My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

46

“Attention all hands,” Chip spoke into the mike. “The exercise is over. Repeat, the exercise is over. Well done. O’Brien, surface, and set a course for Naples and issue a thirty six hour shore leave. You, Chief Sharkey, the admiral, and I, will attend the debriefing with the base commander tomorrow at 1600 hours as directed.”

Yes, we’d eluded two days of being hunted and the Navy confirmed our victory just a few minutes prior to Chip’s announcement. We had a very happy crew.

“Over here,” I called to Chip from the Observation Nose, and poured out two whiskeys. “Well done, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir, but...” he managed.

“Just accept the fact that the credit belongs to you. Lee had a difficult time accepting praise, still does. So don’t you, too.”

“But like he says, there’s no ‘I’ in team work, sir.”

“Only to a degree. To Seaview then,” I raised my glass.

He was just joining me in the toast when Sparks called out, “Admiral, Mr. Morton? We just got a call from the Riccio Maschile di Mare. She’s a freighter in the port of Carrera. Wants to talk to anyone who knows the whereabouts of Captain Nelson-Crane.”

Chip and I raced to the radio shack, though I had some difficulty, my legs feeling like rubber. Lee’s whereabouts? They’d had plenty of time to get to the port. What the hell had happened to him this time?

“Ello, ello?” the voice asked, irritated.

“This is Acting Captain Morton of the Seaview...”

“Americano amico Captitano Nelson-Crane? Si?”

“Amico means friend,” Sparks said. “Well,” he explained, “it helps to know a few essential phrases in a foreign language.”

“Yes,” Chip responded into the microphone, “er, Si?”

“Il capitano è in ritardo. Ritardo!”

“I don’t know that one,” Sparks said in response to our non verbal inquiries, then he returned his attention to the microphone. “Non parlo Italiano.”

“Idiota Americanos... Ritardo! Er...”he paused. We could hear the rustle of something that sounded like a book. Perhaps a phrase book? “Ritardo...late...Captitano late... avverbio...where...where capitano?”

“Oh, shit,” Chip said.

“Si, Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Well, that certainly didn’t need translating,” Sparks said.

“Dobbiamo lasciare!” the voice said then after more rustling, “leave...er...shove off. We... have... to... shove... off. Siamo in grado di remanere piu a lungo soldi...money...stay here? Si?”

“How much to keep the ship there?” I asked, “Er...”I stopped, looking at Sparks.

“Let’s see...oh, quanti sodli? Quanti sodli to stay? Er...stare li?”

We couldn’t quite hear what the man on the other end was saying to his companions, but I got the impression they certainly understood that.

“Cinquecento... si, cinquecento.”

“That’s five hundred,” Sparks said.

“Euroes or dollars?” Chip asked Sparks but was overheard by the Italians.

“Dollaro, cinquecento Americano dollaro,” the voice said, pleased. Riccio Maschile di Mare stare qui...uno ora.”

“One hour,” Sparks said. “They’ll stay there one hour for five hundred bucks.”

“Si!” I yelled, and ran aft, “keep them talking. I’m getting my credit card.”

“Americano Express?” the voice asked.

“Si! Si!” I yelled.

The clock was ticking and Lee still hadn’t showed up. I wondered how much more bribery with my AMEX would keep them at dock until Lee arrived. I’d already forked over fifteen hundred dollars for three hours. But that wasn’t important. What had happened to my son?

“Sir,” O’Brien approached me, sitting despondent in the Nose, “it’ll take one thousand dollars more to keep her there for one more hour, but that’s it. Schedule to keep and all...sir, I’m sure the skipper can secure another freighter...these guys are taking you for a sucker, er...”

“No word from the police?” I asked, ignoring his personal comment.

“No reports of any Lamborghini accident from Marenello to Carerra. No reports of any Americans matching their descriptions or names in hospitals,” he paused, “or jails...”

“Where the hell are they?” I shouted to myself, slamming my fist on the table.

Yes, I dished out that extra thousand dollars, but to no avail. The ship’s deadline passed and they departed. Probably thanking their lucky stars that their scheduled cargo hadn’t arrived and the stupido Americano’s had been swindled so easily.

But I didn’t feel stupid. Or swindled.  I understand schedules.

How am I going to sleep tonight? How am I going to concentrate on the debrief tomorrow.

Have Lee and Joe run into trouble or did Lee change his shipping plans and was he casually taking some side trip? Maybe he was taking out his irritation with us by not calling about his change of plans. After yesterday, I wouldn’t really doubt it.

Well, there was one way to find out where he was. “Sparks?” I called out, “get me ONI.”