TRWD2

My Journal
by Harriman Nelson
2


Raised voices woke me. My head ached, my eyes were blurry, and the floor was hard and cold. Concrete? What the hell? Where was I? I tried to think as the scent of booze and vomit assaulted my nostrils.

“Nelson and Morton are over there,” a husky voice a short distance away was saying, “with the rest of the men we caught in the raid. No wallets or Id’s. Sorry it took so long for the fingerprint match. It was unfortunate that their arrest got broadcast all over social media.”

“A…Arrested?” I managed to croak, my voice hoarse, my mind still fuzzy. “Oh gawd…I’m in jail? O'Brien? Is that you? I…can’t focus. And I don’t seem to be able to get up.”
“Yes, it’s me, sir.”
“Chip?” I added as I squinted my eyes again, “Chip? Where are you?”
“Easy sir,” O'Brien said as soon as he and the officer were beside me, helping me up. “Looks like Acting Captain Morton’s down for the count.”

“Good God,” a new voice interrupted. A familiar voice. “Lee’s going to have a conniption.”
“J..Joe?” Chip slurred as he woke, apparently just as befuddled and out of focus as I’d been, “What…what’s going on? Where am I? Oh gawd, I feel sick. Go away and let me die in peace….”
“I’d rather give Lee the privilege of letting you just do that,” Joe said firmly.
“Lee?” I asked, mortified. “He’s here? Already? What time is it?”
“Where am I?” Chip asked, “My eyes hurt.”
“You’re in jail,” Joe said.
“Jail?”
“It’s bad enough,” Joe scolded us, “that you were arrested for being drunk and disorderly. But for solicitation was well? Lee’s livid, let me tell you. Especially now that the news has gone viral.”
“I…I don’t remember….”Chip said.
“Me neither,” I added, my vision finally having cleared. “I don’t even remember the meal…”
“Convenient, their temporary amnesia,” the officer told Joe lightly.
“Leave it for now if you please,” Joe said firmly. “The president had me fly down here to find out just what the hell happened. Thank God I was able to get a red eye commuter flight.”
“Why not use Marine or Executive One?” the officer asked.
“Because there’d be hell to pay for using government transport for a purely civilian or personal matter.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Chip said urgently and O’Brien helped him to the communal (and filthy) toilet.
“I don’t feel so good myself,” I said, as I was quickly hauled out of the cell by the officer and into the men’s room just across the hall. And just in time.

As I relieved my stomach in the cleaner, but not so clean toilet, Chip was hauled in by Frank so he could splash some water on his face.

“I still feel like shit,” Chip moaned.
“Me too,” I said as I rose, or tried to from my kneeling legs over the toilet. O'Brien helped me up and over to a urinal so I could attend to nature. I supposed Chip had used the cell’s provision for his own needs.

“Mitch?” a new cop asked our escort, handing him a report, “they’re off the hook for solicitation. The place was raided before they did anything but get drunk. They’re still facing charges of public intoxication.”
“Well, at least that should relieve the president somewhat,” Mitch said, “C’mon you two, time to go see the Chief of Police.”

Chip and I still needed assistance walking without falling over our feet. O’Brien, Joe, and Mitch helped us down the corridor to the Chief of Police’s office.

We took the seats indicated in front of a deserted desk and waited. Finally, a woman who reminded me of my little sister’s fourth grade school teacher came in, shook her head, and sat down across from us.
“Gentlemen, we have a problem,” she began, “in that you were too intoxicated to realize you were read your Miranda rights. So, I’ll read them to you now…”
“We don’t need any damn Miranda rights!” Chip shouted, then grabbed his aching head. “We can’t remember anything. We can tell we were drunk…so we’re guilty, okay? Just don’t know how we got that way…only had a couple of drinks…”
“Chill,” Joe interrupted, showing the woman his ID.
“And just how are you involved and what do you want?” the chief asked.
“To pay the fine, since they can’t,” he said, handing her a credit card.
“That’s done at the cashier’s office and you’re interfering. They need to understand that they have a right to plead not guilty and…this is a White House card…you assigned as a military guard or something?”
“Or something. I’m the president’s personal aide and one of his chief advisers.”
“The president?” she snorted, “well, you can tell him that I’d appreciate it if he’d stick to minding the country, stay out of this and let me do my job.”
“Did he or I ask you not to? Look, they know they were drunk…”
“They need to be informed on just what they may be facing if they don’t remain silent…and night court is still open.”
“We’re guilty, damn it!” I said, “So I suppose we were disorderly as well…just fine us and let us get the hell out of here.”
“You realize that the plea will go on your files. And there’s some disagreement as to you being disorderly in all of the chaos.”
“Just get done with it!” I yelled.
“Even when the evidence will clear you of one of the charges?” a new arrival said.
“Tim!” Joe greeted him. “Admiral, you remember Special Agent McGee from NCIS….”
“Oh gawd, oh gawd,” Chip moaned.
“Gee, thanks, Chip,” McGee said handing the chief a videotape, “our forensics team enhanced the site’s security video…”
She took it and placed in her desk’s media unit where it began to play. McGee fast forwarded it until it came to the point of interest.
“You see Nelson and Morton. They’re not being disorderly. They’re too bewildered and spending most of the time slipping underneath the booth.”
“Mitch?” she asked our cop, “who wrote up the disorderly charges?”
“One of the newbies...Pete, I think.”
“Well, the disorderly charges are dismissed for lack of evidence. That leaves public intoxication…what?” she asked another cop handed her a report. She raised an eyebrow as she read it.
“The toxicology report shows you both had C-21 in your systems.”
“Shit!” Joe said.
“And just what the hell is C-21?”
“An experimental drug that tests animals to see if basic instincts can be interfered with. Say making a cat afraid of mice, or simply wiping the mind temporarily at least from functioning normally. Apparently the admiral and commander were guinea pigs for someone.”
“Admiral,” the chief asked, “do you have enemies?”
I snorted in derision and was immediately sorry for it as the snot blew out my nose.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative…how did you both come to be at the Yellow Pony?”
“Ensign Simpson, Admiral Connor’s aide,” Chip said, “gave me the address to go check out the eats. He highly recommended it.”
“You’ve been ‘had’. This place is frequented by prostitutes. Your friend….”
“Simpson's no friend. Just met him,” Chip said.
“Well, he probably wanted to embarrass you with a practical joke as sooner or later the hookers would have propositioned you.”
“Or,” McGee interrupted, “he could have been in on a plan to spike their drinks, inebriate their minds to uselessness, steal their ID’s, money and credit cards, and even see to it that they were there when the raid happened.”
“A bit improbable, but I think you two were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m dropping the charges. No fine,” she said, handing Joe back his credit card. Just then Joe’s cell phone beeped.
“It’s Lee, er, President Nelson-Crane,” he said retreating out of earshot.”
“Oh, shit,” I sighed.
“Keeps a tight reign, does he? Well, next time someone gives you a hint about someplace to go to eat or drink, check it out with someone you trust. That failing, check with the local police.”
“We’ll take them back to the Seaview,” Joe said, returning, “it’s not a request, Admiral, Chip. He said as soon as you’re both dried out he wants to have a little talk with you. And that O’Brien will need to hand out earplugs.”
I could swear the chief of police looked at us sympathetically. It was one thing to be hauled on the carpet by a former subordinate, but by the president of the United States, well, it was almost laughable. Only it wasn’t funny.

Despite the late or early hour, depending on your point of view, the press was waiting at the exit. Joe had apparently called for a cab, waiting for us. Flash bulbs hurt my eyes.
“No comment,” Joe said, as he and O’Brien helped usher us into the cab and in minutes we were headed to the base.
“You should have let us say something!” Chip griped.
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, you’re getting back to the boat, Shower, change, have some Ginger Ale, and go to bed.”
“Er, yes,” I said, “it’s going to be a busy day.”
“Or not,” Joe said.
“What do you mean by that? What about that little talk?”
“Oh that’ll come, not sure when or where.”
“You must have told him none of this was our fault!” Chip said.
“Of course I did. But he still might just want to get a flight to Santa Barbara instead of using Seaview to sail him there.”
“But he’s supposed to resume command,” O’Brien said.
“Or not. You want him to. I want him to, everyone aboard wants him to, but he’s not really sure about it. The presidency has changed him a little, you know.”
“We’ve all changed,” I said.
“He’s not going on and on about me again, though?” Chip asked. “I swear he needs a lobotomy if he thinks I’d feel bad if he resumed command!”
“One minute,” Joe said, “he thinks resuming command is the only thing he wants in the world, the next minute, he hesitates. Well, I’m wacked. Don’t suppose I can grab a bunk aboard Seaview instead of flying back to Washington tonight? Lee doesn’t really need me to assist tomorrow. I’ll need a change of clothes and a toothbrush though, before I head back to collect my things for wherever I’m going.”

It wasn’t long before the cab stopped at the gate and Joe had us all get out, paid the driver, and waved over an official Navy sedan that had been waiting for us.
“Lee thought it best to drop you off at the boat instead of you hiking there,” Joe said as he herded us all into the car.
It was a short drive to the dock where Seaview glimmered in the evening lights.
Before I knew it, we’d been pushed and manhandled aboard, and I was taking a hot soapy shower.
A knock at the door interrupted.
“In,” I hollered as I toweled off and emerged from the head. It was Joe, in Sick Bay issue pajamas and robe.
“Executive One will be arriving at Norfolk tomorrow right after the inaugural brunch.”
“What did Lee say about…things?”
“Not a word. Well, good night, sir.”
“Good night Commander, I hope your accommodations will be satisfactory.”
“Always have been. Still are.”
Soon I was trying to get some zzz’s myself. It didn’t work.I supposed the drug was almost flushed out of my system.
I pulled on my robe and slippers, and headed to the Observation Nose.
Chip was there, similarly attired for bed, in one of the loungers, holding his head in his hands moaning.
“Lee’s gonna’ kill me,” Chip said as I sat down beside him, “He’d actually ordered me to look after you all the while he was away, did you know? No, I guess you wouldn’t. And I let you down. I let him down….”
“Chip, it’s not your fault. We’re the victims here.”
“Yeah, but…”
Just then Joe sauntered down the spiral ladder.
“Any more from Lee?” I asked, hoping, yet dreading that he wanted to talk to me.
“No, nothing.”
Just then Mallie sauntered through the semi deserted Control Room and jumped up on Chip’s lap.
“So, Joe,” I asked, “do you have your new orders yet? Now that Lee won’t be president anymore.”
“Not yet. Lee made sure I was given shore leave. Then, when that’s over, we’ll let the Navy decide where to put me. I have to say I got pretty spoiled at the White House. Sleepless nights, stress you could cut with a knife. It’ll be relief to get back to the Navy, only…damn, I’m going to miss him…it’s spook buddy thing.”

We all chatted until one by one we drifted off in our chairs.
A cough roused me. Daylight was streaming through the view ports and Kowalski sat a pot of coffee and three mugs on the table.
“Ready for the news, sir?”
“Not particularly, but I suppose we need to face the music.”
Ski turned on the monitor and the news station that Sparks had tuned it to…

“….The Norfolk police dept.,” the reporter was saying, “has confirmed that Admiral Harriman Nelson was arrested last night, charged for public intoxication and solicitation but all charges were dropped for lack of evidence and the fact that he and his companion had been drugged, and victimized by theft. There has been no comment from the admiral, though we’ve been informed that Nelson-Crane is aware of the accusation and exoneration.
“…Speaking of President Nelson-Crane, after the inaugural brunch with the new president later this morning, he will be flown by Executive One to the Norfolk Naval Base, where he will board Seaview. It is unknown if he will resume command or just be a passenger as co-owner of the sub, for the cruise to Seaview’s home base at the Nelson-Crane Institute of Marine Research in Santa Barbara, California. It is unknown if the First Pets will remain with Mrs. Crane who will continue as First Lady, or not....”

Hour after hour passed by until finally it was nearly time for the swearing in of the new president. All hands had returned from their shore leave and even if Lee might not be skippering the boat on his return, there was an air of celebration for his return to us, in any capacity. He was still going to receive full ruffles and flourishes as a former president when he boarded, like it or not…

“…. It’s chilly with some drizzle here outside of the Capitol Building,” one of the reporters was saying. “Ah, here comes Mrs. Crane, with President Nelson-Crane as the U.S. Marine Band plays ‘Hail to the Chief’ for him for the last time. You may notice the new ring he’s wearing. He privately commissioned a local jeweler to fashion it to contain a lock of his late alien wife’s pink hair. He’s also wearing his black onyx ring, as well as the ancient Celtic Nelson ring on his other hand.”

Lee's hair was getting curly in the damp air, and his prothesis eye and socket glittered from all the media and photo flashes. I wondered if he’d already made an appointment for the new unit which will be paid for privately. Knowing Lee, he might add some gadgetry, despite the fact that ONI has already rejected his request to be reinstated on their roster of field agents at the termination of his term of office.

“Here comes the president-elect and history will repeat itself as Charles Abernathy will be sworn in.”

And so, the chief justice administered the oath to Abernathy, who’s responses just didn’t seem to be as heartfelt as Lee’s had been aboard Seaview.

“My fellow Americans,” new President Abernathy was saying, “we are opening a new chapter of our nation’s history. I won’t rattle on right now about some of the first things I’m going to recommend to Congress or to you, the people. God bless America.”

The inaugural parade was too long and boring for me, but I forced myself to watch, primarily to take a good hard look at Lee. Like Joe, he too had probably not had a good night’s sleep in a very long while.
Finally the parade ended and taking his mother’s arm, escorted her to back into the capitol building with the new president and from there, I knew to the special parking lot for the ride back to the White House for the inaugural brunch.

All we had to do now was wait for the prodigal’s return.