by Cap Daniels
“Yeah, we’re in Central America, Chase. Are you okay?”
I listened to the rustling of the plastic-covered pillow beneath my head and reached for my water bottle. I shot another long stream of bitter, warm water into my mouth and forced myself to swallow. I heard the click of the handset returned to its cradle on the outside of my coffin. Another forced swallow of water emptied my bottle, so I threw it as hard and far as I could. Based on the sound of the plastic bouncing off the glass, that was about six feet.
How could I have been in an explosion in the Panama Canal and not remember it?
Memories poured through my mind of my time in the Nebraska Medical Center after I’d broken my hand in the final game of the ninety-six College World Series. I initially hadn’t remembered that accident, either. Perhaps I was re-experiencing that same phenomenon.
My eyelids grew heavy, and my breathing became rhythmic and deep. Sleep absorbed me once again.
“I did not know them, of course. I was child when they were killed, but I read file on both of them.”
I whispered, “What was in the file, Anya? You have to tell me.”
“Is record of training and military service. Your father was in navy and mother was not. Both were educated at university. Your father was . . . I do not know English word. Nabirat’.”
“Recruited,” I said.
“Your father was recruited in hospital after injury in war. He met your mother at university, and she volunteered for service to country with him.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know all of that. Tell me who killed them.”
“I do not know who killed them, but it had to be done. There were rules then. Rules of KGB and your CIA. Agents did not kill other agents. Professional courtesy is what your President Reagan called rule. Your father ignored rule. He killed nine Russian officers.”
“My father didn’t work for the CIA, so he wasn’t bound by those ridiculous rules.”
“You do not understand, Chasechka. Rules were not only for CIA. Rules were for everyone in intelligence community. So, that is why many people wanted your father to be captured or killed. Your mother was also very dangerous woman, Chase. She was like me. This for you is hard to understand, but is true.”
I couldn’t picture my mother hurting a fly. She was the most loving and nurturing person I’d ever known. She’d certainly been nothing like Anya Burinkova, the SVR assassin.
Anya continued. “File does not say who killed them, but there are photographs of their bodies. File also does not have interrogator’s notes. That means there were no questions. They were killed quickly.”
I tried to hold back tears. “How?”
“They were shot. I am sorry, but you will never know who killed them. You must stop chasing their killers. That is a chase that will never end until you are also dead, and I do not want that, my Chasechka. YA lyublyu tebya.”
Dr. Shadrack’s voice once again filled the chamber. “We’re going to start bringing you up now. How do you feel?”
“What?” I shook my head and tried to understand what he was saying.
“We’re going to bring you up slowly now. You’ve been at depth for almost three hours. How do you feel?”
“I’m hungry.”
“There’s an air lock above your head. There’s another bottle of water and some astronaut food in there.”
“Astronaut food?”
“Yes, it’s the same kinds of meals NASA sends into space for the astronauts. The conditions inside the chamber make normal food look a little unappetizing.”
“I can’t see anyway,” I said, “so it doesn’t matter.”
Without being able to see the latch on the air lock, it was a clumsy task, but I removed the water bottle and the sealed package of astronaut food.
“Can you tell me your name now?” the doctor asked.
“Yeah. I’m Chase Fulton.”
“Excellent.” He sounded relieved. “Now, how about the date? Do you know what day it is?”
I thought for a moment. “No, I don’t know the date, but in my defense, I didn’t know the date before I ended up in here. It’s sometime in early September.”
“That’s close enough,” he said. “It’s Monday, the tenth of September.”
“Thanks,” I offered. “This astronaut food is terrible. What’s it supposed to be?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “I don’t eat it.”
“And this water,” I said. “Either my taste buds are screwed up, or this water tastes like shit.”
He chuckled. “Your taste buds are fine, I’m sure. The water contains vitamin supplements and pain medication to help you relax.”
That explains the sleeping, I thought, but it doesn’t explain Anya.
19
Aye, Captain
The next two hours of my life were spent gradually ascending from the dive I’d taken in the recompression chamber. My ears popped a few thousand times, and my vision had improved, but I still couldn’t make out details outside of the glass.
By the time Dr. Shadrack opened the hatch and slid me out of the chamber, I’d spent all the time I’d ever wanted inside that coffin.
The doctor pressed a stethoscope against my chest. “Take a big, deep breath, and slowly let it out.”
I did as he’d ordered and then squinted as he shined a light into each of my eyes.
“How are you feeling, young man?”
“Not great,” I admitted. “I’m pretty sore. What happened to me?”
He chuckled. “Well, we aren’t sure, but you look like you’ve been washed and sent through the spin cycle a time or two. You’re going to live, but you may have your doubts about that over the next few days.”
“Can I sit up?” I asked, squirming on the gurney.
“Sure you can.” He raised the head of the bed, but I could feel him hovering closely by my side.
“How’s the vertigo?”
“It’s better,” I told him, “but my ears are ringing like a church bell.”
“That’s called tinnitus,” he said. “When you got blown to the surface, the nitrogen in your body came out of solution and formed a few billion bubbles. At least one of those bubbles ended up in the blood vessels that feed the eighth cranial nerve behind your ear. That nerve does a lot of things. It’s responsible for sending balance and spatial orientation information from the inner ear to the brain. That’s why you probably felt like you were spinning and falling. The fact those symptoms have ceased, or have at least reduced, indicates that the recompression therapy has restored the blood flow to that nerve.”
“Why are my ears ringing?”
“That’s another symptom of damage to that eighth cranial nerve. In time, the ringing will decrease, and hopefully diminish altogether.”
“How about my vision? Why can’t I see?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that one is a little more complex. Blindness is sometimes associated with barotrauma, but not necessarily with the particular nerve we’re talking about. It’s also an excellent sign that you’re now seeing shapes and colors. With continued recompression therapy, I think it’s reasonable to expect that your vision will return—possibly even to normal.”
I tried to focus on several objects moving around the room in front of me. “I need to talk to Clark.”
“He’s down in the crew mess having some dinner. Do you feel like eating?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry,” I said, “but please tell me you have something better than that astronaut food.”
“I think we can put something together for you. We’re going to reconnect you to some monitors, and I’ll send someone down to let Mr. Johnson know you’re out of the chamber.”
By the time I was attached to a machine that beeped every time my heart beat, I heard Clark pull up a chair.
“How you doin’, bubbles?”
“Bubbles? Really? That’s what you’re going with? Bubbles?”
Clark laughed at his own joke. “It seemed appropriate
, somehow.”
“I don’t know how I’m doing. I feel like I’ve been used as a punching bag for a few hours, and my vision is all screwed up. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m all right. I got bent pretty bad. I was still on the surface when you set off the C4. When I saw you surface, I knew I had to get you out of the water and find a doctor. I thought this boat was probably our best shot at finding a crew who could speak English and get us the help we needed.”
“It looks like you made the right decision. What is this boat?”
I could see Clark’s outline moving in front of me. I assumed he was looking around to see who was listening. “It’s a real research vessel, but it’s also an agency asset when they’re not studying bugs on the ocean floor—or whatever they do. The captain knows who we are and what we’re doing here, but I don’t think anyone else on board knows. I had a talk with him through the glass while I was in the chamber. I get the impression he knows a lot more than he’s saying.”
“Has anyone done a BDA?” I asked.
I needed the battle-damage assessment. My memory was returning, and I was still responsible for the operation. There were a lot of unanswered questions, and I had a lot of loose ends dangling in the water.
“No,” he said. “So far, all we have are some satellite images and radio chatter. It’s pandemonium out there.”
“What about our boat?”
“It’s aboard. The bosun hoisted it out of the water and stowed it on deck. I went to check on our gear after I came out of the chamber. It’s secured in a couple lockers.”
I rubbed at my eyes. “How’s your vision?”
“My vision is fine,” Clark said. “My only issue is that I didn’t deco on the way up. You’re the one who looked like he was shot out of an underwater canon.”
“Hey, Clark. Listen. You’ve done a lot more hard-core diving than me. Have you ever seen this happen to anyone before?”
He made a huffing sound of dismissal. “You’ll be fine.”
I reached toward the shape I knew was him and clenched the fabric of his shirt in my grip. “Have you ever seen anyone go blind like this?”
I heard him take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ve seen blindness a couple times, but we got you into a chamber within minutes of the accident, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Tell me the truth, Clark. How did they turn out?”
“You’re in good hands here. You’ve got nothing to worry about. These guys know what they’re doing. That doctor is a former DMO for the SEALs, for God’s sake. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I don’t care if he was the dive medical officer for Jacques Cousteau. I want to know how the cases of blindness you’ve seen turned out.”
“It’s not the same, man. We were remote, and there was no way to deco the guys other than putting them back in the water.”
His refusal to answer my question directly was exactly the answer I feared.
“Help me up. I have to know if I can stand.”
He instantly began to argue. “You need to stay—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Next time you feel inspired to start a sentence with the words you need, consider some other phrase. I don’t respond well to those words.”
I tossed back the clinical white sheet that was supposed to help keep me warm and swung my feet over the edge of the gurney. “I’m going to stand up. I’d like for you to either catch me or shove me back toward the gurney if I start to go down.”
The deck was cold to my bare feet, but the world didn’t immediately spiral out of control when I pushed myself up. On the other hand, the heart monitor had a fit. It screeched and blared its disapproval, but I didn’t fall. I could stand, even if my heart didn’t enjoy it.
Clark’s hands gripped my biceps as I eased myself back onto the gurney. As expected, a hoard of clinical types galloped to my aid in response to the heart monitor’s tantrum.
A cacophony of voices echoed disapproval, but I shut them down. “Relax. I’m fine. I just needed to know if I could stand up without falling. I can. Next, I’ll probably experiment to see if I can walk across the room without hurting anyone or myself. I promise to let you in on the plan before I go for a stroll.”
The disapproval continued, but this time Dr. Shadrack called for order in the court. “Well, it seems like you were right, Mr. Johnson. He is going to be a handful.”
I could almost hear Clark rolling his eyes.
The doctor patted my leg. “Well, that was quite an adventure, huh?”
“I had to know,” I said.
“Of course you did. But next time, get us involved. I want to see you walk, and we’ll do that as soon as you’re ready, but your vision is going to be an issue.”
“I need to talk to the captain,” I blurted out.
“The captain is a very busy man.”
“Not as busy as he’s going to be if I don’t brief him. Things around here are about to get very ugly very soon.”
The gaps in my memory had begun filling to overflowing. I remembered what I believed to be almost everything leading up to the explosion.
Muffled by the constant ringing in my ears, I heard the doctor and Clark murmuring.
“Now that he’s got his wits about him, he’s in charge,” Clark said.
My vision was improving. Formerly blurry-edged objects had some definition, and I could almost tell the difference between a human and an IV pole.
“All right, then,” Dr. Shadrack said. “If you feel up to it, we’ll go see the captain.”
Someone rolled a wheelchair to my bedside, and then as if I could see it, I turned my head toward the chair. “I believe I’ll walk. If you wouldn’t mind, block for me so I don’t plow over anyone.”
Clark actually laughed. “You’re one stubborn S-O-B.”
The doctor disconnected me from the heart monitor, removed my catheter, and I stood again. It required less effort than the first attempt, and I reached for Clark’s arm. I’ve never been good at being dependent on anyone or anything, but without my eyes, I was at the mercy of the sighted.
Walking hurt, but I tried to pretend it didn’t. I could pick out doorways and changes in lighting, but little else. Stairs were another issue altogether. There was no way to hide the pain of climbing. By the time we’d reached the bridge deck, I was exhausted and pouring sweat.
“I’ll bet now you wish you would’ve let us wheel you up here.”
“How would you have wheeled me up those stairs?”
“Oh, we have an elevator,” the doctor said, “but you seemed insistent on walking.”
“Point taken,” I groaned. “I’ll behave.”
“Yeah, right,” Clark mumbled.
“Captain, our guests of honor would like a word with you if you have time,” Dr. Shadrack said.
The captain had a gruff voice I didn’t recognize. “Yeah, all right. I’ll be down in a little while. How’s the dead guy doin’?”
Instead of letting the doctor have all the fun, I spoke up. “There’s no need for you to come down, Captain. We came to you. Oh, and if I’m the dead guy, I’m a lot tougher than most dead guys who show up on your ship unannounced.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Get in here and sit down. I’m Captain Stinnett. I guess I should officially welcome you aboard the research vessel, Lori Danielle. It’s good to see you without an inch of glass between us.”
“Thanks, Captain Stinnett. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chase Fulton, and I think you’ve already met Clark Johnson.”
“Indeed, I have,” he said, “but I didn’t expect to see you up and about so soon.”
“I’m a little stubborn,” I confessed. “Are we alone?”
Someone else moved to my right.
The captain said, “Give us the bridge, Tommy. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
Tommy shuffled past us and out the hatch.
The captain’s tone softened just a little. “Now it’s just Dr. Shadrack, Mr. Johnson, you, and
me.”
“I don’t know how much you know, Captain, but—”
“I know who and what you are. I vaguely know what you’re doing in this country, but not the specifics. Honestly, I don’t want to know. I assume you aren’t responsible for that big-ass boat sitting on the bottom of the Miraflores Locks and all hell breaking loose in Bahia de Panama.”
“Before we go any further,” I said, “is the doctor under an NDA?”
Being given access to classified information requires three distinct elements: the person must possess the proper level of security clearance, have a need to know, and be bound by a non-disclosure agreement.
“Dr. Shadrack is third in command. He can hear anything I can hear,” said the captain.
“In that case, no. We’re not responsible for any of the mayhem out there, but we do have a man on that ship who we have to retrieve. Are there any frogmen about?”
“At this moment, I’m afraid your partner there and my doctor are the closest things to SEALs there are in this part of the world. We could probably get a team here in eight hours or so if you can convince SOCOM to dispatch them.”
I doubted I could convince Special Operations Command to dispatch a telegram, let alone a SEAL team.
“We do have an air asset,” I said. “We’ve got a Huey and one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” said the captain, “I know Leo. That old coot had already been shot down a dozen times before you were born. He’s definitely an asset.”
I could feel the ship rolling beneath me. “Are we underway?”
“We are,” he said. “When you two showed up, it was obvious that there was far more going on in the mouth of the canal than I wanted to get wrapped up in, so I lit the fires and spurred the old mule out of the barn. We aren’t fast, but we’re making about sixteen knots. We’re far enough beyond the fray to avoid getting any of that bullshit on us. Besides, I figured you boys might need a little plausible deniability when people start asking questions about Americans in the water while Chinese ships are sinking.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, “but we have to get our man off that boat. No matter how badly I screwed up the rest of the op, I won’t leave him behind.”
