing sessions from Mare Island, specifically what you said to Forester about your imprisonment.”

Lee grew quiet. Tight-lipped, he looked away.

Harry knew it was something he didn’t want to remember, much less talk about. Forester had put him through enough garbage on Mare Island. The last thing Harry intended to do was resurrect those same demons. “I was worried your heart had been damaged,” he said uneasily. He made a conscious effort to shut down his mind, the horrific memory of Lee’s screams still buried deep in his head. “According to Jamie, you’re fine. Nothing a lot of rest and nourishment won’t heal. He wants you to take it easy with your ribs too.”

Lee folded his arms across his chest, disturbed Harry had learned the grisly details of his imprisonment. “He’s not worried I might have a flashback and implode?” he asked bitterly.

Harry grinned faintly. “I think he’s more worried you’ll find new trouble the next time Seaview sails.”

Startled from his moodiness, Lee glanced at him sharply.

Harry’s smile grew. “Don’t tell me you’re not ready to reassume command with the next voyage?”

“But, I thought  . . .” Bewildered, Lee struggled for an answer. “My security clearance - -”

“Will be waiting for you when we dock, Captain. Jiggs has already taken care of it. He said it was the least he could do.”

Lee grinned broadly, a blinding streak of white in the darkness. Harry’s stomach gave a small lurch when he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the younger man grin like that. His usually reserved commander had a show-stopping smile when he allowed himself the luxury of using it.

“I take it you’re pleased?”

Lee seemed to realize his expression was more animated than usual. He lowered his eyes but couldn’t quite smother the smile. “Yes, Sir.”

Harry chuckled. He was positive that over time he, Chip and a few others on the crew would get Lee to open up easily and more often. As young as he was, Lee had already earned the loyalty of everyone onboard. If he’d only realize perfection wasn’t a prerequisite of acceptance - - that he wasn’t judged on accomplishments and excellence but on who he was. He might not be ready to lower his personal barriers with the crew, but their reaction to DeWitt had made it plain no other captain would do.

“It’s good to see you content, Lee,” Harry observed warmly. “I’d like to think that maybe now we can put what happened behind us.”

Lee nodded, his smile fading then vanishing altogether. “I’d like to, Admiral.” His voice was soft, strained. He lowered his eyes, the downward sweep of his lashes a crest of jet black in the lighter shadow. “The dreams are the worst,” he admitted, studying his hands. “Just when I think I can forget what Wynter did to me, I close my eyes and everything tumbles back.”

“You could talk to someone,” Nelson suggested.

Lee bristled, the glance he shot Harry sharp with defiance. “That pack of doctors on Mare Island? No thanks. It would just give Starke an excuse to yank my security clearance again.” He blew out a breath, exasperated. “I’m not crazy, Sir, and it’s nothing I can’t handle, I just - -”

“You could talk to me,” Harry interrupted. He saw Lee balk in surprise and continued quickly. “I’ve had some ugly war-time experiences myself. I know torture isn’t easily set aside. Whatever you said would stay between us.”

Lee stared at him blankly. Harry couldn’t determine if he was gratified by the offer or scandalized by the suggestion of sharing his fears with a superior officer. Deciding he’d had enough thrown at him for one day, Harry patted his arm and started to stand. “I think I’ll get Jamie now.”

He was surprised when Lee grasped his wrist, holding fast. “Admiral. I - -” The younger man wet his lips, staring up at him. “Thank you, Sir. It would mean a lot . . . if later . . . back in Santa Barbara . . . if I still felt the need  . . . we could - -”

Harry nodded, saving him from sputtering through the rest. He was surprised Lee had responded to the suggestion given his usual proclivity against displaying any type of weakness. Just as quickly it dawned on him Lee had crossed a line he’d previously refused to consider. It was a step forward in their relationship, more importantly, a turning point for Lee. His captain had begun to trust . . . to realize he didn’t have to carry every burden alone.

“When you’re ready,” Harry promised. He laid his free hand on Lee’s shoulder, squeezing gently and was rewarded by a faint smile in return. It didn’t come close to matching Lee’s blinding grin of moments before, but it carried the same heartfelt emotion. 

Content, the younger man settled back against the mattress, his eyes drifting shut. “Tell Jamie not to be surprised if I’m already asleep by the time he gets here,” he mumbled.

Harry spoke quietly, touching his cheek. “Consider it an order, lad.”

***********

Almost two weeks later, Lee found himself fidgeting as he stood in Nelson’s office waiting for the older man to gather the files he’d be taking on Seaview’s latest cruise. It was Lee’s first official voyage since he’d been reinstated as captain, and he was anxious to be on the boat. Coupled with his time at Mare Island, it seemed like an eternity since he’d commanded her. Even his last mission - - corrupted by Wynter and the People’s Republic - - hadn’t counted. He knew he wouldn’t feel complete until he’d cleared the harbor and the sea stretched endlessly before him. He didn’t understand why Nelson was taking so long, examining each file folder as if it was the first time he’d seen their contents.

The main purpose of the cruise was to test water acidity levels, but they’d also be experimenting with the Flying Sub en route to their destination. After Lee’s reckless ‘test flight’ Nelson wanted to continue trial runs, fine tuning his prototype until it was perfect. The compact submarine had been rigged to Seaview’s diving bell hatch, a temporary berth until Nelson could refit his boat with something more permanent. Lee knew that would mean several months in dry dock, yet another reason he was anxious to be at sea. He’d grow antsy, confined to a desk at the Institute. If he was lucky, Nelson would let him play with the FS while Seaview was refitted.  

In an effort not to let his impatience show, he turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets and gazing out the window. It was far from fitting for him to be late on his first cruise, but it would be even more inappropriate to rush a senior officer. At the rate Nelson was plodding along, the entire crew would be on the boat before they got there. He hated starting the cruise on such a careless note.

“All right, let’s go.” Nelson snapped his briefcase shut and grabbed his cap from the desk. Relieved they could finally be under way, Lee strode to the door and held it open for his commander. Minutes later they were out in the fresh air, taking an Institute vehicle to the dock. They made it through security quickly and crossed over the gangplank to the sub in a matter of minutes. Lee was greeted warmly by the officers on deck though they maintained the same professional regime as always. He’d almost reached the hatch when he was stopped by the Officer of the Deck who had some minor infraction to report. Lee listened patiently while Nelson went ahead, descending the ladder into the conning tower and, ultimately, the control room. He followed two minutes later, lithely descending the ladder to Control. 

He was halfway down when the unusual stillness hit him - - not a sound reached his ears, but there was a strange sense of expectancy in the air. With his back turned, he couldn’t see the men behind him but was already alerted to something out of the ordinary.

He dropped the last few rungs of the ladder and pivoted, greeted by a sight that left him speechless. It seemed as if every man on Seaview had crammed into the small control room. Applause rolled over him like thunder, chased by a hearty chorus of “Welcome aboard, Captain!’

Lee blinked, spotting Nelson and Chip at the front of the cheering crowd. The admiral’s unusual delay at the Institute now made sense, as did the Officer of the Deck’s last minute question. He glanced up to see the deck crew crowded around the upper hatch grinning down on him. Clearly, everyone had wanted adequate time to stage this little welcoming committee.

Unaccustomed to such a blatant show of support, Lee felt heat rush to his face. The cheering continued as if he was some kind of conquering hero returned after slaying a dragon.

Nelson stepped forward and clapped him on the back. “Welcome aboard, Captain. I believe this is your boat and your crew.”

They had never proved that more than today. For the first time since he’d joined the Institute, Lee realized Seaview was truly his. He hadn’t just been contracted to captain her, the crew wanted him there. He glanced around the control room, moved by the sea of eager smiles reflected back at him. 

Unaccustomed to such blatant loyalty, he felt the heat climb higher on this face. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

It would take him awhile to get used to this crew and the extraordinary faith they had in him. His last command - - his first - - had been relatively short before he’d been summoned to Seaview. He hadn’t had the opportunity to bond with the men beneath him. They’d been good sailors, but there was something about the crew of Seaview that surpassed regular Navy. Maybe it was because of the uniqueness of what they did, or the very brilliance of the admiral who’d brought them together. Whatever the reason, Lee was now part of that exclusivity. They’d accepted him, making it resoundingly clear they were willing to follow him. 

Devotion. Loyalty.

The concepts were new, oddly foreign for a man whose life had been mostly devoid of affection and commitment. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, loudly this time. And then he simply couldn’t stop himself - - he grinned. The heart-quickening, utterly indulgent grin he rarely allowed himself in professional company. The result was instantaneous as another cheer erupted from the group. He knew they’d rarely seen him grin like that before.

Relaxing, Lee circled the crowded control room, shaking hands. He was pummeled on the back, wished the best and generally greeted like a conquering war hero. Eventually, he had to disperse the men, ordering everyone back to their stations. In time, the control room was pared down to its usual single-digit watch. 

Chip joined him at the plotting table as he unbuttoned his jacket. “So . . . how’s it feel to be back in command again?”

“Like she’s part of my blood.” Lee grinned effortlessly. “Have the crew stand by to answer bells, Mister Morton.”

An hour later, he stood in the observation nose watching the seascape unfurl beyond the windows in a liquid tapestry of aquamarine, violet and jade. Seaview’s nose light illuminated a corridor wherein fish and other marine life passed with equal parts curiosity and indifference. The cruise - - a jaunt to the South Pacific to test water acidity levels - - would be the last before Seaview was sent to dry dock for an extensive overhaul and potential refitting to berth the Flying Sub. Nelson was still working on the latter, making Lee wonder if the sub would really see the berth so quickly. Either way, he was pleased to be in command again.

There’d been no word about DeWitt and, for the moment, it appeared the traitor had eluded them. The only consolation Lee had was in knowing he hadn’t managed to retrieve the canister his government had lost.

“Skipper?”

Lee turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Rick Kowalski watched him expectantly. “Mister Morton asked me to give you these latest coordinates.” He held out a clipboard with a computer printout attached to the top. “We should reach the first mark by 1430.”

“Thanks, Ski.” Lee glanced at the paper briefly. He was vaguely aware of the rating turning away, more conscious when he hesitated.

“Sir?”

Lee raised his head. “What is it?”

“I just . . . I just wanted to say it’s good to have you back, Sir. Seaview wasn’t the same when you weren’t in command.”

Lee raised a brow. “You didn’t like Captain DeWitt?”

Kowalski snorted. “Even if he weren’t a traitor, I still wish you’d decked him in the science lab. The guy was a colossal jerk and had it coming.”

One thing about Kowalski - - he rarely minced words. Lee grinned faintly, recalling how the rating had gone out on a limb for him more than once despite DeWitt. Ski might have disliked him initially but, having surpassed that hurdle, the rating was his connection to the crew. Something between them had clicked and was steadily growing stronger.

Lee knew he’d found someone he could count on. Ski was a natural leader. Where he went, others followed. The incident in the science lab had been proof of that. He wasn’t bashful about speaking his mind when he felt strongly about something, even if that something landed him in hot water. He’d proved that by putting his neck on the block when he’d baldly insisted he hadn’t seen Lee attack DeWitt. 

“I seem to recall you thought I was a colossal jerk once too,” Lee reminded him.

“I...” Caught off guard, Kowalski grew flustered. “That’s only because...I mean, you...”

Lee laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” He clapped Kowalski on the shoulder and steered him toward the stairs. “I know I didn’t make the best first impression.”

“Maybe not.” Kowalski shot him a glance from the corner of his eye. “But it’s the last one that counts, Skipper.” He went the rest of the way on his own, whistling as he climbed the stairs.

The lightness of his mood was contagious, and Lee found himself inordinately content for the first time in a long time. He was still having nightmares, but they’d grown less frequent. Talks with Nelson had helped. He’d been hesitant to discuss them at first, much less his time as Wynter’s prisoner but Nelson had eventually coaxed him past his reluctance. Lee was close to the admiral but had feared confiding in him, worried his vulnerabilities might be construed as weakness.  

And when it came right down to it, Nelson was his superior officer. He had no right to expect a four-star admiral to take interest in him beyond what he could bring to Seaview. But Nelson was different, had always been different. And, as Lee was beginning to learn, the admiral wasn’t above treating him with far more deference than he usually showed a regular employee. Between the two of them, Lee had gradually been able to come to grips with what happened to him as Wynter’s prisoner. He found it inordinately telling he was able to open up and talk to Nelson without reservation. After a session with the therapists on Mare Island, he’d often left feeling worse than when he’d started. He knew it wasn’t intentional, but the clinical approach they took had made him feel at fault for his own captivity. He’d been miserable, beating himself up for something he couldn’t control. He realized that now, but it had taken Nelson and his patient understanding to make him see it.

Lee stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hand resting on the railing. His heartbeat quickened, but for once it brought pleasure rather than pain. He was back where he belonged, in command once again. Seaview sang to him, tugged at his heart. Sometimes he almost felt the boat had a soul . . . that he could feel someone watching him, shadowing his steps through the corridors. It was crazy, of course, but in the end it didn’t matter. All that counted was that he had come home.

More importantly, that his crew had welcomed him.

“Captain Crane, this is the exec,” Chip’s voice flared across the intercom. “Report to the control room, Sir. The admiral wants to begin testing on the Flying Sub.”

Grinning broadly, Lee bolted up the steps. Nelson had already told him he’d be piloting the FS while the admiral monitored the craft from Seaview. Lee’s first flight might have ended badly, but he was already developing a strong appreciation for the compact yellow sub. He knew he was a commander, the captain of the world’s most technologically advanced nuclear submarine and was therefore expected to act accordingly. But he couldn’t help himself. Behind the controls of the Flying Sub he felt like a teenager with a hotrod.  

“Admiral,” he greeted, smothering his grin as he stepped into the control room.

Nelson turned, raising an eyebrow in mild speculation. “You look pleased with yourself, Captain.”

Lee’s smile resurfaced. “Just wondering how fast she’ll go.”

“She doesn’t handle like your Cobra, Lee. I don’t want to have to dig her out of the bottom again.” It wasn’t a reprimand, only a light reminder.

Lee nodded. “Understood.”

Nelson glanced down at the clipboard in his hand. “Pre-check looks clean. She’s ready to launch. Take someone as back-up.”

“Sir?”

Nelson shot him an amused glance. “It’s not that I don’t trust you; it's just that if you get into a bind, I want someone there to help. Pick your back-up, as long as it isn’t Chip. With you on the Flying Sub, I’ll need him on Seaview.”

Lee nodded. He knew it was proper protocol to pick a junior officer, but he rarely did anything by the book. “Kowalski,” he called. The rating had proven they were well suited as dive partners, and after the loyalty he’d shown Lee under DeWitt, it was the least he could do to reward him.

Ski glanced up from the sonar station, startled. “Sir?”

“Come with me. You’re going to be my back-up on the Flying Sub.”

Kowalski blinked uncomprehendingly. “The Flying Sub, Sir?”

“Move it, sailor!”

“Aye, Sir!” Kowalski hopped from his seat, his face flushed with confusion. Acting as a diving  partner was one matter but being called as personal back-up to the captain normally didn’t fall to a rating - - even if he did hold senior rank on the boat.

“Interesting choice,” Nelson mumbled as Kowalski came forward.

The rating put one foot on the ladder, ready to climb to the conning tower when Lee stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Leaning close, he dropped his voice. “Get used to it, Ski. If I have my say, you’ll be piloting her one day.”

Stunned, Kowalski looked at him wide-eyed. Then he grinned like a kid handed a shiny new toy at Christmas. “Thank you, Sir.”

Lee gave him a shove up the ladder then reached to grab it himself. As he did, Nelson stepped to his side.

“Kowalski?” the admiral asked, questioning his choice

Lee stood poised, one foot on the bottom rung. “You told me I couldn’t have Chip.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I believe in rewarding loyalty. Ski put his neck on the line for me more than once with DeWitt. Besides . . .” He grinned faintly. “We work well together.”

“I can’t deny that.” Nelson nodded toward the hatch. “Get up there. And be careful.”

“I’ll bring her back in one piece, Sir.”

“I was talking about you, Lee.”

He flushed, overcome by a sudden feeling of warmth. He’d assumed Nelson had been talking about his prototype. It never occurred to him he’d actually merit concern of his own. Self-conscious, he lowered his eyes, tightening his grip on the ladder. “Thank you, Admiral.”

He saw the older man grin and realized Nelson was amused by his awkwardness. After everything he and Nelson had been through recently, he should have been able to accept a minor overture of concern and affection - - for there was affection in Nelson’s eyes - - without embarrassment.

He nodded, his discomfort fading. “It’s good to be back, Sir.”

Nelson squeezed his shoulder, speaking quietly so only he heard. “It’s where you belong, lad. I’d stake Seaview on that.”

Lee looked at him sharply, pleased and strangely certain Nelson already had. 

*****End*****

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