Chapter Thirty-four

Brody scanned the horizon through the periscope. The ocean had swallowed all evidence of the Colorado and the Tai Chiang, but a bright orange blob caught his eye. He switched to high power and settled his gaze on tiny forms in a life raft.

Brody doubted he would understand what had compelled his protégé to steal the Colorado, but he would never have another chance to thank Jake for saving him from the phantom warship. Trusting that fate would administer whatever justice Jake deserved, Brody allowed the man who had saved his life twice to escape.

“Should I raise the other periscope to help you look for contacts, sir?” Parks asked.

“No,” Brody said. “There’s nothing out there, and there’s nothing we could do about it if there were. This ship’s entire crew should be committed to damage control, restoring propulsion, and caring for the injured.”

“We’re doing all we can, sir,” Parks said. “I’ve seen to it. But don’t you think we should look for survivors?”

Brody sighed.

“Any man who survived our torpedo – and that’s a big ‘if’ - is freezing to death in the water right now. We’re three miles away, and we can only make three knots. No man could possibly survive an hour in this sea. Turning back would be useless, and since our pumps aren’t keeping pace back aft, we need to head to shore to save our ship.”

 

*

Jake shivered, but dry clothes and parkas kept him and his two companions alive. He raised a bridge-to-bridge radio to his mouth.

“Cut your engines,” he said. “You’re close enough. We’ll paddle from here.”

In his trawler’s pilothouse, Mercer raised his thumb.

Jake lowered the radio, grabbed a paddle, and leaned over the lip of the raft. He dipped the paddle into the water.

“Row hard Scotty. We might not be alone out here much longer.”

Jake felt his back cramping, but he kept paddling until the raft bumped into fiberglass. A rope ladder landed by his knees. He climbed two rungs and accepted Mercer’s hand.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said.

Jake hugged his friend.

“You smell worse than my ass,” Jake said.

“Blame yourself. It’s a pain to shower in this thing, and you’re six days late,” Mercer said.

“We ran into some trouble.”

Jake reached over the trawler’s side and helped his companions up.

“This is Pierre,” he said. “And this is Scotty.”

“I was expecting four guys,” Mercer said.

“Lost two. Gained one. Long story,” Jake said.

“I hate to ruin the reunion,” Renard said, “but we still need to check our accounts to ensure that we’ve been paid. We will need to shift the codes before Taiwan learns of the Tai Chiang’s fate.”

“Go ahead,” Jake said.

Renard placed a wireless phone to his cheek. He spoke in French, but Jake didn’t need to translate it. The inflexion in the Frenchman’s voice and the smile that spread across his face told him that each man in the trawler was much richer than he had been the day before.

 

*

In the Oval Office, President Ryder studied a picture of the Tai Chiang. He inhaled through his bulbous nose.

“And you say this was a Taiwanese vessel, Admiral?”

“That’s correct, Mister President,” Mesher said.

“Taiwan tried to steal our warheads?”

“Yes, sir. We were right about the intent but assumed the wrong assailants when we focused on the Middle East.”

“The Prime Minister’s got some explaining to do, but I’ll have someone take that up with the unofficial ambassador. I want you to tell me how we’re cleaning up this mess. How’s the Miami?”

“Sir, the Miami made its way to a Coast Guard base in western Alaska. We flew in a welding team to place cover plates on its hull. We’re going to tow the Miami to Bangor, Washington, for dry-dock repairs. She’ll be out of commission for a year.”

“What about the crew?”

“Nine died in the attack.”

Ryder remembered comrades lost during Vietnam.

“This country owes them a debt.”

“We can’t publicize their heroism, sir,” Mesher said, “but we’ll honor them and compensate their survivors as we do with covert operations casualties.”

“How about the injured?”

“The rest of the crew escaped without major injury. The damage was contained to the engine room. We’ll need a crew aboard that ship for safety and security, but I’ve authorized the Miami to fly half of its crew home to Groton for a few weeks. Then they’ll rotate with the other half before they take the submarine south.”

“Good decision. All those men are heroes.”

“Yes, sir. They are.”

“What about awards? Promotions? That crew showed character. The skipper had guts.”

“Plenty of accolades, sir. And the captain, John Brody – turns out he knew Slate. Slate actually saved his life a few years ago.”

Ryder reflected upon the irony of Slate having saved Brody’s life so that he could later deliver his death blow.

“So Brody swallowed his feelings and did his job,” Ryder said. “We need more men like him in command.”

“Agreed, sir.”

“What about the Colorado?” Ryder asked.

“We’re anchoring an oceanographic research vessel on top of her. The water is shallow enough that we can use divers to retrieve the warheads.”

“Then what? If the public discovers that a Trident submarine is lying in a hundred feet of water thirty-five miles from the Russian coast, there’s going to be hell to pay. I said that thing was destroyed in the Atlantic for Christ’s sake!” Ryder said.

“After we remove the warheads, we’ll remove the missiles and dismantle them in guarded secrecy. We’ll repeat the process with the torpedoes. The reactor core will be moved and carted piece by piece to Idaho for burial. It’ll take the remainder of the summer.”

“There will still be a huge chunk of a Trident’s carcass on the ocean floor.”

“We’ll snap its hull into smaller pieces and dispose of them.”

“Won’t there be scattered evidence on the sea bed?” Ryder asked.

“Yes, sir, and it’ll take until after next winter’s thaw to clean. But this took place in the middle of nowhere, and we’ll be guarding the site.”

Ryder stood and stared out the window at the White House lawn. He began to believe that his legacy could survive the Colorado Incident.

“How soon until the bodies of Slate and his accomplices can be recovered and verified?”

“Sir, an ADCAP torpedo can vaporize metal. I can’t promise you a body.”

“I feared as much, but he’s not the only guilty one in this. What are we doing to those bastards who gave Slate HIV and covered it up?”

“The investigation revealed that Commander Thomas Henry knowingly transferred HIV to Slate. It took some bold men to step forward and admit to homosexuality and risk their careers, but with their help, we got to the truth.”

Ryder grunted.

“I dislike how we treat gays in the military. Brave witnesses just gave up their careers to support a system that doesn’t support them.”

“Not necessarily,” Mesher said. “There’s a little known clause about homosexuality and military service.”

“Oh?”

“A serviceman may experiment with homosexuality, but unless he admits to being, or is proven to be, a practicing homosexual, there’s no need for administrative action.”

“So to make the case against Commander Henry, you’re going to have witnesses say that they were just experimenting?”

“No, sir. We won’t ask and they won’t tell.”

“Well put,” Ryder said.

“As for Henry, given that his charges include physical assault against an officer by knowingly giving Slate HIV, I’ve had him thrown in the brig. The senior officers who tried to cover up what Henry did to Slate are awaiting Courts Martial, too.”

Ryder crossed his arms and shook his head.

“A cover up involving a flag officer. Why?”

“Henry was the strongest candidate to replace the only black submarine admiral. They thought they were protecting the needs of the service by protecting Henry.”

“This mess is still ugly, but it looks like you’re covered on all fronts. I was damned anxious for a while.”

“I was too, sir,” Mesher said.

“You should have been. Your job was on the line.”

“I’m retiring in nine months,” Mesher said. “Thanks to Commander John Brody, I won’t have to retire nine months early.”

Ryder returned to his desk and sat.

“I’d almost forgotten,” Ryder said. “I assume I’m still invited to your farewell ceremony?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Any plans to add to your legacy – other than burying the details of the Colorado Incident so deeply that it would take a team of archeologists to unearth?”

“Just one, sir. I’m adding a submarine captain to the short list of people I want to make admiral.”

“Commander Brody?” Ryder asked.

“No, sir. Captain Brody, as of tonight.”

 

*

Wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, Brody took a limousine shuttle from Bradley International Airport to his home in Groton, Connecticut.

He tried to forget the faces of the crewmen he had lost. Although Pete Parks would tend to the Miami during his absence, he would always consider the Miami his.

He trotted toward the house, and hope burst through his chest as he noticed the flickering of a television. He fumbled with his house key and rushed through the door.

“Carole?” he asked.

He continued to the living room. On the couch, his wife slept. He knelt by her side.

She awoke and her eyes sparkled.

“John?”

“Yeah, honey. It’s me.”

“I was afraid you were dead,” she said. “After you were late coming back, they told us not to worry, but the thought of never having you back scared me.”

“That’s how I felt about you. I’m ready to do it right this time. I’ve stopped drinking. It feels good to have my head clear. I won’t start again.”

“I know you can do it. You’re a strong man, and you’re the best commanding officer in the fleet as far I’m concerned. I don’t care if you ever make admiral.”

“That’s good honey, because after what I did I’m lucky if they don’t bust me to seaman.”

Carole rolled off the couch and walked across the room to a small carton resting on the television. Watching her move reminded him of their honeymoon so many years earlier.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She pulled a full-bird captain’s shoulder boards out of the box.

“Your commodore called me yesterday,” she said. “He let me use this as a little ice-breaker. The order came from the CNO himself. You’re officially ‘Captain Brody’.”

She balanced the boards on his collarbones.

“I’d still love you if you were a Seaman,” she said, “but those do look good.”

Brody kissed his wife.

 

*

Wind whipping his face, Jake drew a fur-lined parka hood over his head. Even in June, the wind blowing across the Bering Strait reddened his skin.

He kicked a pebble. He had killed too many men to have placed warheads on the ocean floor, and his plan for vengeance had missed its goal. But he could now see that his anger had driven him to the edge of destruction.

Beside him, Mercer and McKenzie battled two toddlers to a staring match stalemate. Renard approached and placed his hand on one of the children’s pelt-covered heads.

“My Russian is crude,” the Frenchman said, “but I believe that I just traded our trawler for an automobile.”

Jake looked over a wooden dock at the trawler that had plucked him from a life raft. A trout fisherman, adorned in furs like his two children, climbed into the boat.

“Not that I hoped to keep it,” Mercer said, “but you just traded my trawler for peanuts.”

“I would prefer to take my chances driving through a barren land than chancing an ocean trip to Vladivostok,” Renard said.

“What then?” Jake asked.

“No one knows I was involved, no one who would speak of it anyway. We can hide in Vladivostok while we await your new French passports from my assistant.”

“Passports?” Jake asked.

“With new identities,” Renard said. “God willing, you’re all taken for dead by any nation that would care. For simplicity of travel, I’m reinventing you as Frenchmen.”

A breeze caught Jake on the neck, and he coughed.

“Ah,” Renard said. “That reminds me. I should arrange for medical care upon our return. I imagine that it has been a while since you’ve measured your blood count.”

“I feel fine,” Jake said.

“Really? I feel horrible. When I get to Lyon, I will sleep for a week.”

“I’m tired, too, but I think the worst thing is that I don’t know what to do next,” Jake said.

“C’est la vie,” Renard said. “You must live it day by day.”

Renard removed his gloves, tucked them in his pockets, and flipped the gold-plated Zippo under a Marlboro. He smiled as he exhaled smoke, but Jake couldn’t force himself to return the gesture.

“You still appear bothered,” Renard said.

“We came up short,” Jake said. “We didn’t get the warheads to Taiwan.”

“Taiwanese sailors had a warhead in their possession, did they not?” Renard asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then the way I see it, we accomplished our mission but changed our minds for the sake of the Miami. Accomplishments mean nothing if you sacrifice your humanity. Fortunately, we did not have to,” Renard said, “and we still were well compensated for our efforts.”

He smiled.

“Well, I’m HIV positive, I don’t have a home, and the only people in my life are standing here. And Mercer is taking McKenzie with him to Spain before he moves on to South America.”

“It’s best that our little group is not seen together, at least for several years,” Renard said.

“So how many friends does that leave me?”

“One. You will be safe with me in Lyon. You can perfect your French and buy the best medical care.”

“What makes you think I want to perfect my French?”

“For the lovely French women waiting for you in Lyon, of course.”

“Women who want to get HIV?”

“No, mon ami. You’re not the first to suffer from the condition. I asked my fiancée to locate social and support groups in the city. You’re not alone in this world.”

“You’ve looked out for me from the beginning,” Jake said. “I don’t know what to say except ‘thanks’.”

“I told you three oceans ago. I’m genuinely concerned about you.”

Renard blew a cloud that floated over the head of an approaching fisherman. He leaned toward the fisherman and exchanged words in Russian. The man patted Renard on the back, smiled, and walked away.

“The deal is closed,” Renard said. “We have a car.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “But what’s this talk about a fiancée? You never said you were getting married.”

“Marie was not my fiancée until an hour ago.”

“Marie? That’s who you’re in love with? I forgot all about her. If it wasn’t for her, we never would’ve met.”

Renard flicked the butt of a Marlboro into the river and smiled again.

“She did make our meeting possible, but I believe that I have ample place in my heart to forgive her.”

THE END