My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

84

It was 2130 and Chip raised his eyebrow in surprise when I’d told him I wanted to ‘shoot the stars’.

A lame excuse, but I had to do something. ONI still had no signal from Joe’s laptop. Nadah. None. Kaput. Of course, Lee had been able to disable his own equipment on occasion that defied any Agency interference.  But why do the same to Joe’s? Besides, his friend was still assigned as an agent in the field at times.

“Mr. Morton sent me up to assist you with the sighting, sir,” Sparks said as he joined me in the conning tower.

“A little unusual for a communications officer, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, lately everything’s been a little unusual. Sir? That last call you made to Admiral Cartwright. It’s none of my business, but did it have anything to do with the skipper? Everyone’s worried that he’s gone off on assignment or something. That he's not in Greenland at all.”

“No assignment. Just a technical glitch with Commander Jackson’s laptop and their cellphones.”

We were just logging the results after verifying the sextant reading, when Chip popped up through the hatch.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Not at all. We’ll be down shortly, Frank,” I said, effectively dismissing the Lt.

As soon as Sparks had gone below, Chip closed the hatch.

“ONI just called. They finally got a signal. Cartwright wants to know if you want them to contact Jackson or Lee. I took the liberty of saying ‘no, that we’d do it. So… ”

“Operation Sneaky Spy?”

“I’m just itching to see what’s going on.”

“So am I, Lad. But I’d like a few more minutes up here."

“You know, Lee almost always stays up here a little longer than strictly necessary when he shoots the stars. You two are really an awful  lot alike in some ways.”

By the time I forced myself to stop my stargazing and headed to my cabin,  Chip already had the videophone tuned to the laptop.

Joe was in front of the monitor, as usual, but was sitting cross legged on grass! Under a tent! The flickering light from outside indicated a campfire or a camp stove, but there was also the sound of laughter, children’s included. Suddenly the tent’s flap opened.

“TaDah!” Lee said, showing off a small fish on a makeshift fishing pole, basically a stick with a bit of string attached, and a paper clip hook.

“What the heck is that?”

“Joe, Joe, Joe, didn’t all your time with me teach you anything? This, is a fish.”

“I know that, bro. But it’s a bit small, isn’t it?”

“You should have seen the one they made me toss back,” Lee laughed. “This is a giant by comparison. C’mon out to the campfire. We can at least get a few bites out of it.”

“Mr. Glenn?” a boy of about six, called out as he held part of the flap open, “you can share my fish since yours is so sm..er…not as big as mine. And you’re so hungry, Mr. Grimm says.”

“Timothy,” the man in question it appeared was at the flap, shaking his head, “I’m sorry Mr. Glenn, he didn’t mean to offend…it’s just that ….”

“Oh, we’re fine,” Joe said. “And Lee  hardly ever has an appetite. His friends and family have to pressure him to eat sometimes.”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Grimm said, not buying it for one minute.

“Timmy?” Lee said, “that was a very generous offer. But really, our fish will do fine. We had some trail bars earlier.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Lee smiled, “now run along back to the campfire and your friends. We’ll join you shortly.”

As soon as Timmy left, Mr. Grimm whispered, “There’re canned franks and beans in the truck.” Then he departed with a wink.

“Only you could get us invited to  the YMCA campout and free food,” Joe laughed.

“But why do they think we’re destitute?”

 “We’re down on our luck American tourists that got mugged or something.”

“You told them that?”

“Had to tell him something when we checked into the Y. Especially since we rented the cheapest room they had.”

“I give up,” Lee said, grabbing his stick and fish, “c’mon then, let’s go cook our dinner.”

“Let me get this thing shut down properly, first. I’m not sure if I managed to fix the motherboard completely.”

 “I’m sorry you lost the story you were working on when it fried.”

“Got it all up here, bro,” Joe put a finger to his forehead. “Just going to be awhile before I can get it all written down again. Lee? Speaking of fixing things. You come to a decision about Seaview yet?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’ll know when I’ll know.”

As Joe shook his head and began to shut down the laptop, Lee playfully dangled his fish in front of Joe’s face as the image  faded to black.

Smiling faces.

I’m not smiling though, and am in for another sleepless night for worry over Lee’s continuing indecision!

On the lighter said, I’ll have to check one of my old textbooks to figure out just what kind of fish Lee caught, not that it matters, but Cookie might like to know. Of course, I can't tell him what his skipper's been up to, or how I knew about it. Perhaps I'll just say that Lee might have enjoyed fishing in some Irish stream...or I might not say anything at all.