28

TRWD28

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
28

It was past the second seating for lunch, and I joined Jiggs, Emmie, Edith, and Mrs. C. in the Wardroom. The monitor was tuned to CNN….

“…Well,” Ronald was saying, “I think the president made the right decision. Continuing the search would be a waste of taxpayer’s money. Give it a rest, Pops. Lee’s dead. Most of him, probably all of him, is only kelpie poop now.”
“…But there is no hard evidence that the captain is dead,” the reporter was saying, “aside from the rings and that tuft of scalp…”
“…Oh, c’mon! Can anyone actually think he could escape? His neck was broken! We all saw the videos! Even if the monster didn’t eat all of him and has what’s left of him is stored in a lair for a snack attack. Lee won’t care anyway, being in hell where he belongs.”
“…Why do you say that?” the reporter asked. “He was a good man.”
“…Yeah, well, I think he was an SOB.”
“…If Admiral Nelson abandons his search and rescue, as he calls it, and declares the captain legally dead, do you think there might be a reconciliation between you both?”
“…Doubt it. He wants nothing to do with me and he’s never been a father to me I’m just an accident. He didn’t even remember my mother.”
“…There’s been talk of parole. Do you have any remorse for your conviction of assaults and attempted murder?”
“…Yeah, of course I’m sorry, sure.”

“Remorse that he got caught,” Emmie said sarcastically.

“…If you are paroled, what will you do?”
“…Go to Loch Ness myself. To find that kelpie and thank it personally for ridding us of Lee. Who did my paper brother think he was anyway, God? Hero of Paris, president, captain, okay, but he was a pain in the posterior.”
“…He saved Washington from a disaster…”
“…All right, all right, I’ll let that rocket thing slide.”
“…You really hate him, don’t you?”
“…Why shouldn’t I? He’s just a paper brother, but he usurped any affection Pops should have given me. If he hadn’t been so close to Pops, I would have had a chance. I just hope Pops feels like shit now,” Ron added, and huffed off, escorted by the guards back into the main prison building.

“…That,” the anchor said, “was Ronald Nelson, still serving, time .We take you now live to Scotland and our reporter in the field….”
“…We’re here,” the reporter said, “with Mr. Angus McDonald at the reopened Land’s End Pub, In the distance you can make out the famous Flying Sub and the late captain’s repaired MTV hovercraft as Nelson’s search continues, though so far, no further trace of the captain or kelpie have been found, not even in some recently discovered caverns and ancient mine or volcanic tubes under and along the loch’s hills.”
“…Ach, it’s just so terrible,” McDonald, bundled up in a coat and boots, was saying, sitting on a bench outside, heavy woolen scarf blowing in the breeze, “ and to think it were all my fault. Yes. My fault as I said before, the laddie wouldn’t have even come here if I hadn’t mentioned the kelpie to anyone. Though, that one that got him were ten times as big.”
“…You can hardly blame yourself to the captain’s death.”
“…So everyone says…but I sure feel guilty.”
“…What do you think about Admiral Nelson’s decision to continue the search for the captain’s remains on his own?”
“…I think it shows him to be a good hearted father who still hopes that the blasted beast only paralyzed him, tore off some of his scalp and didn’t eat him up. He believes the lad is trapped in the kelpie’s lair and that he can be rescued and…”
“…Over here!” one of the fellow patrons yelled, pointing, “the monster! It’s back!”
Everyone ran toward the shore to get a better view, though it was a little more off shore from the previous image of the ‘kelpie’ chewing something again, lots of blood dripping from its mouth this time.
“Sparks!” I yelled into the mike. “Get whatever signal you can! Record everything you can from our satellites and scanners too. Compare that image with the last one. Have the Flying Sub and hovercraft scan the image, signals, anything.”
“FS-1 reports they’re already on it.”

As the ‘kelpie’ enjoyed whatever snack it was having, a ghost image suddenly appeared through the illusion. Walls of computers and monitors with other images on them were visible. One of them the ‘kelpie’. Another showed a missile launching site. A man in a white lab coat approached one of the countertops bearing the weight of some desktop computers, carrying something in his hands.
“That’s Ensign Simpson!” Jiggs shouted.
Simpson sat the object down facing away from us. Something semi round, hard, greenish brown with decay and tufts of black curly hair protruding from what was left of the scalp.

“Oh God, oh God!” Mrs. C. screamed as we all gasped in sheer horror.

“…Everything ready for act two, Dr. Ozno,” Simpson said via the intercom on one of the computer consoles.
“…It won’t work,” Lee’s voice wearily said.
Sighs of relief.

“…I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, Captain,” Simpson said, turning, “guards. bring him closer to see my handiwork. I’ve always been good at models, even if I say so myself.”
Finally we saw Lee from his reflection on Simpson’s computer monitors. Lee was bruised and bloody, his metal orbital socket lose again, and patches of skull showed where his pieces of his scalp had been torn off. He was bound by a neck and chest halter, his clothes ripped. He was being held upright by three muscular and armed men, delighting in the pain they were inflicted on him by hitting him with their gun buts to push him into a hard chair and binding him there with rope.
Lee saw the model head as Simpson turned it one way then another. I was grateful when he turned it toward Lee so we couldn’t see the face of it anymore. It had been a grotesque sight, s the spitting image of Lee, complete with dangling metal socket. It also appeared somewhat digested by stomach acid.
“…Not quite finished, as you can see,” Simpson said, “It still needs your eye for closer forensic examination when we release your alter ego here onto the shore. You’ll be spit out by the kelpie hologram. This head is made from organic materials and your eye will augment our purloined DNA. Why, the coroner will have no choice but to believe it’s you. ”
“…Why?” Lee croaked, some blood dribbling down from the side of his mouth, as he struggled against the leash and ropes. “What do… you and Ozno hope…to accomplish from…from all this?”
It was hurting him to speak and breathe.
“…Don’t play the fool with me, Captain. I know all about your real mission. After I was nearly court martialed, I decided that I’d best leave the Navy and serve Ozno to retaliate against you. He escaped prison you know, still on the most wanted lists around the free world. But more than that, he hates you personally. So do I. You were quite right, of course, about the kelpie hologram being an artificial intelligence weapons system. In fact, when we ‘launch’ the holographic missiles we’ve ‘placed’ on your military bases, complete with ‘legitimate’ signals, the People’s Republic and their friends will be forgiven for retaliation with real missiles to wipe out all of the major cities in the United States and her allies. Before your governments can convince anyone that your missiles were holograms or try to intercept, which they won’t be able to, by the way, it will be too late to convince anyone that the U.S. didn’t instigate it all.”

“The bogy’s from Three Hags Castle,” Sparks said urgently over the PA.
“That’s impossible!” O’Brien exclaimed, rushing over. “My great aunt would never aid and abet….”
“Calm down,” I interrupted, “she may not know about this…do you remember if her castle had dungeons and the like?”
“It’s not a real castle in that sense. No dungeons that I know of, but there could be some under the old ruins.”
“U.K. Troops are on the way,” Sparks reported, “but the Flying Sub can’t move or the ghost signal it intercepted will fade away. The hovercraft’s enroute though. The intercept signal’s being transmitted to our recon satellites…”

“…Shut down! Emergency!” Ozno’s voice suddenly yelled from one of the Simpson’s monitors. “They’re on to us!”
Simpson and other men rushed to their wall of monitors and began pressing buttons.
“…It’s stuck!” Simpson shouted. “What’s wrong?”
“…Find out!” Ozno’s voice demanded. “The captain must know.”
“…Call it off, Captain,” Simpson leaned over Lee. “Or I swear I’ll torture you worse than the People’s Republic ever did!”
Lee spit on him.
“…Never mind,” Ozno’s voice said, “It’s too late. By now everyone’s seen the kelpie’s fake. Well, world, I’m found out and it won’t be long before you’re here in the vain attempt to rescue the captain. My cohorts will be long gone and your precious captain will be dead.”
“…But you were going to get money for him from the chairman….” Simpson whined.
“…You fool! They’ll never admit to their part in anything now.”

Just then two elderly women were pushed into the room, forced at gunpoint, by Ozno’s minions.
“…Good day, Your Majesty, Lady O’Brien,” Ozno, on a screen said, “so kind of the fates to bring you to the right place at the right time. After all, I only had plans for the captain. Until now that is.”
“…Who are you?” Lady O’Brien asked. “What are you doing? These dungeons were sealed off centuries ago.”
“…Why, I’m Dr. Ozno. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. And I wouldn’t get all ‘hoi paloi’ about your castle. You didn’t even know my friends were here, let alone about the ancient tunnels to the Loch. But enough talk. Simpson? Remove the captain’s eye.”
The guards pulled Lee’s head back and held him tightly as Simpson hovered, clicking the forceps in his hand, laughing as Lee struggled.
“…Make sure to retrieve the eyeball intact,” Ozno said, “I don’t want a gooey mess for my paperweight.”
“…Oh God!” the queen screamed, struggling against the guards, “You can’t! You can’t!”
“…Oh, but we can. If it makes you feel any better, at least he won’t see the oubliette we’ll be throwing him down into to die an agonizing death. Followed by Lady O’Brien. I haven’t quite decided on you yet.”
“…What kind of a madman are you?”
“…A very good one…”
Closer and closer Simpson hovered over Lee’s face, hiding him from our view as Lee struggled against his bonds.
The women’s screams were cut off as the screen went blank.

“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,” Mrs. C. wailed having collapsed to the deck.
Emmie had little time for her as she was puking and Edith had fainted.
“Wait, wait! Everyone,” I said, trembling, “wouldn’t Lee have screamed himself? I didn’t’ hear him.”
“Then, what happened?” Jiggs asked.
“Either Lee managed to stop them, which I don’t think he could have, or Ozno changed his mind. We’ll know soon enough, when the Special Forces, Flying Sub and the hovercraft get there.”

And so we’re waiting for news. Our hearts are heavy with the possibility that Lee may have already been subjected to a grotesque mutilation, and an agonizing death.
The prime minister is flooding the airwaves right now with the hopes of a response from Ozno for any terms for the safe return of the queen and Lady O’Brien. As the U.S. never bargains with terrorists, Lee’s safe return, if he was still alive, was not addressed.