The Sword of Alcott St. Croix

By Kate

Several years ago I wrote a story for the "Kung Fu: The Legend Continues" 'zine, Reflections VII, called “The Sword of Corryn Blay.” Afterward, I never bothered posting the story on the web, so its audience has been small. Thinking it would make a good Voyage tale with Lee and Chip in the central roles, I retooled it and gave it a new name “The Sword of Alcott St. Croix.” In the order of my stories, this would follow sometime after “Dinner at Eight” but, other than a mention or two of Alyssa Halston, there is no tie to any previous story.

Thanks to my betas, Theresa, Liz and Diane. Comments can be sent to veniceplace12@verizon.net

Lee Crane turned the corner, head bowed as he walked into the crisp November breeze. He wove through a dirty alleyway, hitching a nondescript cloth sack higher onto his shoulder. The tail end wobbled and bumped against the back of his thigh, prompting him to pull tighter on the drawstring closure.   

He passed the rear of a pub just as an old woman stepped into the doorway. The scent of fried fish, simmering garlic and cigar smoke wafted into the alley. The woman heaved a bag of garbage over the side of a rusted trash bin, pausing to watch him pass. 

Quickly, Lee averted his eyes. He knew Luther Malone had minions everywhere in the village, among all walks of life. The woman was probably as harmless as she seemed, but he wasn’t taking chances. Not with the two goons who’d been trailing him for the last six blocks.

He’d expected they would have made an attempt to grab him sooner but guessed they were waiting for him to clear the side streets. Abducting an American, even in a small backwater town, would bring attention Malone didn’t want.

He turned quickly, crossing another street and ducking into a connecting alleyway. Through the small gaps between buildings he could discern the glimmer of a river in the distance. The sun set on the rim, turning the water red, bruised-purple at the edges. It had a cold look to it like everything else in the town. Maybe it was just the way the wind blew trash up against the moldy brick buildings or the dirty storm water puddled on the streets.  Many of the surrounding homes and businesses had fallen into disrepair, showing signs of long neglect. The small village seemed an odd place to meet his ONI contact, but Lee had followed through as instructed, finishing quickly. He wasn’t sure why the Sword of Alcott St. Croix was considered so valuable to the U.S. State Department, only that he’d been sent to retrieve it. Or, more precisely, to act as a decoy while Chip secured the fifteenth century artifact.

Lee turned another corner, chancing a glance over his shoulder. His pursuers had gained ground, closing the distance the further he moved away from the center of town. He quickened his pace, darting into another alley, intending to break into a run. Still looking over his shoulder, he collided with a man stepping from a shadowed doorway.

“Umpf!” Lee gave a grunt, catching himself before he could stumble. “Sorry. I didn’t see...”

He never finished the apology, shocked when the muzzle of a gun pressed tightly against his side. 

“Don’t apologize, Captain Crane. You’ve saved me and my associates considerable time in tracking you down.” The man gave a gruff tilt of his head, indicating the doorway through which he’d just stepped. “Inside. We have some details to discuss.”

Lee did his best to look confused. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

The man smirked. “Don’t waste your breath trying to convince me, Crane. We both know you went to Tremont’s Pawn Shop to retrieve the Sword of Alcott St. Croix. Besides...” He grinned thinly. “You should know me. We’ve crossed paths before.”

Lee narrowed his eyes. The man was tall and gaunt with mud-brown hair, a prominently hooked nose and a long scar angled across his right cheek. It was the scar that did it.

“Farren,” he said, deciding there was no longer any sense playing dumb. “Four years ago. Paris. You were there to intercept classified documents for a black market profiteer.”

“You have an excellent memory, Captain.” The man named Farren fingered the scar on his cheek. “I have you to thank for this. The blade of a concealed knife, as I recall. Perhaps I can return the favor.” He waggled the gun in the direction of the doorway. “Inside. I won’t tell you again.”   

Lee exhaled, signaling resignation. He turned toward the doorway, letting the sack he carried slip from his shoulder. He caught it before it could hit the ground, pivoting and swinging the heavy bag like a weapon. The object inside struck Farren on the shoulder, sending a numbing blow down his arm. Lee let his momentum carry him forward. He crashed into Farren, knocking him aside, bracing for a mad dash down the alley. He’d barely gotten his feet under him when he heard a rush of footsteps behind him. Aware the two goons had finally caught up, he grasped the sack, ready to swing again. Before he could turn, something hard cracked against the back of his skull, and the world erupted in a gut-twisting blaze of light and pain, driving him to his knees.

His last conscious thought as he crumbled to the ground was that he’d made a critical mistake in letting himself be caught. 

**********

Jude Farren toed the unconscious man in the ribs, rolling him onto his back. “You hit him too hard,” he said to Satelli, the heavier of his two associates. “You could have cracked his head like an eggshell.”

“What’s it matter? I thought you had a beef with this guy anyway.” Satelli bent and used the edge of their prisoner’s coat to clean the barrel of his gun. The blood splattered over the muzzle confirmed he’d hit the American with enough force to do serious damage. “Might as well finish him off.” He angled the pistol for a head shot. “He’s of no use to us now that we’ve got the sword.”

“Fool!” Farren knocked his arm aside. “Do you want to bring the police down on us?”

Satelli snorted at the idle threat. “Jackasses, all of them. Who the hell is gonna report us anyway?” Even the derelicts and drunks looked the other way when violence broke out, wanting no part of crossing Malone’s henchmen. “I say we take care of it then dump the body in the river.”

“Better hold that thought,” Monk Hollinger said grimly. He’d been working in tandem with Satelli, tailing Crane from the moment he’d left the cluttered pawn shop on the north side of town. The store ‘owner,’ an American intelligence operative, had vanished without a trace after Crane left through the back door. “The boss ain’t gonna like this.”

Satelli swore, watching as Hollinger pulled a heavy object free of the sack they’d confiscated. “It’s a pipe,” he spat. “A bloody freaking metal pipe!” Incensed, he grasped Crane’s collar, wrenching his shoulders from the ground. “What’d you do with the sword?” he bellowed at the unconscious man. The American’s head hung limply, lolling to the side. On the blistered alley surface, Satelli spied a dark splotch of blood. More dripped from the back of Crane’s head splattering on the cracked asphalt.

“I told you, you hit him too hard,” Farren said with disgust. He shoved his gun into a holster beneath his arm. “Heave him over your shoulder and let’s get out of here. We’ll take him back to Malone and let the boss decide what to do with him.”    

**********

Lee blinked, struggling awake to a murky gray haze. Something cold and smooth pressed against his cheek, amplifying the knot of pain at the base of his skull. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and fixated on a beamed ceiling looming overhead. With effort he managed to lodge a hand beneath him and push to a sitting position. 

The world rolled crazily. Tendrils of pain splintered down his neck, sending his gut into a violent roil. Breathing heavily, he choked back a wave of nausea, waiting for the dizziness to recede. The pounding in his head was merciless, his vision fuzzy and blurred. He blinked several times in an effort to clear the haze.    

His captors had dumped him in a small room, comprised of a slate floor and bland mocha-colored walls. Bare of adornment, except for two wooden beams angled across the ceiling, the room couldn’t have been more than ten-feet square. A narrow, rectangular window, too small for exit, butted against the ceiling, emitting a stream of dishwater gray light. Focusing on the dim illumination, Lee tried to gauge how much time had passed. 

He remembered being trailed from the pawn shop then stumbling into Farren in the alley. Running into an old adversary had rattled him only slightly. He’d held the upper hand in the confrontation right up to the point when someone had struck him from behind. Definitely one of Malone’s henchmen. Landing in hot water was partially his fault for not keeping a better eye on his pursuers. Hopefully, he’d bought Chip enough time to get Alcott St. Croix’s sword back to Seaview.

Lee raised a hand, gingerly probing the tender spot on the back of his skull. Dried blood flaked off beneath his fingertips, powdering the shoulder of his black turtleneck. Even if his head wasn’t spinning, he would have known the gash was deep. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, willing the vertigo silent. It was cold in the room, a sensation that did nothing to ease the ache forking into his temples and neck. He suppressed a shudder, looking around for his coat, but his captors had apparently stripped him of the garment. Jeans and a turtleneck just weren’t cutting it. Using the wall as a brace, he climbed shakily to his feet.

And instantly regretted the decision.

The floor pitched at a drunken angle, and the ceiling spun into a sickening blur. Pain knifed through his skull, and he doubled over, one arm folded over his stomach as he gasped for breath. Yet even that couldn’t silence the churning of his gut. Sagging into the wall, he surrendered to the brutal demands of the head wound and vomited.

“So Satelli didn’t kill you after all.”

Lee dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and straightened. Luther Malone stood inside the door, armed with a .45 combat pistol. Stocky and dark-haired with a heavy-jowled face, he might have been anywhere from 30 to 40 years of age. His eyes were light blue, almost white, creating a startling contrast against his naturally ruddy complexion. 

“I hope all that retching isn’t over the accommodations.”

Lee ignored the taunt, forcing himself to stand straighter. The room blurred and he blinked, grimacing as hot fingers probed the inside of his skull.

His captor noted the reaction with a satisfied smirk. “Hollinger said Satelli hit you too hard. It doesn’t matter because your value has taken a nosedive in the last twenty-four hours.” He strolled into the room, keeping the gun trained on Lee. “I know you don’t have the sword, Crane. It took awhile but I realized you were a decoy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Malone made a tsking sound. “I’m sure ONI teaches you to play dumb until the last, but there’s no point. Farren I.D.’d you the moment you set foot on our shores. Aside from that, you’ve gained a bit of international notoriety through your relationship with Alyssa Halston. You didn’t think you could just waltz into the village unknown?”

Lee remained tight-lipped, feigning anger. He’d actually counted on being recognized, hoping Malone and his goons would be too focused on what he was doing to notice Chip. While his relationship with Alyssa had impacted the invisibility he’d always had when on assignment for ONI, in other areas it had opened new doors, giving him free access to people he wouldn’t normally have exposure to. It also allowed him to use his recognition to advantage, such as now when he’d played the role of decoy. His association with ONI wasn’t changing so much as shifting in a new direction. Yet despite that modification he’d been limiting his assignments by choice. Although she didn’t say it, Lee knew Alyssa worried herself sick every time he accepted a mission from Naval Intelligence. In this case, she would have been right. He’d planned on being a decoy. He hadn’t planned on being captured. 

“What do you want?” 

Malone waved a hand, faintly amused by the question. “Don’t be stupid, Captain. You know perfectly well what I want - - the Sword of Alcott St. Croix.”

Lee had never encountered Malone before but he knew the man’s reputation - - that of a ruthless crime lord who ruled through intimidation and fear. Malone had his hands in everything from gun running and prostitution to drugs and money laundering. Above all, his favorite past-time was selling goods and secrets on the black market. The Sword of Alcott St. Croix meant nothing to him as an artifact, but it would fetch a sizable price from the right buyer.

“I don’t have the sword,” Lee insisted.

“I’m going to surprise you and tell you I know that,” Malone countered with a smirk. “I’ll even admit to finding your ruse as a decoy clever. In retrospect, of course. When Farren first told me what you’d done, I was anything but amused. He’s St. Peter’s problem now.”

“You killed him?”

“I don’t tolerate incompetence well.”

Lee hedged, momentarily caught off guard. He felt no remorse for Farren. The man was as cold-blooded as Malone, but had Malone managed to capture Chip? If his friend had been apprehended, the retrieval mission had failed. Seaview wasn’t in the area, or at least she wouldn’t be for several days. That had been part of the plan. For the two of them to go in alone, arriving a day apart without putting Seaview  or N.I.M.R. at risk. The sub would come later for a pre-planned rendezvous and pick-up.

Nelson hadn’t been happy about surrendering his command team for a clandestine mission, but Lee had needed Chip to make the plan work. His executive officer, usually one to scowl at anything ONI-related had surprised him by agreeing without hesitation. Probably, because for once, Chip would be acting as personal back-up to his commander and friend. 

Inwardly, Lee cursed. Chip knew the risks, but it didn’t make him feel any better thinking he’d led his friend into something neither of them would survive. Uncertain, refusing to let the doubt work against him, Lee stayed silent. That he was still alive factored into his favor. If Malone really did have Chip and the sword, Lee would be dead, of no further value.

“I see you’re measuring your worth,” Malone observed. “Yes, you still have some, Captain. Once my men return with your executive officer, we’ll decide how much.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“We’ll see.” Malone smiled thinly. “In the meantime, enjoy your accommodations. Such as they are.” 

**********

Something was wrong.

Chip felt it in his gut the same way he intuitively knew when something was wrong on Seaview. He couldn’t put his finger on it, couldn’t explain it rationally, just felt a sense of dread inner certainty. His part of the mission had gone off without a hitch. He’d met their contact and retrieved the sword while Lee kept Malone’s lackeys occupied elsewhere. 

Chip hadn’t known what to expect regarding their contact, but the man turned out be a petty thief with no idea he’d stumbled across a priceless artifact. He’d been looking for quick cash and had jumped at the chance to unload it for American dollars. With the sword in his possession, Chip returned to the small house where he’d taken lodging and secured the blade in a locked case. The next step would be getting the sword back to Seaview. Once again, Lee would have to act as decoy and divert the attention of Malone’s hired guns.

Pacing to the window, Chip chewed on his lower lip. The village lay silent and still in the grainy light of early morning, the banks of the Paylalei River just a hundred yards away. The stillness bothered him, snuffling at his growing disquiet, feeding the raw edge of his nerves. He’d feel better if Lee would send a signal. His friend wouldn’t contact him directly but, through pre-arranged agreement, would send a man on foot to the river. 

The Paylalei corkscrewed in the distance, its banks brown and muddy from recent rains. The man was to move to the edge, cast a fishing line twice in succession, then retreat down the bank as if unsatisfied with his spot. Chip had been watching since dawn but no one had shown. Occasionally a car passed or a villager on a bike but, for the most part, the tableau remained unchanged.

Agitated, he glanced at his watch. By agreement, Lee should have sent the man over an hour ago. He hoped the delay didn’t mean something had gone wrong. Lee was a seasoned ONI operative, but even a seasoned agent was capable of making a fatal mistake.    

Swearing softly, he paced off a tight circle. He was probably allowing his nerves to get the better of him. Whereas Lee had always thrived on clandestine assignments, Chip much preferred to be on the boat. He’d take daily operations over cloak-and-dagger drama any day. Thankfully, Lee was starting to think the same way.

His friend had been limiting his assignments with Naval Intelligence, a change that made both Admiral Nelson and Alyssa Halston exceptionally happy. Nelson understood the need for covert maneuvers, but his attachment to Lee had long ago surpassed the trust and respect of a commanding officer. He wanted a full-time captain for his sub but, more than that, he wanted Lee safe. ONI was always risky. More times than Chip could remember, Lee had returned from an assignment hurt or mentally exhausted. He prayed he was being foolish, and this wouldn’t be another of those times.

But the damn minute hand on the clock inched ahead and struck a new hour. Grinding his teeth, Chip paced back to the window. “Where the hell are you, Crane?”

He was just gearing up for another round of swearing when a rap on the door broke his concentration. Instantly alert, he refocused. No one but Lee knew he’d secured the small house as a rental for a few days. He wrapped his hand around the door knob and leaned close, listening for any hint of movement. With his free hand, he gripped the 9mm tucked in the back of his waistband. How the hell did Lee stomach this covert ops shit all the time?

“Who’s there?” he called gruffly.

“Someone who can tell you where Captain Crane is.” The voice was low and lightly accented. “I work for Luther Malone.”

Chip’s reaction was immediate. He wrenched open the door and shoved the barrel of the gun into the gap. Stupid. But the mention of Lee and Malone together made him reckless. Fortunately, there was only one man waiting on the other side, not an armed reception committee.

“Flinch and I’ll blow a hole through you,” Chip spat. The man was tall and broad across the chest with a ragged mop of brown hair. He wasn’t anyone who’d been under ONI surveillance to the best of Chip’s knowledge, but he’d admitted to working for Malone and he’d mentioned Lee.

“Probably better if we talk indoors,” the man said with a nod for the gun. “Likely to attract less attention.”

Realizing the man had a valid point, Chip motioned him inside but didn’t lower the gun. He shut the door with an audible click, making no attempt to mask his hostility. “You didn’t waltz in here to pass the time of day. If you know something about Lee Crane, spit it out now before I decide you’re not worth the ground you’re standing on.”

“I’m on your side, Commander.” The man lifted his hands to show he was unarmed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. But I do know where Crane is. Luther Malone has him prisoner.”

Chip felt a sick feeling wash over him. It never showed on his face, but horror burrowed into his gut. Malone wasn’t only ruthless, he was known as a psychotic whack job who took perverse pleasure in torturing those who crossed him.

“Is Crane hurt?” he asked.

“He’s alive,” the man said, promising nothing more. He flicked a dispassionate glance at the gun before refocusing on Chip’s face. “The thief who sold you the blade . . . his name was Loy Jasper. He used to work for Malone until he decided it would be more profitable double-crossing him. A thug named Satelli caught up with him, and he spilled his guts. I’m here to offer you an exchange - - the artifact for your captain’s life. Jasper screamed his head off before he died. I don’t think you want Crane cut up like that.”

“You bastard...” Chip lurched forward then seemed to realize beating the messenger senseless would only make things worse for Lee. He ground his teeth together. “How do I know you haven’t already killed Crane? Or that Malone even really has him?”

“You don’t. You’re welcome to gamble with your friend’s life if you want to take that risk.”

“Listen, you gutless S.O.B. ...”

“No, you listen, Commander. As I said before, I don’t have a lot of time - - especially if I’m going to help you.”

“Help me?” Chip gave an incredulous snort. “You must think I’m out of my mind.”

“Hear me out, and I’ll let you decide. I can get you Crane, but I want passage on Seaview.”

“What?”

“My name is Monk Hollinger. This is what I propose . . .”

**********

Lee lost track of the hours. There was nowhere to sit but on the floor, and the room was kept purposefully cold. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out but guessed evening had phased into night, then day again. His watch had stopped, cracked when he fell, but he knew at least 24 hours had passed since he’d awakened. Someone tossed a canteen of water inside the door halfway through the day but, other than that, he was left alone. He continued to worry about Chip and whether or not his friend had managed to secure the sword. Seaview  would be in the area within another two days. All Chip had to do was get the artifact to the rendezvous coordinates. He wasn’t a readily known ONI operative. That was part of the reason Lee had asked for his assistance. 

While he kept Malone’s attention on himself and his visit to the Tremont Pawn Shop, Chip had been across town meeting with the real mark, a petty thief who didn’t realize the value of what he held. He’d sold the sword for a fraction of what it was worth, handing it off to Chip for a wad of cold cash. Was it possible Malone had caught the thief and he’d spilled his guts under the threat of violence? If he’d been caught, he was probably in the same place Farren was - - the bottom of the river, a convenient dumping ground for bodies.

Lee sighed, trying to get comfortable. He sat with his back to the wall, elbows braced against his knees. The cold was getting to him; the room no warmer than a meat locker. He knew he should get up and move around, but his head was pounding and the thought of climbing to his feet made his gut roil. He didn’t think he could stomach food, but it had been over 36 hours since he’d last eaten anything, and he was beginning to feel the effects of deprivation. He closed his eyes, starting to drift, when he heard the door creak open.

Instantly alert, he watched the two men who’d ambushed him step into the room. The first was big, at least 6’4” with a squared-off jaw and a military-style buzz cut. Guessing he was the same man who’d struck him from behind, Lee figured he was Satelli. The second - - presumably Hollinger - - was only slightly shorter with a round face and untidy brown hair. 

“On your feet, Crane.” Satelli waved a gun as Hollinger, also armed, moved into the room, flanking to Lee’s side.

Unwilling to let his captors see how much damage Satelli’s blow had done, Lee rose smoothly. The floor lurched beneath him, but he blinked away the disorientation, one hand unobtrusively braced against the wall for support. “Moving me to the Executive Suite?”

Satelli’s lips curled in a thin sneer. “Make jokes while you can. Malone’s got something nasty prepared for you.” Stepping clear of the doorway, he motioned brusquely. “Let’s go.”

Lee took one step forward as though to comply. The odds were stacked against him, but he knew if he was going to make a move, it had to be now. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hollinger fall into place. Unsteady, he lurched to the side, driving his elbow into the other man’s gut. Never hesitating, he brought his free arm down on Hollinger’s wrist. The pistol fell from the larger man’s fingers, clattering against the floor. Still with the advantage, Lee kicked hard, driving his foot into Hollinger’s kneecap. A scream of pain tore from the larger man’s mouth as he crumpled.

Off balance, Lee scrambled for the gun. Before his hands could close on the grip, Satelli surged forward, catching him in the ribs, hurtling him against the wall. His shoulder struck first, then his head snapped back, cracking with brutal force. Darkness swept forward like a tide, and Lee felt himself sliding to the floor. 

“Asshole,” Satelli muttered.

Someone prodded him in the shoulder, but there was only darkness and the cool press of slate tile against his cheek. With a soft moan, he slipped from the realm of consciousness.

**********

Lee woke with a painful start. Something drew an agonizing line of fire down his head, into his neck. He grunted, trying to lurch away, but the coarse bite of unforgiving rope held him in place. Dazed, he realized he’d been bound to a chair, his ankles tied to the legs, his wrists secured to the arms. He was no longer in the stark room that had been in his prison but a lavishly-furnished parlor. Malone hovered to the side, smiling faintly, plainly amused by his reaction. Sickened, Lee realized it had been the mere trace of Malone’s fingers against the blood-encrusted gash on his skull that had nearly sent him through the roof. 

“I need you awake for this,” the dark-haired man said quietly.

Breathing heavily, Lee looked away, tightening his fingers on the arms of the chair. The pain was still there, not as merciless as before, but debilitating enough to make him shudder. 

Malone paced a short distance away, halting by an elaborate marble-topped table with clawed feet and intricate brass inlays. Like everything else in the room it was overly ostentatious, bordering on gaudy. The room was large, finished with mahogany wainscoting, medallion-backed sofas and chairs and plush crimson carpeting. Formal draperies adorned a row of floor-to-ceiling windows directly across from a mammoth fireplace with a carved wooden mantle. Beyond the windows the sun bled into the horizon, lacing the sky with veins of purple and red. At least the room was warmer than his prison had been.

“Our guest should be here soon,” Malone announced. 

As if on cue, Hollinger entered the room, followed closely by Chip. Lee’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his executive officer. His friend’s face was implacable, more stony than neutral. He wore jeans, hiking boots and a faded gray wool overcoat. He didn’t appear to be a prisoner so much as someone who’d been escorted inside. Lee felt a flicker of hope.

“He’s clean,” Hollinger told Malone, taking a sentry position to the right of the door.

Chip’s gaze shifted to Lee, but his expression remained bland. Good, Lee thought. Chip played his role well, all emotion shuttered from his eyes. The fact that he was alive and apparently unharmed confirmed his suspicions that Malone didn’t have the sword. He might have nabbed Chip, but he hadn’t located Alcott St. Croix’s legendary blade.

Unfortunately, Lee developed an unpleasant suspicion his own role had just morphed from decoy to pawn. He steeled his jaw, sensing what was coming, determined not to allow himself to be used as a bargaining tool against Chip. Malone moved behind him and casually toyed with a blood-clotted clump of his hair.

“This can be brief or distasteful,” he said to Chip. “It’s entirely up to you, Commander Morton.”

Lee braced himself, ready when Malone probed the gash on his skull. The touch was teasing and light, but the pain explosive, boomeranging outward like a sun going nova. Unable to stop himself, he closed his eyes and groaned. Nausea rocketed up from his gut, forcing him to choke back bile.

“Your friend suffered a rather nasty head wound,” Malone told Chip. He prodded again and Lee tried to flinch away. 

“Bastard,” Lee muttered tightly, his fingers white with strain where they gripped the arms of the chair. 

“Friend?” Chip shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I think you have me confused with someone else, Malone.” He played his role well, as dispassionate as Lee had ever seen him. He also knew, despite the cool exterior, Chip was fighting the urge to throttle the man.

The crime lord hesitated. “You know what I want.” His dropped his hand and Lee felt a moment’s respite.  

Chip folded his arms over his chest. “Assuming I do . . . you’ve got nothing to bargain with.”

“You’re lying. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Malone’s gaze narrowed. “You came voluntarily.”

“I came because your goon, Hollinger, shoved a gun in my back and threatened to blow a hole through me if I didn’t cooperate. You think I care about him?” Chip nodded toward Lee. “Captain of the Seaview.” He spat the title like an insult, his lips curling contemptuously. “The sub should have been mine. Still could be with him out of the way. This is my chance for a captaincy and the sword. You’ve got nothing I want.”

“Excellent speech.” Malone clapped his hands lightly. “Staged and rehearsed I’m sure, for my sole benefit. The question is . . . do I believe you?” He looked from Chip to Lee.   

They’d talked about it, of course. How to play it if one was captured and used as a bartering tool against the other. To show vulnerability or compassion would doom them both. Better to pretend bitter rivalry. To be callous and uncaring, all the while looking for an avenue of escape.  

“You’re wasting your time,” Lee said with a murderous glance for his executive officer. “He’s wanted my job from day one. He’s not about to object if you hand it to him on a platter. You screwed up, Malone. You and your inept thugs.”

Hollinger, who had remained by the door, took a threatening step forward.

Malone favored Lee with more tsking. “You shouldn’t antagonize Mr. Hollinger, Captain. He already wants to take your head off. If Morton doesn’t come through, I just might let him.” He trailed his fingers lightly through Lee’s hair, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a savoring smile. “Did I mention I have a particular fondness for watching others suffer? Farren didn’t die quickly.” 

Revolted, Lee tried to pull away.

“What do you want, Malone?” Chip snapped. “We’re wasting time.”

“Is that concern I hear in your voice, Commander Morton?” Malone settled both of his hands on Lee’s shoulders. “You’d probably find my particular brand of entertainment repulsive, but it can be quite compelling. I’ll let you watch while I practice on Crane, and you can judge for yourself. It might surprise you to learn there’s a small part of me that hopes you’ll refuse to surrender the Sword of Alcott St. Croix. The same part that would like to introduce Captain Crane to the finer arts of torture.”

Lee’s mouth was dry. “Sorry to disappoint you. Someone’s already beat you to it.”  

“I grow tired of your insolence, Captain!” Malone knotted his fingers in Lee’s hair and yanked. 

The eruption of agony was mind-blowing. It crackled from Lee’s skull to his neck, wrenching a cry from him before he could clamp his teeth shut. Malone gouged the gory laceration, sending a glut of fresh blood oozing over his scalp. The room kicked into a tailspin, the drum of his heartbeat a heavy thud in his ears. White-faced, he ground his teeth together, struggling to remain coherent. Blackness pushed against his eyes, and he felt himself teeter on the verge of passing out.

“Leave him.” Chip took an impulsive step forward. “I don’t have the damn sword.”

“You’re lying.” Malone tightened his grip on Lee’s hair. His eyes dipped thoughtfully, feigned gentility spreading over his face. “It really is amazing a single wound can so incapacitate a grown man. If touch alone is unbearable for your captain, imagine the agony he’d feel if I probed his wound with a knife. It could be quite entertaining.” With his free hand he pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket and snicked it open. His gaze turned cold and flat, all pretense of amusement gone. “The Sword of Alcott St. Croix for your captain’s life, Mister Morton. Unless you want to watch me take him apart bit by bit.”

Lee’s breath had degenerated into short labored gasps. The room swam in and out of focus. Cold sweat dripped into his eyes, every muscle in his body stretched taut with strain. He wanted to tell Chip not to listen, not to buy it, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips. It was all he could do to cling to consciousness.

“It’s at a place called Palmerton,” Chip said tightly. “The abandoned hostel on the west shore of the river. Do you know it?”

“I do.”

“Go the basement . . . the wine cellar. There’s a chest with a raised seal. The sword’s inside.”

With a crisp nod for Hollinger, Malone released Lee. Shuddering, the captain leaned forward as far as the restricting rope would allow. Head bowed, he sucked in a huge gulp of air. The clack of retreating footsteps echoed sharply as Hollinger left the room

“If you’ve lied to me,” Malone warned Chip, “I promise he’ll suffer for it.” He followed after Hollinger, and Lee heard the lock on the door click securely into place. Within seconds a low-level hum reverberated throughout the room like a barely perceptible undercurrent of electricity. 

“Lee . . .” Chip wasted no time in reaching his side. A tentative touch settled on his shoulder. “Are you...”

“You shouldn’t have told him.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Squatting, Chip tugged at the rope securing Lee’s ankles to the chair. “I’ll explain later. Right now we’ve got to get out of here. I just sent Malone on a wild goose chase. When he realizes the sword isn’t where I said it would be, he’ll be out for blood.” Chip grimaced, sending him a quick, apologetic glance. “Apparently yours.”

The last bit of rope fell from Lee’s ankles, and Chip started on his wrists. When he was through, he pocketed the hemp pieces, not wanting to leave any trace of their escape behind. “How badly are you hurt?”

Lee didn’t want to think about it. The throbbing in his head was brutal but, at least, the darkness had receded now that Malone released him. “I’ll be all right - - assuming we can get out of here.”

“The way out is covered.”

Lee sent him a sideways glance. Everything felt muddled and out of focus, but he was astute enough to know time was critical. “You think the windows are an option?” He rose unsteadily, swaying as the blood rushed to his head. With a low groan, he raised a hand to his temple.

“I’ve got you.” Chip gripped his arm to keep him upright. “The windows are wired with an electrical charge, but I’ve got insider information about a hidden doorway.”

Lee raised an eyebrow. “Insider?”

“Stay here.” Once he knew Lee wasn’t going to fall over, Chip left him by the chair. He crossed to the fireplace and carefully ran his hands over the mantle. It took a few seconds but eventually something clicked loudly and Chip stepped back with a grin. A panel of wainscoting swung outward, revealing a narrow passageway. “According to Hollinger, Malone had this sealed months ago. It’ll take him a while to realize it’s been opened and where we’ve gone.”

Lee thought he’d heard wrong. “Hollinger?”

“On our side.” Chip pulled a 9mm from beneath his coat as proof. “If he wasn’t, he would have taken this when he searched me.”

Lee’s brows crimped in confusion. “But he...”

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here.” He stepped quickly to Lee’s side and steered him into the passage. 

Somehow Lee made his feet move. There was an annoying ringing in his ears and his head ached mercilessly. He wanted to ask Chip what he’d done with the Sword of Alcott St. Croix but knew it wasn’t the time to discuss the mission. 

He waited as Chip pulled the panel closed behind them. The darkness was almost welcome, easing the sting of light against his eyes. Every few feet a tiny halo illuminated the musty corridor, the glow cast from a string of small bulbs looped overhead. Lee kept one hand braced against the wall, walking carefully as he navigated the passage. Chip held onto his free arm, making sure he didn’t slip.

The tunnel sloped, then evened out, twisting right and finally left. They didn’t talk much as they descended. Lee was too busy concentrating on his footing to hold a conversation. Eventually, the suffocating closeness and stale air of the corridor wore on his limited reserves of strength. It was nearly impossible to think past the savage pounding in his temples. His gut roiled, and fat drops of cold sweat dripped into his eyes. He kept his jaw tightly clenched but knew he was running out of steam. His steps faltered and he stumbled, held upright by Chip’s strong grip.

“Let’s stop a minute,” Chip suggested.

Exhausted, Lee slumped against the wall. He closed his eyes, fighting to catch his breath. His hair was a mess of blood and sweat, the sickly combination pushing bile into his throat. It was all he could do to remain upright, the ratcheting pain inside his head leaving him weak and nauseated.

“A little farther and this bottoms out into a cave according to Hollinger,” Chip said close behind him. He tightened his grip on Lee’s arm. “There’s a thicket of woods beyond that, and a service road on the other side. All we have to do is follow the road to the bottom of the mountain. Think you can make it?”

Lee nodded. He hadn’t realized they were on a mountain, but then he hadn’t exactly been given the welcome tour. He took one step forward, his shoulder still pressed to the wall. Bad move. Suddenly he was sliding, his knees buckling beneath him, the ringing in his ears growing painfully loud.

“Lee!” Chip called out to him from what seemed a great distance. 

His back struck the ground, and he felt himself slipping away. Dazed, he stared up at the tiny bulbs strung overhead. They danced and wove together in a shifting yellow haze. It was like falling into the sun.  

Chip knelt beside him. “Lee.”

He blinked, but couldn’t drag himself free of that spreading yolk, back to the tunnel.

Chip gripped his chin and gave a gentle shake. “Lee, answer me!”

But there was only darkness now, soft and velvety black. The false sunlight faded with his consciousness . . .

**********

Thirst forced him awake. He blinked, groggy and disoriented. The air smelled pungent, rich with the loamy scent of dark earth and the musk of browning leaves. With a start he realized he was lying on the ground, curled on his side, facing a slender tree. His arms were looped around the trunk, secured with rope. The binding was loose enough to allow movement but secure enough to prevent escape. Digging his heels into the earth, Lee forced himself upright, propping his shoulder against the tree. Immediately, pain splintered through his skull, knifing to the base of his neck. He bit back a cry and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the agony to recede. 

Exhausted, he slumped against the tree and tilted his face toward the night sky. Overhead, a canopy of branches framed a scattered spray of stars and a white crescent moon. The wind was still, but the air wretchedly cold. It grazed the gash on his head and slithered beneath his collar. He realized he was wearing Chip’s heavy wool coat and that he appeared to be on a wooded hillside. He vaguely remembered his friend saying something about a thicket and a service road. Shivering, he manipulated the rope binding his wrists.

If he was tied, did that mean Chip was a prisoner too? The last thing he remembered was passing out in the tunnel. Had Malone’s men caught up with them? If so, why was he tied to a tree in the woods? The cold had made the rope stiff, and the exertion involved in trying to work free left him trembling. Each twisting, jarring movement of his wrists kindled demon-fire in his skull but brought him no closer to freedom. Shuddering, he bowed his head against the tree, breathing raggedly through his mouth.

“Lee! You’re awake.” The crunch of Chip’s boots over twigs and packed earth announced his presence. Lee rolled his head to stare at his friend, his cheek still pressed to the trunk of the tree. Chip carried a canvas duffel bag which he dropped a few feet shy of Lee. 

“I’m sorry. I had to scout the area . . . go back for the supplies Hollinger left.” Squatting, he sawed at Lee’s ropes with a pocket knife. “I was afraid you’d regain consciousness and wander off, otherwise I wouldn’t have tied you. Odds are, you’ve got a concussion.”

“You . . . tied?” Lee licked his lips. His throat was dry, and his tongue felt like chalk. It was odd to think he’d been imprisoned by his own executive officer but he understood Chip’s reasoning. If he’d awakened in the middle of the woods not knowing how he’d gotten there, he would have wandered off. Chip snipped the last of the rope free, and Lee rubbed his wrists gratefully. “Do you have any water?”

Chip fished briefly in the duffel bag before producing a canteen. It gurgled as he passed it to Lee. “Slowly,” he advised.

Lee curtailed his thirst with effort, drinking just enough to bring relief. The pain kept his eyes narrowed to slits, but he managed to keep the discomfort from his voice. “Where are we?” He took another swallow of water, deeper this time, thankful when the cool liquid settled in his stomach without protest.

“The wooded area I told you about.” Chip eyed him critically. “You passed out back in the passageway. It took me awhile. You’re not as light as you look, but I eventually got you here and made sure you weren’t going anywhere. While you were out, I went back for the bag Hollinger stashed.”

Hollinger.

Lee remembered something about the gorilla supposedly being on their side. But Hollinger was Satelli’s accomplice and had been there when Farren apprehended him. 

“Hollinger is on Malone’s payroll.”

Chip shook his head. “Yes and no. Seems he’s had a change of heart and decided he wants out. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance of seeing daylight if he tries to make a break on his own. He bartered passage on Seaview for selling out Malone.”

“You can’t trust him.” Lee frowned, disturbed by the whole idea. “He could be setting us up. Malone might be behind the whole ploy, hoping we’ll lead him to the sword.”

“I thought of that.”

“And?” Lee raised a brow.

“And nothing. I didn’t have a lot of options with that bastard about to make you his private play-toy. The guy would have butchered you, Lee, and taken his time doing it.”

Lee sighed, tilting his head back against the tree. They’d both known the risks going in. It had seemed a simple enough mission, but there was always the chance of something going horribly wrong. Chip’s first priority should have been the sword, but Lee understood his willingness to take risks when the possibility presented itself. Had their positions been reversed he would have done the same thing. Hopefully, neither of them would regret it. He didn’t want to think he might be responsible for putting Chip’s neck on the line and losing the sword.

“What did you do with the sword?” he asked.

Chip looked away and began to rummage in the duffel bag again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s safe. Hollinger left us enough to get by. Here...” He flipped open the chamber on a Smith & Wesson .38 and passed it to Lee. “I’ll keep the automatic if it’s all the same to you. You’re the better shot with a revolver.”

Lee tucked the gun in the pocket of his coat. For the first time, he realized Chip wasn’t wearing a jacket but only had his denim shirt to break the cold. He started to shrug out of the coat. “I don’t need this.”

“Bullshit.” Chip dropped a hand to his shoulder, putting a halt to the movement. “Don’t tick me off, Lee. You need that a hell of a lot more than I do.”

Lee’s instinct was to argue, but he knew better. He also knew he probably wouldn’t last long in the cold with a debilitating head wound. Chip knew it too. “Thanks.” He sagged back against the tree with a small smile. “We’ll switch off. Twenty minutes each.”

Chip scowled, returning his attention to the duffel bag. “I’ll make the decisions. You’re incapacitated. First order of business, I want to look at that head wound. Malone’s men will be scouring the woods soon. We have to get moving.”

“We’ll go now.”

“We’ll go after I’ve looked at the wound.”

Lee muttered something unpleasant under his breath.   

Chip grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the gloom. “That’s awfully foul language, Captain. Maybe you want to rethink it.”

Lee’s retort was even sharper, forcing Chip to bite his lip to stifle a laugh. He was encouraged Lee felt well enough to complain but was worried by the extent of his friend’s injury. It wasn’t a simple wound and, the longer they wandered through the woods, the worse it was going to be. He could still recall the sick feeling in his gut when he’d first spotted Lee tied to a chair, Malone hovering beside him. The man wasn’t known for his clemency.

“All right. Let’s get this over with so you stop being an ogre.” Chip said the words lightly, hoping to mask his own uneasiness. Thankfully, Hollinger had been resourceful enough to provide him with a few first aid supplies. He dragged the duffel bag closer and located a small box of gauze. Not much, but it would do.

He chanced a glance at Lee and found, despite his protests, the younger man had closed his eyes, leaning into the tree, wrapping his arms closer for warmth. Chip knew he was exhausted, fighting to stay awake despite his grumbling and bravado. It worried him to think what kind of trouble Lee would have landed in had he attempted the mission alone. 

“Lee.” Chip gripped his chin and gently forced his head around. Despite the obvious care, Lee sucked in an involuntary breath. “You have to stay awake. I’m not joking . . . that wound’s bad. I need to take a look at it. See if I can clean it up.”

Chip could tell the idea didn’t go over well, but he was no longer so certain Lee’s stubbornness was the problem. Given the half-nauseated look on his friend’s face, Chip suspected it had more to do with the thought of him probing the cut. He’d seen how Lee reacted when Malone had merely touched it. 

“Maybe later,” Lee said quietly, barely managing to keep a tremor from his voice.

“Now.” Chip tugged open the box of gauze then located a flashlight in the duffel bag. He didn’t want to hurt Lee, but he wasn’t about to let the wound go untended. He’d do it quickly, pack things up, then get them moving again. Lee was in bad shape but, with the guns and a head start, they stood a good chance of making it through the woods. “I could use St. Croix’s sword about now.”

“For bargaining?” Lee guessed.

Chip shook his head. He soaked a pad of gauze in water from the canteen. “I found out from Hollinger what makes it so valuable.”

Lee gave a jaded snort. “You mean other than the money it’ll fetch?”

“I’m serious, Lee. There’s a legend attached. According to Hollinger it’s supposed to have healing properties that can reverse even mortal wounds.”

“And you believe that?”

Chip shrugged. “I’m just saying it would come in handy right now if there was a shred of truth in it.”

“Too bad there isn’t.”

“Yeah.” Chip held the flashlight steady and swabbed the cut on Lee’s scalp with a water-soaked pad. He felt his friend tense and kept talking, hoping to distract him. “Hollinger said Alcott St. Croix was a fifteenth century friar who gave his life saving his liege lord. Probably hogwash, but Malone’s bought into it. At least enough to think it’s going to command a hefty asking price on the black market.”

“My point exactly.”

Chip kept talking, aware his friend was doing his best not to grimace despite Chip’s care in tending the wound. “The sword vanished shortly after St. Croix’s death and was lost for four centuries. It surfaced somewhere in the late 1800s, then disappeared again - - some say stolen - - en route to a museum. Not really sure how Malone got his claws into it, but I guess the U.S. State Department considers it valuable enough to wrench it out from under him.”

“And piss him off in the process.”

Chip grimaced. “Bastard sure didn’t go easy on you.”

“It wasn’t him.” Lee tensed, sucking in a sharp breath as Chip’s fingers encountered his scalp. “One of his goons, Satelli, caught me when I wasn’t looking.”

Chip made a non-committal sound. “Easy,” he cautioned.

Lee bit down on his lip, turning his face to the tree. The wound had shaken him to the core, ripped out his gut and left him vulnerable. He didn’t want to think about Chip touching it and silently counted off the seconds as his friend pried aside his blood-clotted hair. Gentle as he was, it still hurt like hell. Lee did everything he could to remain in control but felt his breath grow short and fast. Chip pressed a pad of water-soaked gauze against the wound, and the world exploded in liquid agony.

“Lee, you’re going to hyperventilate.” Withdrawing his hand, Chip gripped his shoulder.

“Just leave the damn thing.”

“Can’t. You don’t want infection.” The blond officer waited until Lee’s rapid breathing settled into slow, hitched breaths before returning to the task at hand.

Gritting his teeth, Lee moaned softly. He averted his face, shamed the examination left him trembling and sweating. When it was finally over, and the ground was littered with blood-soaked squares of gauze, he settled back against the tree. It took all he had to keep his eyes open.

“Stay awake,” Chip said softly.

Lee mumbled something unintelligible and slumped closer to the ground. He watched through slitted eyes as Chip returned to the gear. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a radio?”

“One step ahead of you.” Chip pulled a handheld radio from the duffle bag, fiddling briefly with the dials. “The problem is the reception’s worthless here. I’ve got to move off a few miles, clear of the trees to get any kind of signal.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lee. “If I do that, you’ve got to promise to stay awake.”

“You think I’m going to bag it in?”

Chip pressed his lips together. “Lee, I’m serious. That wound is nothing to mess around with.”

He knew that. Realized he was cold, tired and miserable all in one. If he gave Chip even an inkling of how badly his head was hurting, his friend wouldn’t take two steps into the woods let alone dart off in search of a signal. He wished he could pull himself together, clamber to his feet and lurch along with Chip but knew he’d end up being a liability. It was supposed to have been a simple mission - - grab the sword, in and out. He’d promised Alyssa there was nothing to worry about, piece of cake.

Chip stood and tucked the 9mm into his waistband. “Tired?” he asked.

“Feeling stupid,” Lee admitted. “I didn’t see it coming. Hell, Chip, I must be getting old.”

His friend grinned. “Or maybe your priorities have changed. Stay here. I’ll be back.” 

“Chip...”

“That’s an order, Captain.”

Lee told him where he could stick his order.

**********

“Screw this.” Disgusted, Chip rapped the radio against his palm then realized he was probably doing more harm than good. The reception wouldn’t carry, and he couldn’t get a signal. He’d hiked in two different directions, but all he’d picked up was static. He was starting to mind the cold, not to mention a flirty edge of exhaustion that wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d been running on physical and mental stimulation since he’d first set foot on shore, and the constant bombardment of intrigue and danger was slowly exacting a toll. Toss in carrying Lee through the woods until he could find a safe, secure spot and his stamina was wearing thin. 

He was glad Lee had asked for his assistance on the mission but had to admit he much preferred the daily operation of Seaview and his responsibilities at N.I.M.R. to ONI covert ops. Lately, it seemed even Lee was coming around to that way of thinking. Now all Chip had to do was get them both out of Malone’s clutches, grab the sword and make it to the rendezvous with Seaview on time. 

He glanced at his watch. Doable, but close.

It was getting lighter, and he was starting to worry about Lee. His friend was impulsive enough to do something crazy like strike out on his own. If he’d thought something had happened to Chip, he wouldn’t think twice about navigating the unfamiliar mountain in search of him. In one respect Chip was touched by that blind loyalty, in another he found it irksome.   

Exhaling loudly, he cocked a glance at the predawn sky. Daybreak was still a few hours off, the ground white and crisp with a thin layer of frost. A fine mist hung in the air, collecting in the short strands of his platinum hair. He could feel the dampness against the back of his neck, seeping into his collar. He blew on his hands to shake off the chill and started hiking back toward camp. 

“Okay, Lee, you said you’d stay put. Let’s see if you’re true to your word.”

**********

Lee blinked, jarred awake by an intuitive sixth sense. Despite a stubborn resolve to remain alert he’d dozed briefly, his strength sapped. Years of ONI training and an almost cat-like perception made him push painfully to his feet. Someone was coming, moving through the trees. Someone who may or may not be Chip.

Lee tightened his grip on the .38. If it was Malone and he had to fire, he’d be alerting Chip something was wrong but he’d also be telegraphing their position to Satelli and the rest of Malone’s thugs. Fighting fatigue, Lee leaned heavily against the tree. He knew he was in no shape for a physical scuffle. If it came to a fight he’d wind up on the losing end. It was probably better to avoid a confrontation by retreating into the woods where he could observe in safety.

He moved as quickly as possible but light-headedness made him falter and he stumbled twice. Shuddering with effort, he retreated deeper into the trees, struggling to quiet his labored breathing. His gun hand trembled as he dragged it across his brow, flecking aside cold sweat.

Malone appeared within moments. At the site of the camp, his face twisted with fury. “Son-of-a-bitch!” Savagely, he kicked the duffel bag. With a roar of frustration he tore into the pack, heaving its contents aside. “Your ass is mine, Crane. You hear me? You and that double-crossing first officer of yours.”  

Lee leveled the gun. Before he could make a move, Malone turned and vanished into the trees.

***********

Stunned, Chip halted on the fringe of the desecrated camp. Lee was nowhere in sight. The duffel bag had been upended and emptied, its contents strewn haphazardly over the ground as though someone had rummaged through it. Looking at the mess, Chip felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Had Malone caught up with Lee?

“Damn it!” Biting off the curse, he stalked forward. He’d only taken two steps when he heard a rapid beat of footsteps behind him. He whirled, reaching for his gun, but his assailant was quicker, clipping him on the jaw. He went down like a sack of stone. With a grunt, he rolled onto his back and came face-to-face with the business end of Malone’s pistol.

“Nice to see you again, Morton.” 

Chip scarcely had time to focus before Lee bolted from the trees. 

“Malone!” The man started to turn and Lee cracked the butt of his revolver against the other’s skull. The crime lord folded with a groan, and Lee stumbled off balance. Chip caught him before he could pitch face-forward. 

“I thought you took off,” he wheezed rubbing the sore spot on his jaw. “Anyone ever tell you, you’ve got great timing.”

Lee grinned, appreciating the humor. “. . . hiding . . .” he managed. “Heard Malone coming . . . hid in the trees . . . I figured he was waiting.” He shoved the gun into the pocket of the coat Chip had given him, but not before the blond-haired man had seen how badly his fingers were shaking. He’d clearly expended all of his energy in attacking Malone. 

Chip hooked an arm beneath his shoulders, and Lee sagged against him, letting his friend support him. He ducked his head and sucked down an uneven breath.

Not good, Chip thought.

Even when Lee was hurt, it was normal for him to insist he was fine, rarely allowing any physical dependency to show. That he’d given up his usual dogged façade told Chip he was in bad shape. Maybe it was simply the fact Lee was comfortable enough with him to let down his guard. Chip doubted he would have shown that vulnerability, however limited, with many others. He could count them on one hand - - Nelson, Jamie, Kowalski. Alyssa was a toss-up given Lee wouldn’t want to worry her. Unfortunately, in this instance, Chip was on his own with one rapidly deteriorating captain. If he didn’t get Lee help soon . . .

He swallowed hard, not wanting to think about it.   

His friend took an unsteady step forward, shivering against the cold. Chip felt a quiver of muscle transmitted through his coat and held more tightly to his arm. Lee’s head was bowed, his lips parted. In the pale oyster light of predawn, Chip noted fresh blood woven through his hair. 

He swore silently, biting his lip. “Sit down,” he urged, guiding Lee to a fat yew. His friend folded gratefully, sagging against the trunk, his face white, lined with fatigue.

“Did you raise Seaview?” Lee asked with a tired glance.

“Too much interference. I’ll try again later, but I think next time we’ll go together.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Malone who lay unconscious a short distance away. “I’ve got to take care of him . . . make sure he’s not going anywhere. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

The hint of a smile traced over Lee’s lips. “I’ve hung around this long.”

Chip grinned in return. Moving away, he dragged Malone to another tree, securing his arms around the trunk with the rope he’d used to tie Lee. When he was through, he cut a strip of cloth from Malone’s jacket and used it to gag him. It would buy them a few hours until his men stumbled across him. He didn’t want to think what would happen if Malone eventually caught up to them. Sadistic by nature, he’d take perverse pleasure in butchering them both. Before signing on for the mission, Chip studied the data ONI had compiled on him and knew the scumbag enjoyed practicing torture. It was a need-to-know-only item Lee had neglected mentioning to Alyssa. 

Sighing, Chip gave a final yank to Malone’s ropes and dragged a hand through his hair. In truth he was more concerned about Lee than himself. All a matter of habit. The protective tendency was a routine he’d developed at Annapolis and never shaken. He knew it drove Lee nuts at times, especially given his friend was entirely competent, even deadly when crossed. And still Chip fell into the role of protective big brother.

Leaving Malone where he was, Chip returned to his friend’s side. In the short time he’d been busy securing Malone to the tree, Lee had fallen into a pain-racked half-sleep. Huddled in a sitting position, he used the yew as a brace for his shoulder. His eyes were closed, the heavy jet veil of his lashes fanning downward against the too-white shell of his face. The mist had made his lashes damp, tipping the velvety fringe with moisture. His hair was dirty and blood-encrusted despite the care Chip had taken in cleaning the wound. He hadn’t had anything to use as a bandage and guessed the cut had jostled open with Lee’s movements. Leaning forward, he checked it briefly, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding now.

Lee stirred with a soft moan.

“Hey.” Chip sat beside him. “You really need to stay awake.”

Lee grunted something unintelligible and sagged against him, dropping his head onto his shoulder.

Concerned by such open dependency, Chip stiffened. “Lee?”

“I’ll be all right,” he mumbled. “I’m just cold.”

“Yeah, me too.” Chip wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we can’t sit here much longer. If Malone found us, he might have radioed our position to his hired muscle.”

“They’d be here by now.” Lee paused and raised his head. “You want to start walking again?”

Chip bit his lip. Lee looked on the verge of collapse. “We can’t stay here.”  

With a sigh Lee folded against him. “Two minutes,” he mumbled. “Just give me two minutes.”

Chip gave him five.

***********

The ground was rough and uneven, littered with protruding stones and bulging roots. Though the sky had lightened considerably, awakening with flame to the east, murky shadows lingered between the trees. Lee concentrated on remaining on his feet, walking carefully. Every now and then saw Chip slant a doubtful look in his direction. His friend shadowed his steps, Hollinger’s duffel bag slung over his shoulder. For the last forty minutes they’d walked practically non-stop, skirting between clumps of trees, alert for signs of pursuit. 

As they crested a rise, the ground sloped abruptly, dipping in an irregular grade composed of jagged slate and autumn-browned grass. Attempting to navigate the uneven terrain, Lee lost his footing halfway down the incline and stumbled to one knee. Catching him below the elbow, Chip pulled him sharply against his own body. His grip was firm as he steered Lee off to the side where a jutting slab of stone protruded from the embankment.

“Let’s stop for awhile.”

Too weary to resist, Lee allowed Chip to guide him to a seat on the rock. Despite the frigid air, sweat trickled from beneath his bangs, mingling with splattered flecks of dirt and blood streaked across his cheek. “How far to the road?”

Chip dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Not far. We’d probably be there already if I’d taken the direct route.” His mouth thinned as he considered Lee. “I’m worried Satelli and a few of Malone’s thugs might be onto us. That’s why all the skulking through the trees. You’re in no condition for a fight.”

“I can pull my own weight.”

“Sure you can.” Chip’s tight smile told Lee exactly what he thought of the comment. Tugging the radio from his pocket he tried placing another call, swearing softly when the result was the same as the last six attempts. “There must be something around here interfering with the signal.”

“Unless Hollinger planned it that way.” Lee rubbed his temple. Pain seeped through the back of his skull, rooting in his neck. He felt nauseous, the flirty sickness compounded by his frustration.

Chip shook his head. “If he was selling us out we wouldn’t have lasted this long.”

Lee looked away, inhaling sharply as pain mushroomed behind his eyes. Lowering his head, he bowed his face into his palm. 

“Lee. . .” Chip touched his shoulder. He paused briefly then raised his hand, lightly gliding his fingers over the younger man’s hair. “Malone really did a number on you.”

“It was Satelli,” Lee mumbled, his voice muffled by his hand. He raised his head abruptly, struck by a sudden sense of foreboding. “Chip . . . how long was I out?”

Interpreting the direction of his thoughts, Chip smiled grimly. “Long enough for our boys to realize I sent them on a wild goose chase.”

“Then where is the sword?”

“Not far,” Chip assured. “Come on.” Standing, he slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, then hooked Lee beneath the arm. “As much as I’d like to let you rest longer, it isn’t an option.”

Nodding grimly, Lee stood. With Chip’s assistance, he moved numbly, painfully aware of each strength-sapping step. Despite his attempts to deny it, he knew he was fast reaching a point of total exhaustion. The knife-like pain in his skull spread down his neck, his body silently begging an end to the punishment. He knew he should have insisted Chip tell him where he’d stashed the sword, but it was too hard to concentrate. Between the throbbing in his head and the acid churning of his gut, he could barely string together a coherent thought.

“Coat,” he said, trying to shrug out of it. Twice before he’d tried to get his friend to take the garment. Chip had accepted once and then only for ten minutes, saying Lee needed it far more than he did. 

Chip stayed him with a hand to the shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“You’re starting to sound like me.” Lee shifted slightly, easing his weight against Chip. “Next time you want to take a hike, let’s skip the scenic route.” He tried to suppress a shudder, unconsciously knotting his fingers in Chip’s sleeve. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to see the ocean as badly as I do now.”

Chip cast him a worried look. “Lee?”

Stopping suddenly, Lee bent forward, bracing his hands against his knees. The color leached from his face, bleaching it like bone. “Maybe you should just finish this on your own.”

Chip felt an irrational flare of anger. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I...” It wasn’t that he was being selfless so much as he was incapacitated. A sharp spike of nausea ripped through his gut and drove him to his knees. Groaning, he doubled over and vomited.

“Lee!” Chip crouched at his side, bracing his shoulders as tremors wracked his body. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me I was pushing too hard?”

Lee shook his head. “Not your fault.” His stomach convulsed and the pain found a base in his skull. His vision blurred, fading to black as the sky curled at the edges, telescoping down into the earth. Listlessly, he crumpled into Chip’s arms. Seconds later light filtered beneath his lashes, and he became aware of the racing pulse of his heart. 

Chip wiped a hand over his mouth . . . brushed the sweaty knot of bangs from his forehead. “Just take it easy.”

A dozen snappy comebacks died on his tongue. Barely coherent, he drew an uneven breath. “I’ve really screwed things up, haven’t I?”

Chip swore softly. His voice came from what seemed a great distance. “I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

Lee surrendered to fatigue, slipping into a cocoon of waiting darkness.

**********

“Hey.” 

He awoke to a myriad of sensations. The inside of his head throbbed with pain, each thumping pulse like the pop of a flashbulb. His throat was raw from vomiting, and every muscle in his body felt stiff and abused.

“I can’t let you sleep any longer.” Chip bent over him, his face creased with concern. “It’s just a hunch, but I think Malone might have picked up on our trail.”                                   

Lee blinked, his thoughts forming slowly. With them came the awareness sleep had blocked . . . the bite of cold air across his face, the tired numbness of his body, the merciless drumming in his skull. He swallowed, his mouth abominably dry.

Chip brushed a hand across his cheek. “You’re starting on a fever.” Turning he pulled the canteen from the duffel bag and uncorked it. “It’s not much comfort, but at least it’s something.”

Bracing himself for the agony certain to follow, Lee pushed upright. Chip caught him beneath the arm and held him steady until vertigo and pain settled in lesser waves. His hand trembled as he took the canteen. “Thanks.” The cool liquid felt good on his abused throat and, for a moment, the relief was enough. 

Chip gave him time to collect himself, then hauled him to his feet. He kept his hand hooked securely beneath Lee’s arm as if afraid he might topple. “We’re getting closer to the road.”

Lee nodded but “close” and “distant” had lost meaning. Both brought the same slow agony and constant white-knuckled pain. “I’m ready,” he mumbled.

**********

Minutes dragged while the distance lengthened and grew. Lee lost track of time, concentrating solely on remaining upright and not becoming a burden to Chip. It was only when his friend tugged on his arm and pointed off between the trees that Lee realized the distance they’d covered.

“There. I told you it wasn’t far.”

Squinting against the first squalid rays of dawn, Lee noticed a dirt trail wide enough for off-terrain vehicles. Rugged and uneven, it forked to the right, narrowing slightly then vanishing around the base of a small shack.       

“We’ll stop there,” Chip said with a nod for the hovel. “I didn’t know what kind of shape you’d be in, assuming I could get you away from Malone, so I scouted it out earlier and stashed it with more supplies: warmer clothes, food, and,” he sent Lee a crafty smile, “the Sword of Alcott St. Croix. All we have to do is follow the road down the mountain.”

Lee breathed through his mouth. “The sword’s there?”

“Ironic, huh? Right under their noses.” Chip’s expression sobered as he met his captain’s eyes. “Look, Lee, I know you’re hurting. Bear with me a little longer, okay?”

Lee gave a short nod and started walking again. In an effort to distract himself, he focused on the artifact. “You said Hollinger told you about the sword . . . said it had healing properties?”

“Yeah.” Realizing what he was doing, Chip kept a strong grip on his arm as he explained. “There’s not a lot written about St. Croix, but according to Hollinger, he spent most of his life as spiritual counselor to a prominent family of landholders. He owed allegiance to a Lord Damon Mandorin. When Damon died prematurely, the title passed to his son, Quentin, before he came of age.”

Head bowed, studiously concentrating on where he placed his next wavering step, Lee gave a soft grunt. “I’m guessing that’s bad.”

Chip chuckled. “Soap opera material, but true. Quentin’s enemies plotted against him, most of them members of his own household. The conspirators made the mistake of including St. Croix in their scheme, unaware of his loyalty. When Alcott learned of the plot he smuggled Quentin to safety, but his loyalty cost him.”

“His life?” Lee guessed.

Chip nodded. “The conspirators killed him later the same night while he slept.”

“And the sword?”

“It’s supposedly the blade that delivered the fatal stroke. According to legend, the selflessness of St. Croix’s sacrifice infused it with magical properties. It became a weapon of healing rather than destruction. Placing the flat of the blade on a mortal wound is said to make the injury fade. Ahh . . . see, we’re there already...”

Lee raised his head as they neared the shack. A few feet shy of the front door he felt the hair prickle on the nape of his neck. Something was wrong.

“Chip,” he said warily.

But his friend was already past him, pushing open the door. As it fanned inward and the murky interior mingled with the pale light of morning, Lee realized the danger - - too late.

“No!” The word hung suspended in the air as he hurtled forward, adrenalin coursing through his veins. He caught only a glimpse of Satelli, leering like a jack-o-lantern, his gun poised. With a violent thrust, Lee shoved Chip clear of the doorway. “Get down!”

Satelli’s gun exploded.

The bullet struck Lee in the abdomen, flinging him backward, sending a glut of cold-fire ripping through his gut. Dazed, he stared up at the sky, trying to breathe through the shock and pain. Chip spat a vulgar string of curses and opened fire with his gun. Almost immediately, Lee heard a hollow thud as Satelli’s body struck the grimy floorboards inside the hut. In the silence that followed the sobering drip-drip of his blood pattering on the grass was the only sound he heard.

“Chip.” Groaning, he pressed his hands over the wound, certain the slightest quiver would send his guts spilling through the hole. Blood soaked into his jeans, spreading across his lap, the hot-metal smell spiking directly to his head. He could feel the coarse denim sticking to his legs, smell sulfur, gunpowder and dirt. “Chip,” he called again. His fingers encountered something slippery and soft, and he knew a vital organ had been hit.

Chip raced to his side practically stumbling to his knees. Hastily, he closed his hands over Lee’s, trying to staunch the sticky deluge of blood. “Damn it, Lee. What the hell were you thinking, pushing me out of the way like that?”

“I...” Lee tried to focus, but his surroundings were muddled, Chip’s voice drifting from a great distance. Bewildered, he blinked, trying to chase the haze from his dwindling vision. Sudden pain stabbed through his abdomen, and he arched his back, clutching his friend’s hand. “Hurts.” He ground his teeth in frustration, knowing there was nothing either of them could do.

“Don’t talk.” Chip dropped the duffel bag at his side and tugged it open with one hand, keeping the other firmly pressed over Lee’s wound. He rummaged through the contents, looking for anything that might stop the bleeding.

Watching him, Lee swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “You’re wasting your time,” he said softly. A bitter rush of blood bubbled into his mouth. He knew the wound was fatal, knew Chip knew it too. 

The blond-haired man shook his head. “Don’t talk like that!” His eyes were wild, his face as white as the strands of ivory woven through his hair. “Hang on, damn it! I promised I’d get you out of this.”

Lee shivered, fully aware it was one promise Chip could never keep. “My fault,” he mumbled drowsily, feeling his consciousness wane. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could just float into the darkness but he’d be leaving Chip, Alyssa and Nelson behind. He loved all three, wanted to fight  . . . if not for him, at least for them.

Chip slipped an arm behind his back and gently raised him until he was pillowed against Chip’s chest. Lee could taste blood in his mouth, felt a trickle ooze from the corner of his lips. “Tell Alyssa . . . tell Harry . . .” He’d never called the admiral by his first name in his life.

“Tell them yourself.” Raising his hand, Chip gently cupped his cheek. Lee tried to concentrate on the warmth of his friend’s body, but the grip of cold was crueler still.

Chip stiffened. “Screw it, this isn’t going to happen!” Lee felt him shift then carefully ease free. As the warmth departed, Lee’s brow furrowed. “Easy,” the exec coaxed, lightly dragging the back of his hand over Lee’s cheek. “Stay with me. Stay awake, Lee.”

And then he was gone, taking what small comfort remained. Lee heard the crunch of Chip’s shoes across the grass followed by the hasty tramp of his footsteps within the shack. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed loudly, its shrill voice bouncing between the trees.

At first there was nothing else, only the trauma of blood and fear, the clotted stench of death. Lee felt himself slipping into darkness, a shroud so stark and suffocating, he knew to embrace it would signal his death. He thought of all the things he hadn’t done, all the things he hadn’t said to the people who mattered most to him.

He should have married Alyssa. He should have stopped dancing around his feelings and told Nelson outright he’d come to think of him as a father. He should have told Chip how much he valued his friendship and that he’d always secretly appreciated his big-brother protectiveness. 

Too many should-haves. Too many might-have-beens.  

Light touched the edge of his senses, barely distinguishable but growing steadily in clarity and strength. A surprising flood of warmth surged through him. 

Blinded by whiteness, Lee’s vision swam. A muted droning grew in his ears, soft and lazy like honey bees on a hot summer day. He was vaguely aware Chip had returned and held something pressed to the hole in his gut. Lee tried to raise his head and caught a glimpse of something shiny. It suddenly dawned on him it was a sword . . . a long silver-white blade infused with luminescent radiance. Too bright. He squinted against the glare. “ . . . Chip . . .”

The world exploded with pain and light. With a sharp cry, Lee tried to wrench away.

“Don’t!” Chip clamped a hand on his shoulder, forcibly holding him in place.

He jerked violently. Something staggeringly unnatural streaked through him, splaying open his body and mind. It was like being splattered against the sky, carried aloft by lightning then tossed from the heights of Olympus to the bowels of the earth. In seconds it was over, the torrent gone as quickly as it began. Shell-shocked and gasping, Lee came back to his senses. With a start he realized Chip was bent over him, his expression intent, the Sword of Alcott St. Croix clutched in his hand. 

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, Chip grinned. “I don’t believe it.”

Lee blinked owlishly. The pain had vanished as though it had never been. Not only did his abdomen feel whole, but his head as well. Infused with a vigor he hadn’t felt in years, he sat bolt upright. “What the hell?” Scrambling to his feet, he bowed his head and prodded his middle. His shirt and jeans were drenched with blood, still plastered to his skin, but the wound had faded without a trace. “That’s not . . . possible.” Amazed, he looked from Chip to the sword.

“I guess there’s some truth to that legend, after all,” Chip said just as stunned. They stood staring at each other, completely thunderstruck, then Chip laughed out loud. “God, you scared the shit out of me, Crane!” He looped his arm around Lee’s neck and hugged him close. “You ever do anything that freaking stupid again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Lee hung onto him for a moment, then stepped back grinning. He felt giddy, soaring on a perpetual high. “No one is ever going to believe us about the sword.”

“No one has to. I say we get the thing back to Seaview and let the State Department worry about it.”

“Yeah.” Lee scraped a hand through his hair, struggling to contain his euphoria. He’d almost died. A minute ago, he’d been wallowing in blood. Now he was completely rejuvenated. It was sort of like flying with your feet on the ground. He wasn’t certain he wanted the feeling to ever end.

Beside him, Chip grew abruptly still. Lee felt his heart skip a beat. “Chip?”

The blond-haired man brushed past him, deliberately shielding him. “I figured it was only a matter of time until you showed up.”

Lee whirled just as Malone and another man emerged from the trees. He’d seen Malone’s short, stocky accomplice once before and knew the man’s name was Gelt. Both were armed with pistols making Lee think longingly of the snub-nosed .38 in his coat. Blocked by Chip, he slipped his hand into his pocket.

“Give me the sword,” Malone growled at Chip. His gaze flicked to Lee. “Unless you want me to pump Captain Crane full of holes.”

Except for the sword, Lee knew Chip was weaponless. He’d unloaded his clip into Satelli. Still partially shielded, he pressed the muzzle of his revolver into Chip’s back, alerting his friend he was armed.

Chip smirked. “Tough luck,” he said to Malone. Hefting the blade in the air, he whirled it above his head then sent it soaring into the trees. Unprepared for such a brash move, Malone wrenched around. 

“Now!” Lee yelled and Chip dove to the side. Lee opened fire with the revolver, squeezing off two successive shots before rolling clear. Just as quickly he was up on one knee, sending a hail of bullets in Gelt’s direction. When his gun was empty both Malone and Gelt lay dead.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Chip said neutrally, approaching from behind.

Lee climbed to his feet. He couldn’t feel remorse over the loss of Malone - - a man who’d built an empire on the blood of innocent people - - or even his hired thug. Killing never came easy for him but, when it was life or death and the killing was justified, his remorse was minimal. Part of functioning as an operative was knowing when emotion was healthy and when it was an obstacle. He’d sworn to protect his country. Malone and Gelt - - like Farren and Satelli - - had chosen their side without a sliver of regret. Lee felt none either.

Stuffing the gun into his waistband, he glanced to the spot where Chip had tossed the sword. Clumps of browned grass and dried leaves sprouted between the trees, the silver glint of the blade invisible among the foliage. Alarmed, Lee bolted to the spot and rummaged through the underbrush. “Damn! It’s gone. How can that be?”

Chip appeared at his side. “You want to hear the second part of the tale?”

Lee straightened with a soft curse. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“According to Hollinger once the healing powers of the sword are used, it vanishes until it’s needed again.”

“No sword?”

“No sword.”

Disturbed, Lee wet his lips. He remembered a burst of light, blinding and white . . . an influx of sensation that was both agony and warmth. “What the hell are we going to tell the State Department?”

Chip shrugged. “You’re the captain. I’m just your backup.”         

“Damn it, Chip, this is serious!”

The blond-haired man laughed and clapped him on the back. “God, it’s good to hear you complaining again. Come on...” With a tug on the arm, Chip steered him toward the service road. “Let’s see if we can hitch a ride to Seaview. Someone has a lot of explaining to do and it isn’t going to be me.”

**********

Hiking to the bottom of the mountain was accomplished in less than an hour, but flagging down a car took considerably longer.

“What do you expect?” Chip said when Lee grumbled after a third vehicle failed to stop. “You’re plastered with blood. Any sane person is probably afraid you’re a psychopathic murderer.”

Lee shot him a glare. “Maybe I should pull my gun and force someone to stop.”

Chip chuckled. “Let me try.” Not nearly as unkempt as Lee, he managed to snag a vehicle on the second try. A white sedan pulled onto the shoulder, and Lee immediately ran to the passenger door. The driver paled, spotting the excess blood on his clothing.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Lee assured. With a little perseverance, he was able to convince the nervous driver they were U.S. Naval Reserve officers in need of assistance and that the blood was really just spilled chemicals they’d been using, all perfectly safe.

“It’s twenty miles to the nearest town,” the man said skeptically.

Lee smiled reassuringly and climbed into the passenger seat while Chip slid into the back. “Chip, try your radio. See if you can raise the sub.”

Chip was enjoying the driver’s wide-eyed stare. “Aye, Captain,” he said, playing his part for all it was worth. Lee frowned at him in the rearview mirror but even that patented look couldn’t dampen his spirits. In one respect, the mission had been a bust. They hadn’t managed to retrieve the sword, but then Malone didn’t have it either. Cross one power-hungry scumbag off the list of enemies. The best part was Lee had walked away with his life. 

For a while, it had been touch and go. For a while Chip had felt his world crashing down around him. He’d seen Satelli blow a hole through Lee’s gut and knew logically, realistically, by all laws of science and nature, Lee should be dead. But he wasn’t, and that was all that mattered. Stopping to think about the sword just boggled his mind so he preferred to ignore it. To him it didn’t matter how Lee had been healed, so long as he’d recovered.

“Calling S.S.R.N. Seaview,” he said into the radio. “Morton to Seaview. Come in.”

Aghast, the driver shot a glance over his shoulder. “Seaview?” Nervously, he looked at Lee. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ve got a family to take care of. You’re not going to involve me in any kind of international snafu, are you?”

“All we need is a ride,” Lee assured.

The driver hedged, settling a bit, though reluctantly.

In the next second Sparks voice crackled across the radio. “Mister Morton, is that you?”

Chip grinned. 

They were almost home.

**********

In the end, it was Nelson who handled the State Department. After personally assuring himself Lee was fine - - the amount of blood on his captain’s clothing nearly sent him into a tailspin - - he listened patiently while Lee and Chip explained what had happened. Nelson had Jamie check Lee over to be certain there were no ill effects of the injuries he’d suffered, and the doctor declared him perfectly fit. As everything backed up Chip and Lee’s story about the Sword of Alcott St. Croix, he decided the best stance to take was a variation of the truth. The sword had been lost but Malone was dead, the whereabouts of the blade unknown.

Seaview bypassed sonar detection, and two days later the press released a wire confirming Malone’s death by unknown assailants. Lee doubted the driver who’d picked them up would volunteer information, wanting to distance himself from the two Americans, especially as one had been covered in blood. And, even if he did decide to talk, they were already free and clear, back in U.S. waters. Hollinger went with them, bargain sealed.

Still a few hours out of Santa Barbara, Lee busied himself in his cabin, writing his log entry. His mind really wasn’t on the journal or the daily business of Seaview. It was good to be back on the submarine, but his thoughts had leaped ahead to later that night when he could lie in bed with Alyssa and forget the experiences of the last few days. It had shaken him when he’d thought he was dying, only a few precious moments left to his life. He’d thought about marriage and how he regretted not asking her.

Leaning forward, he propped an elbow on the edge of his desk and rubbed his temple. He wanted to ask her, but feared what would happen when she said no. And as much as she loved him, Lee was positive she’d refuse. That damn age thing again. Better to keep going the way they were than force a decision and risk a split. Once you’d decided marriage wasn’t an option there really was no going back to the way things were before. He loved her too much to chance losing her.

His musing gave way to a start when someone knocked at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Chip stepped inside, looking unnaturally pleased. He’d been haggard and worn on the mountain, running on reserves, but a hot shower, clean clothes, a night of sleep and several helpings of Cookie’s beef stroganoff had turned him into a new man.           

“You look happy,” Lee noted.

“Just pleased to put Malone, the sword and the last few days behind us.” Chip dropped into a chair by Lee’s desk. Relaxed, he tipped it back on the rear legs. “I’m not ONI material, Lee. I don’t think you are either. Not any more.”

Lee dropped his eyes, absently scratching something in the logbook with his pen. “Maybe.” He’d been thinking much the same thing. He had a chance with someone now - - a life, a future - - assuming he could convince her to marry him. It no longer made sense to put his neck on the line. Between Seaview and N.I.M.R., there was plenty to keep him occupied. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last. It was more of a concession than he’d ever granted in the past.

Chip grinned. “That’s all I ask. I’ve gotten kind of attached to having you around. After this last mission...”

“You saved my life, Chip,” Lee said suddenly, halting him in mid-sentence. His friend balked, ready to protest and Lee rushed ahead. “I know you’re going to tell me it was the Sword of Alcott St. Croix, but I wouldn’t have been around to begin with if you hadn’t risked your neck prying me out of Malone’s clutches.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you, Lee. On Seaview you’re my commanding officer, but off the sub...”

“Yeah, I know.” Brothers.

Chip wet his lips, hesitating over his reply. “You pushed me out of the way and took Satelli’s bullet. You didn’t even think about it.”

“I didn’t have to.”

“St. Croix did the same thing, forfeiting his life saving someone he cared about. Maybe that’s the real power behind the sword. A willingness to sacrifice.”

“In that case, Malone would have been left holding a bunch of steel and nothing else.” The thoughts were growing too deep making Lee realize how close he’d come to death. He suppressed a chill, not wanting to dwell on the matter. “I’m glad the mission’s behind us. You were a hell of a back-up, Chip.”

The blond-haired man snorted. “Do you know what Alyssa would have done to me if you’d gotten so much as a scratch? Thank God for Alcott St. Croix’s sword. The woman is formidable, Lee.”

“I know.” He raised a brow. “Don’t you think it’s time you found someone too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chip leaned forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor. “Bev and I...”

Lee groaned and shoved his chair back. He’d hoped Chip had called it quits with Beverly Cole, one of the few women Chip dated who consistently rubbed him the wrong way. “Like I said - - don’t you think it’s time you found someone?”

“Funny.” Chip stood and stretched, not the least put off by the comment. “Buy you a beer when we dock?”

Lee nodded. He walked around the desk and clapped a hand on Chip’s shoulder. “My treat. I still have a lot of living to celebrate.”

*****End*****

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