My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

15

“Well, would you believe that,” Sharkey couldn’t help repeating over and over as he, Chip and I went over some charts, or were at least trying to as Seaview headed away from Honolulu.

“Chief,” Chip was scolding Sharkey, again. “It’s not like I’m a prince or anything.”

“Yeah, but think about it. Five hundred years or so ago, you had some royal ancestors you didn’t even know about!  And now you got a whole big gigantic family tree full of all sorts of famous dudes, all thanks to that skeleton’s bracelet and DNA test. It’s like from a movie or something!”

“And new cousins just waiting to get a chance to meet you, like awesome, man,” Riley interjected as he sat a new carafe of coffee on the sideboard.

“My mother’s happy to know more of my father’s family tree,” Chip said, “but I’m certainly not proud of the ancestor who killed his own son.”

“Yeah,” Sharkey said, “horrible way to die, getting thrown down into that pit with all those spears, and knives  and things.”

“We all have skeletons in the closet, Chip,” I said, pouring myself a new cup of coffee. “Er, no pun intended. At least we know who that poor soul was now, and some of the other skeletons as well.”
“Yeah, I know...but...to kill your own son! Just because he married the girl you wanted as your fourth wife? It’s a sin against all the laws of nature and God.”

“The historians aren’t sure that’s the reason,” I said. “It’s just supposition from available records at this point. Whatever the reason, let God judge him. Save your own judgment for something more recent. Such as last night’s  dessert. Any  hangovers to report?”

“No. But Kowalski was reported to have been singing while mopping the deck last night.”

“Well that’s a relief at least.”

“Not for you sir,” Riley said removing the empty carafe, “like we all got earaches from it. I don’t suppose Cookie can fix whatever it was called again, without the booze?”

“The whiskey was the whole point of it,” Sharkey said.

“I suppose but...”

“I’ll see what he might do,” Chip said. “It would probably be pretty good even without the spirits.”

“Excuse me sir,” O’Brien said, approaching with a printout, “message from ComSubPac. Intel says a man matching Ozno’s description arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport in France. Then they lost him. No action required, but they advise all active and reserve military  units on standby, just in case. Mr. Ames wants to know if you want to cancel Alaska and head to Europe, just in case.”

“What do you think, Chip?” I asked.

“I think it should be your call, sir.”

“Have Sparks put me through to NIMR, O’Brien,” I said, a little disappointed that Chip hadn’t shown the same decisive initiative that Lee would have. “Then patch it through the monitor,” I added.

“Aye sir.”

Ames looked busy. His desk was still cluttered but instead of bins of mail all over, twelve new cardboard banker’s boxes were stacked against the wall in units of four. Labeled, appropriately I thought, as Fan Mail-Personal, Fan Mail- General, Fan Mail- Answer, and Fan Mail-Disgusting.

“Oh good Admiral, Commander. I heard about Ozno. Lee called and suggested I check with you, Captain Morton about your plans. If we need to postpone or cancel the Alaska job, I have to follow certain protocols...”

“How did Captain Nelson-Crane find out about Ozno?” I asked, "ONI didn’t bother him did they?”

“The captain has his own methods obtaining info, sir. But Commander Jackson is still on ONI’s payroll....”

“Did Lee...did the skipper say what he wanted us do?” Chip asked.

“No, but he kind of figured you'd want the boat to  take the polar express to the Atlantic.”

“And what did he say about the waiting contract?” I asked.

“What he said I can’t repeat in polite company, sir.”

“I see. Well, it seems to me that Captain Nelson-Crane’s pretty much made up our minds for us,” I said. “Very well, Ames, do the necessary rescheduling. Will Lee be cutting his tour short, then?”

“No sir. But he did say that one  never knew what he might learn in a restaurant or something. He said people tend to ignore you when you’re blind.”

“That’s a laugh,” Chip said. “He’s front page news!”

“Well there’s front page news and there’s front page news. He also said to tell you that Commander Jackson will be available for any call up. I think Lee, er, sorry, that Captain Nelson-Crane really misses being a field agent right now, sir....”

“I’m sure he misses a great deal,” I said. “Thank you Ames. It seems as though you have things well in hand.”

“Yeah, but I have to tell you, sir. I sure will be glad when Lee gets hack and takes all this damn fan mail off our hands.”

“No problem from the staff about helping?”

“Not since you told Angie off. I mean, er, ‘suggested’ I could use her help.”

“Very well. Oh, by the way, do you know what’s on the tour's menu next?”

“No sir, but being that they’re visiting Norway, probably a smorgasbord of some kind, smoked fish and the like, meatballs, you know the kind, roasted reindeer and such....”

“Reindeer?” Sharkey asked, aghast.

“Yeah, not much different from moose. Hey, think of them like cattle...with antlers.”

“But...”

“Look Chief, I know how you feel. Nobody wants to eat Rudolph but it’s a culture thing...besides, I really kind of doubt Lee, er, the captain, would even try it. He er...had a little experience with reindeer, if I remember what he told me correctly.  I don’t think you were aboard Seaview yet, Chief."

“My God, I’d forgotten all about that,” I said. “Well, I hope he finds out he might be served reindeer before it’s too late.”

“No worry about that, sir. I made sure that Commander Jackson would tell the captain each and everything’s name before they put a fork to their mouths on this venture. Oh, there is supposed to be a real nice meringue thing translated into ‘Girl’s Kiss’. So I’m sure he’s bound to like that.”

“Yes, well,” I said, chuckling. “We’ll let you get back to duty. Seaview out.”

“Attention all hands,” Chip said into the mike, “our scheduled mission is cancelled. We’re going under the ice to the Atlantic. Yellow alert. That is all,” then after hanging the mike up, “Chief, start checking all emergency procedures. O’Brien, meet with me in my cabin. Admiral?”

“Yes, Captain?” I asked, expecting him to say something about preparedness .

“I sure as hell miss Lee.”

“Same here, lad,” I said after the momentary surprise by his comment, “same here.”

“And it’s ‘Mr’. Morton, remember?”

“Lee doesn’t want us to call you that.”

“Too bad!”

And so in a few hours we’ll be in the deep freeze. I know Cookie wanted to know what Lee will be eating in Norway, but at least I could almost guarantee that it won’t be reindeer!