Day 10

It’s a bit difficult to put to pen and paper all that’s happened today, so I guess the best place to start will be at the beginning. (Oh dear, not really supposed to do that am I, at least according to my class notes ,unless it won’t distract from the ‘drama’).

Well, we certainly had that. I have to wonder if it would all make a good movie someday.

In any case, Jiggs and I were escorted to the Oval Office at 1100 hours sharp, to find Mrs. Crane and  Cmdr. Jackson already there. The light yellow sofas (yes, there are 2 of them facing each other with a coffee table in between) was  heaped with finger sandwiches, probably made especially for Mrs. Crane, and a carafe  of coffee alongside china cups and saucers, which did nothing to take away the fact that right behind the seating area was the Resolute desk. It has quite a history, the President’s desk, but let’s not get into that just now. It was a bit unnerving that  President wasn’t there yet.

We weren’t  alone, however. A marine stood guard by the door, and some kind of aide in a black suit told us to help ourselves to the refreshments. It was apparent he didn’t have the slightest clue as to who we were, only that we’d all been cleared to visit by all the checkpoints out front. 

Jiggs and I of course, knew this meeting probably had something to do with Seaview’s mission. Mrs. Crane, I supposed, and rightly so, as it turned out, did not. I was certain that Jackson knew even more. He just wasn’t nervous enough to be meeting our Commander in Chief.

“Good morning,” the President said as he finally entered (after about a year, or at least if felt like it), and nodded to the Marine and aide to leave. They closed the door behind them, so the room was ‘safe’ from prying ears. Jiggs, Jackson, and I, of course were standing at attention.

“You must be wondering why I asked you to come,” the President said, “ Please gentlemen, sit down. Mrs. Crane?” he extended his hand to the seated but still confused woman, “I’ll get straight to the point. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so this will certainly save me a few....”he nodded to Jackson, who retrieved his briefcase from beside the sofa, and removed a single 8x10 glossy and handed it to Mrs. Crane.

 “Ohmyg...He’s alive? He’s...”Mrs. Crane hands shook as she viewed the same, but blown up picture that Edith had taken, and was beginning to hyperventilate. A tumbler of amber fluid was quickly poured and placed in her hand by the President himself. She took a sip, and tried, not very successfully, to compose herself, then glared at me as if I had something to do with the subterfuge.

“Nelson didn’t know anything about it,” the President explained. “Only a few people in the world did. Jackson, of course, myself, and only a very few highly placed persons were in on the operation.”

She looked at Jackson with shock and betrayal.

“He was ordered not to say anything,” then he paused, “your son was ordered not to say anything either. In fact,” he ran a hand through his thinning hair, “for the record, Captain Crane opposed the entire idea. Not about the mission though; he knew what was at stake. I don’t think I need to tell a patriotic American like you that it was deemed necessary that  Lee Crane be ‘dead’ in order for this top secret mission to succeed.”

“Why are you telling me this now? Did something really happen to him on this, this...mission?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I was about to ask the same thing, when he continued.

 “Seaview reported a ‘mission accomplished’ yesterday,” the President continued, “and is on her way home to Santa Barbara. All the world’s press will know is that her automated ‘captain’ malfunctioned and one of the passengers had a medical emergency. No, not  Crane. Other than a few scratches, bruised ribs and a small laceration from, shall we say, a ‘slight altercation’, he reported that he’s fine.”

I think Jiggs, Mrs. Crane, and I all winced at the phrase. I had to wonder how many band aids would be needed.

 “In addition, the press will receive notification from Schwartz & Schwartz Tours that they want  their money back from NIMR,” he sat behind the desk wearily, and rubbed weary eyes. “There is still the problem of bringing Captain Crane back to life. There are only 2 choices. We simply give him a new identity, name, social security number, history, like in the Witness Protection Program as the Joint Chiefs suggest, or...”

“Or,” Mrs. Crane said, venom in her voice, “you tell the world that you made my son ‘die’ so he could go on some damn secret mission! I don’t care what it was!  You had no right to put us all through that! You had no right to make him do something so...so...horrible! Oh, my baby, my poor baby,” she started to cry and collapsed against Jackson’s chest as he tried to comfort her.

“What was the mission, Mr. President?” Jiggs beat me to the question, “considering Crane’s supposed ‘death’ and what we’ve been through, I think we have a right to know.”

“Very well, but I’ll have to ask you to quiet about it, at least until it’s declassified. I hope that’s understood by all of you. Suffice it to say, it was all due to  Dr. Gamma...”

“Gamma?” I choked as Jiggs held me down.

“We learned that Dr. Gamma had developed an anti- fail safe software program that would, in effect, render all of our missile defenses useless. That it would also affect our allies adversely. In addition, in association with the People’s Republic, he refined a biohazard which, if released into the atmosphere from a certain position on the globe,  the prevailing winds would contaminate most of our nation’s produce, causing widespread famine and poisoning anyone consuming what hadn’t wilted.”

“What has all this do with my son?”

“It’s quite simple. The only location that would insure the launch of such a biohazard  is...Deep Center Bravo.”

“Huh?” she asked, confused.

“It was an undersea bunker that was originally built to house the President during a national  emergency,” Jiggs explained. “Had missiles too.”

“What you don’t know, Admiral Starke,” the President said, “is that the ICBM’s were never removed when the bunker was scrapped. Oh, they were deactivated, and nuclear charges removed, however, it was considered too expensive to just remove them, empty shell casings that they were except for the propellant. But..”

“Easy enough to load with the toxin,” I began to think out loud about the terrorist possibilities.

“Deep Center,” the President added for Mrs. Crane’s benefit, “is considered militarily inaccessible. It was  built into a rather deep and jagged crevasse. Too dangerous for civilian  treasure hunter submersibles, not to mention every submarine in the world. Except for Seaview. In fact, it was Seaview that assisted in the building of it. That was long before your son was in command of her.

“The Joint Chiefs, backed by ONI, believed  that if we made Seaview so easily ‘available’, that she was ‘sold’, that she was no more harmful than a tour boat, that  Gamma would jump at the chance to use her to bring his plans to fruition. In fact, we advertised her automated guidance system so much, he was probably drooling over the ease he’d have reprograming it to take him to Deep Center.”

“You put innocent passengers at risk?” Mrs. Crane gasped.

“The so called passengers, were actually male and female Seals and ONI operatives. We needed to let Gamma and his minions hijack the boat, and  hold the ‘passengers and crew’ as prisoners. Until the moment was right for Captain Crane and his team  to ‘escape’ and overpower them, caught in the act, so to speak. This way we’d be able to prosecute.

“We needed someone who knew Seaview better than anyone aboard; someone who could come and go through the boat without Gamma or his cohorts even raising an eyebrow, before the sub changed course. As a janitor, he’d  have easy access to all the cabins, and we insured that the plumbing would be problematic for Gamma’s entourage.”

“You made him unclog the toilets?” Mrs. Crane asked, aghast.

“Among other things, yes.”

I doubted if I’d ever be able to get the mental image  of Lee, plunger in hand, out of my mind.

“After repeated problems,” the President continued, “it was easy for Crane to enter Gamma’s cabin pretty much unnoticed in his search for the biohazard vial and anti- fail safe software, and when finding them, replaced them with something harmless. All while Gamma tried his hand at the slot machines, or had  his feet up in the Nose, drinking some rather good Brandy. The Captain secured the real anti fail safe software and vial in Sickbay.”

“And Deep Center?” I asked.

“We had to let Gamma think he was successful. We had to catch him activating the ‘software’ and inserting the ‘biohazard’ into one of the missiles  at Deep Center, which did launch ,by the way, but thanks to a little gadget aboard Seaview, self- destructed, though it would have run out of propellant soon enough for it to avoid hitting anything like a whale or city.”

“Is this where the ‘slight altercation’ comes in?” Jiggs asked.

“Let’s just say Gamma’s men  were well armed and rather well-muscled. But so were our own men, Crane included. While Gamma and his men were placed in the brig, somewhat the worse  for wear, Captain Crane blew up Deep Center to avoid any future terrorist attack, with Seaview’s laser, and reprogrammed Seaview’s computer to head for home.”

“That’s all well and good,” Mrs. Crane said, shaking her head, “but why make us all believe Lee was dead?”

“Insurance. With Captain Crane and the other men ‘dead’, it was thought that Gamma wouldn’t even begin to recognize him. Apparently nobody had thought Miss Nelson could be a problem. It wasn’t difficult to get her to ‘sell’ the sub to a bogus company we’d set up, but we couldn’t exactly tell her not to take pictures of the lauch. In fact, I’m surprised we didn’t get anyone pounding the door with ‘proof’ that Crane was alive. As for Miss Harmon, who’s choice as winner of a contest was all planned ahead of time on our end for appearances sake;  we knew we could rely on Agent Catfish to get her to change her plans before Seaview sailed.”

“You know Agent Catfish?” Jiggs asked, incredulous.

“Every President for the last 3 administrations knows Agent Catfish. And I have to tell you,” he sighed, “I’m not looking forward to her visit later this afternoon.”

“Changing the subject,” Jiggs asked, “Harriman and I were called to active service. Is there something about this mission that’s been left unfinished that you need us for?”

“That was just so I could get the both of you here to speak of this rather sensitive matter. You may both consider yourselves deactivated.”

“I have a question, Mr. President,” I asked, “if this whole thing was so hush hush, why the memo with the ‘White Lie’ signature?”

“What memo?” he said.

For a moment I thought he was joking.

“I’m afraid that’s my fault, sirs,” Jackson piped up. “I just couldn’t stand everyone’s pain. Mr. President, you did mention in passing that  a cease and desist would be in order about all the talk by Lee’s crew, you know, hoping he was on some kind of special assignment. I just, um...never sent  in the memo to your staff  for your okay. I used a bogus carbon copy signature that Lee’s crew could be trusted to keep to themselves after Admiral Starke forwarded it to everyone. I made sure the signature was in  a language not to many of the men knew...it was French. For White Lie.”

“On Presidential stationery?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. I’ve already signed my resignation and understand if you need to discharge me, dishonorably. They were hurting sir. Really hurting. They needed something to hope for.”

For a moment I expected the President to summon the Marine guard to escort Jackson to Leavenworth. Instead, he started to laugh!

“That won’t be necessary. However, I am compelled to punish you as well.”

“As well?” I asked, confused.

“Er, yes. Jackson, you’re hereby demoted to Lt. Commander. I already had a little talk with Morton. By the way, he was as ignorant about Lee as you were before that damn picture. He was in on the operational aspect of Seaview’s mission, however. Thought it was all up to the Seal and ONI teams.

Anyway, he barged in, well, tried to barge in a few hours before you got here,” he glanced at the door. “When I told the Marines to let him in, he waved  a digital copy of the picture Agent Catfish had just sent him in my face.

Had to tell him everything I just told you. When he found out Seaview is still, in effect, property of NIMR, he demanded to be returned to Reserve status as her XO. I told him that as a four striper it just wasn’t feasible. Then,” the President grinned, “then, he pursed his lips and started to call me a plethora of names, including S.O.B., only he didn’t use that more polite abbreviation. Then he put his hands on his hips and said, “That’s gross insubordination and conduct unbecoming. That enough reason for you to demote me?”

 And so I did. He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be in Santa Barbara when Seaview arrives tomorrow. He also said he’ll have Doc standing by. Oh, not for Gamma or his men, but for Captain Crane. The thing is, I’m not sure if Crane will be resuming command as a ‘different person’ or as himself yet, if he’ll resume command at all. I think that  decision will have to be between the both of you, Admiral.”

It wasn’t long before the First Lady arrived and whisked Mrs. Crane away to lunch, Jackson accompanying her, any animosity she’d felt toward him at first, completely mollified  by his unwilling participation in the ruse.

No longer on active status, it was left to Jiggs and I to book our own flight back to Santa Barbara. I think we were more relieved that we wouldn’t  have to suffer a military transport’s hard little seats and no head,  than the fact that only two remaining tickets for the next flight was in coach.

As we waited in the crowded terminal, we suddenly found ourselves staring up at another man in uniform. Unlike our  wrinkled uniforms from that long session in the Oval Office, Chip Morton’s was freshly pressed, his shoes shiny, and he was apparently oblivious to the fact that his 2 ½ stripe jacket still displayed it’s ‘Army Navy Exchange’ tag.

“You’re out of uniform, lad,” I picked up the tag and pulled it off,” now, that’s better. Chip, are you sure about this?” I indicated the stripes, “that’s a mighty big step down.”

“It was only a quirk that I was promoted anyway. Besides, Seaview’s going to need me. And more importantly, Lee’s going to need me.”

Just then the announcement for first class passengers to board came and Chip picked up his bags.

“First Class?” Jiggs asked, surprised.

“Uh, yes sir...but if one of you’d like...”

Jiggs was about to accept the switch until I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.

“Nonsense my boy,” I said, “you go ahead as planned. I’m sure it will be last time you’ll be able to relax for a while.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“We both say so,” Jiggs said, though I know he really didn’t mean it.

And so, here I am in a rather cramped seat, trying to write this latest experience in my journal, though I probably shouldn’t be. After all, Lee’s death or lack of it, is still classified. But since nobody out there in cyberspace can see it anyway anymore, what the hell.

“Excuse me,” the stewardess said as she arrived at my side. (I’m sorry, I’m set in my ways. If they’re female, I prefer the old term rather than ‘flight attendant. So sue me) “A gentleman in First Class said you might enjoy this,” she sat a steak dinner at my place, and a slice of Red Velvet cake  at Jiggs’.

“Oh, we can’t accept these,” Jiggs said. “What about his dinner and dessert?”
“He  said he was allergic and wanted to do something nice for some fellow Naval officers.”

“Well, in that case,” Jiggs began to dig in.

After the girl (oops, gender bias again) departed I sighed.  “Jiggs? Chip’s not allergic.”

“Oh, then I guess I shouldn’t really be enjoying this, should I.”

“And I shouldn’t even take a bite of this steak,” I sighed, felling guilty.

“But, we don’t want to hurt his feelings, do we?” Jiggs asked.

“You’re right,” I forced myself to agree, and began to dig in myself.

It wasn’t long before the stewardess returned to collect the empty platters.

“Be sure to tell the gentleman how much we appreciate his generosity,” I said.

“And that we’ll pay him back, somehow,” Jiggs said, then to me after she’d left, “you’d better get the EZ bake out when we get home.”

And it will be ‘home’ when land. Not because it’s a place on the map, or a place of civilian or naval business, but because my son is coming home.

Harriman.