| Subject: Waiting...Sixteen & Seventeen (End) |
Author:
Enjoue`
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 08:16:59 03/05/01 Mon
In reply to:
Enjoue`
's message, "Waiting...by Enjoue`" on 07:14:24 03/05/01 Mon
SIXTEEN
The wet life line skimmed endlessly up and out of the water to coil tautly onto the powerful winch. Tucker watched it come, saying his version of a prayer. He hoped the Lord would overlook his habitual absence in church, and not view it as a sacrilege that he waited until this dire moment to ask for divine intervention.
At approximately three-quarters rewound, he felt more than heard the far-below detonation of the drill platform. He waited for the concussion, knowing it could make the difference between living and dying for the men on the far end of the cable. Seconds later, a heavy swell rose through the water, quickly falling back and dissipating gently into the surrounding sea.
“That wasn’t too bad.” On Tucker’s right, a sturdy blonde man stood with his legs spread in the habitual stance of a seaman. His gaze probed the water acutely for the earliest appearance of the divers.
“Is the chamber ready, Bengt?” Tucker asked unecessarily. He knew he could rely on this man, just as he could any of his crew members.
Bengt glanced over. “Yeah, boss. And I’ll go in with him. Claude is bringing oxygen for the other.” He glanced at the heavy wetsuit he had watched Tucker put on moments earlier. “I assume you’re going to recompress this guy underwater?”
“Going to try, Bengt. There aren’t any other options.” A cable marker appeared suddenly over the transom. “Here they come.”
The two helmeted heads broke water near the ship. Joined by Claude, who arrived bearing oxygen tanks, the crew worked efficiently to bring Michael and Lukos onto the boat. Relieved of their helmets, the two men were pale and clumsily unable to help themselves.
“How are you doing?” Tucker asked quietly, releasing suit closures on Lukos’ trembling form.
“Been better,” he gasped. “Joint pain…can’t breathe…numb extremities.”
Tucker pushed the wild black hair back from his friend’s face. “Claude is taking you to the chamber,” he said, squeezing gently on his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”
Lukos nodded once, painfully. Then Claude was there, bundling him into blankets, steering him to the tubular chamber for several hours of recompression that would save his life and keep him whole.
Tucker turned to Michael. Bengt had removed the helmet and bulky deep-sea suit and was struggling to reinsert him into a heavy neoprene wetsuit. Michael’s eyes were open but he seemed to be able to do little to assist the operation.
“Michael,” Tucker said, kneeling beside him and tugging helpfully on a zipper. “Can you hear me?”
Michael nodded.
“Are you in pain?”
“Abdomen,” he replied between gritted teeth. “Legs feel…nothing.”
He winced again as Bengt lifted his head to slip on a hood and face mask.
“Michael, I need you to listen carefully.” Tucker looked into the green eyes, satisfied that there was sufficient focus. “I am going to take you back down. By putting you back under pressure and giving you pure oxygen we can duplicate the effects of the hyperbaric chamber. We’re going to use the Navy’s Table Six decompression schedule so we’ll be there a while, coming up gradually.”
He peered closely again into Michael’s face. “Do you understand me?”
A nod. He reached down and squeezed Michael’s hand.
“I’ll be with you the entire time.”
A return squeeze.
As Tucker wrestled tanks onto his back, Bengt went to the side and dropped a weighted depth indicator line to guide them. “60 minutes each at 30, 20 and 10 feet,” he recited, glancing over for a nod of agreement.
Then Tucker lifted Michael bodily in his brawny arms and simply stepped over the transom.
* * *
SEVENTEEN
“Don’t let me forget to thank Christopher personally for this,” he said. In an expansive gesture he raised his wine glass in a toast to the excellent meal, then gallantly redirected the compliment to his companion. “He is not responsible, however, for the excellent company.”
In the background quiet jazz flowed through the Tower, effectively warming and slowing the passage of the evening. Madeline’s dark eyes, lit with points of reflected candlelight, rested on him contemplatively. “What have you decided about Daniel Tucker?”
“I haven’t,” he sighed, twirling his wineglass reflectively. “Strictly by the book, he and his crew should be either eliminated or recruited for basic exposure control.” He glanced at her. “Bypassing the book, however, I am inclined to live and let live. They don’t know anything that could serve our enemies. Oversight is not involved.” He shrugged.
“And he did save Michael,” she pointed out.
“Yes,” Operations snorted critically. “He’ll be weeks returning to capacity and I can’t put him on a high altitude plane for a month. But he isn’t dead,” he allowed grudgingly.
“You may not be doing Tucker a favor by leaving him out there,” Madeline suggested.
“There is always that possibility.” He seemed inclined to say nothing more on the subject, reaching instead to refill their glasses.
Briefly they were silent, then Madeline asked in a different tone, “Was it so bad?”
She watched him over the rim of her wine glass. Her brown eyes sparkled with what, on another woman, could be described as mischief. This was not another woman, however, and he knew the taunt had roots and purpose.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied evasively.
“All right,” she conceded, generously allowing the equivocation. “Was it so bad collaborating with Poole?” She went on immediately to answer her own question. “I think it went extremely well.”
“I think we could have done it without him,” Operations said curtly.
“And I think we would never have seen the pattern in time,” she returned promptly. “In addition, his surveillance and background intel were very helpful.”
He took a mouthful of the fine red in his glass and looked at her for a moment, then smiled reluctantly. “All right. I will give you that point. What are your recommendations for cleanup on this?”
“Now that we have the membership records it will simply be a matter of time. Naturally we will need to be discreet. It would be best to avoid drawing Oversight’s attention. I propose that after a first pass to weed out those individuals who are unacceptably dedicated to their cause – and Huber can assist with that assessment - we then keep the remainder of the list under observation. Waiting for opportunities.”
“Within the context of legitimate missions.”
“Exactly. And within a time frame that will not arouse suspicion. Over time, it will be a fairly straightforward task to eliminate most of these people.”
“You have someone in mind to be the watchdog?” He suspected already.
“Mr. Poole has agreed to the task. Birkoff can add a hidden subroutine to analysis that will look for any opportunity we can turn to our advantage on future missions. Nikita will be responsible for factoring in extended mission parameters to act on these opportunities.”
Operations nodded in mock appreciation. “It seems that you have it all laid out. I hardly need bother myself about it at all.” Peevishly he pushed his plate away, not missing the eyebrow that rose in irritated response to his childish gesture.
“With each day that passes,” she said, “I see more clearly the wisdom of those who selected me as a partner for you.”
He looked away, annoyed with himself for his lack of control, knowing she was right. “Indeed,” he acknowledged tightly, swallowing his pride. “I couldn’t manage without you. And to illustrate that fact I’m sure you are about to point out some new deficiency in my thinking.”
“Not a deficiency. Merely some new data and a change of focus.”
He waited, frowning.
“Certain of the files Michael retrieved contain information compiled for purposes of coercion…blackmail, if you prefer. I believe this was the Committee’s safeguard against any casual misplacement of loyalty by their higher ranking members around the world.”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “You mean we have the means to control these people. Highly placed people.” He stared at her unseeing as he processed the endless and tantalizing possibilities. “And Oversight has no idea.”
“It gets better,” Madeline purred. “One of them is a member of Oversight.” She looked completely satisfied. The cat that ate the canary…and knew the rest of the flock remained in the cage for later.
Life had just become considerably more interesting. Operations raised his glass once more, this time in willing acknowledgement.
“Madeline. I couldn’t manage without you.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
She tipped her glass in return, and smiled.
****
FIN
****
If the day should ever come when we [the Nazis] must go, if some day we are compelled to leave the scene of history, we will slam the door so hard that the universe will shake and mankind will stand back in stupefaction..
--Joseph Goebbels (1897 - 1945) German political leader
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 
