Chapter 14: Oceans Apart

The S.S. Aldenburg pulled slowly away from the two tugs that had pushed it from the wharf at the end of 24^th Street. In another twenty nautical miles it would clear the last official portion of the harbor and Capt. Eichmann would put the harbor pilot back on his boat, taking command his ship. Of course he understood the logic, yet it always irritated him that he was trusted with ten million dollars of cargo and three million dollars of cargo vessel across the toughest oceans of the world, yet when he came to even the most hospitable harbor he had to relinquish command to the local boy.

Down below the Selby family was getting squared away in their staterooms. On the one hand, they had been given the best rooms on the ship that weren’t reserved for the ship’s officers. On the other hand, it was a fruit boat.

“Is this really my bed? Cool!” said Bayne.

“Really,” said Hank. “Really? This is what we’re sleeping on. Really? Was everyone a miget when this ship was built?”

“You should be grateful to be sleeping the way the elite did in the 19^th century,” said a voice from behind them. “A real Merchant Marine today would be sleeping in half the space you have. Quit complaining or I’ll ask the Captain to see if he can find you some quarters with the rest of the crew.”

Mama never sugar coated it. Hank, now the dour teenager, simply scowled and jumped on the bunk.

“We’ve prepared an ‘office’ for you Col. Selby,” said Capt. Eichmann. “Follow me.”

They went down the companionway , through a couple of watertight hatches and then made a quick left into a compartment. Inside the room was more electronic equipment than was present on the bridge. Selby whistled under his breath.

“Ja, I was pretty impressed too. Maybe if we complete this “favor” for you guys, some of this stuff can remain with the Aldenburg, vielleicht.”

“I am to convey our government’s sincere thanks for this ride. I’m sure they will show their appreciation. Is it okay if I do a little work right now?”

“Ja. Ja wohl. You and Mrs. Selby and the boys will dine with me at the Captain’s table tonight at eighteen hundred.”

“We’ll be there. Thanks.”

Capt. Eichmann spun on his heel and exited. Selby turned back to the equipment and began a quick survey – radios, facsimile, and in the corner even the latest Microcomputer. Good grief he thought to himself, they can now make these less than six feet tall and able to fit in a corner. Where will it end?

He pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket, quickly decoded some numbers, then punched a frequency into the VHF omnidirectional device. He then punched the communication frequency and fired it up.

“Trophy boat, this is Dorado. Trophy boat, this is Dorado”.

He waited a few seconds. Nothing.

“Trophy boat, this is Dorado.”

Suddenly the radio gave out a burst of static.

“Dorado. This is Trophy Boat. Stand by.”

After about 30 seconds the radio crackled again.

“Well, well, well. Selby, that you?”

“Sure is. Good to hear your voice, Stephen.”

Chapter 13: Rabbit

--"Rabbit. That’s what we called him when he was a teenager,” President Douglas mused, staring down at his hands. “He was relatively normal until around his sixteenth birthday. Oh Billy," he sighed quietly. "Oh, Billy Rowe. Rabbit." He suddenly looked very tired.

Marilyn remained silent, wondering if the President would continue to share at this intimate level. After all, Senator James was still in the Oval Office. This unusual openness could have unintended consequences in the infinite complexity of politics.

--“They started giving him this drug.” He paused. “What was that stuff?"

--“Mellaril,” his secretary murmured, not knowing if the President really wanted an answer.

--“Yeah. Thioridazine, that was it. I’ll never forget the label on that bottle. After they started that stuff his mouth and lips would twitch just like a rabbit. Weird. Looked just like a rabbit. Kept him sort of straight, though."

Harold James cleared his throat and the President looked up. Their eyes locked, and two things were immediately clear. First, the President was assured that James would not use this information as political leverage. Secondly, James knew that his own sexual orientation would also be off-limits. Marilyn had seen this sort of non-verbal communication for her entire life in Washington. It still astounded her.

James nodded respectfully to the President and left the room. Marilyn picked up the receiver of the black phone and rapidly dialed a series of numbers. She handed the receiver to the President.

--“This is Henry Douglas,” he said. Pull out all the stops. Get him back using any means necessary.”

Chapter 12: Running Deep

The Lockheed P-3 sub hunters had given the all clear for the northwest coastal Pacific waters and returned to their base on Whidbey Island. The sub moved silently down the well traveled route from Puget Sound towards Pearl Harbor. They were due west of the Oregon-California border and about 300 nautical miles offshore. The initial rendezvous would take place in less than six hours. At that time they would pick up the necessary equipment, receive updated orders, and set a new course, the one not towards Pearl Harbor.

Waterson understood it was an extraction, but puzzled over the timing. It wasn’t like this had to be done yesterday, but it wasn’t routine either. And yet they were sending a sub on a long trip to Central America. And then his boat would end up on the wrong side of the country! He had heard the action was near La Ceiba, on the Caribbean side, but they certainly didn’t have time to get around the horn. And going through the canal, well, this was supposed to be a secret mission, wasn’t it? He wondered what the 2^nd fleet was doing and why they hadn’t been given this mission. The 3^rd fleet, of which he was a part, took the central and eastern Pacific, but the 2^nd fleet usually took care of the Caribbean.

He broke out of his reverie and returned to pricking the charts on his table. All was in order. They would surface, meet the refitted sub tender carrying a little more than the usual stuff, load up and be on their way. He was unclear on whether they would add any personnel.

The course he had plotted from the rendezvous point to their final destination was unexciting. He had estimated three days, pushing the ship to the max. Then came the fun part. Submarines weren’t meant to have helicopters land on them. They also weren’t designed to beach themselves like some kind of whale with nematodes in its ear. Yet those were the two options for the extraction.

There wasn’t much of a shelf along the Pacific side of Central America; that’s what made it a surfer’s paradise. Only the surfers didn’t know it yet. They were only now really investigating Hawaii, and it would be years before Costa Rica or Nicaragua would become playground for adventurous Americans. But the lack of a shelf could allow a sub to approach much closer to shore without any real danger of hull damage. Waterson smiled to himself. He was pretty sure they’d end up using the helicopter, but damn, he’d love to tell stories of the time he ran his boat up on the beach!