SquidgeWorld Archive

"Put your hands in the air. Don't move!" commanded a familiar voice, the voice of their ONI contact they had picked up the day before. In his hands was an automatic pistol. Seaview had been assigned to pick up Bashari Fouad Dhakti and his band and take them to National Security Agency Headquarters in Fort Meade, Maryland for debriefing. They had valuable information that would save many thousands of lives if it could be retrieved and acted upon in time.

Reluctantly, Captain Crane and Mister Morton raised their hands.

Dhakti, a captain in the army of the Rabat Republic, led a powerful resistance movement against the most powerful radical faction led by El Naya Mohammed Ali. His organization practiced terrorism in many places of the world.

In recent months, El Naya Mohammed Ali's attention had turned to the United States.

Captain Crane took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his raging thoughts. "What do you hope to accomplish?"

"First, I'm going to transfer the nuclear warheads to the medium range missiles and launch them at various targets in the United States," proclaimed Captain Dhakti, a smile of triumph twisting his lips. Then, I will torpedo each ship that comes after me."

Captain Crane stared in horror at the man standing in front of him in the Control Room. What the hell is going on? Surely, this is a nightmare, and I just haven't waked up yet!

Captain Dhakti nodded toward the Radio Shack. Two of the seven men barged through the door, pistols drawn. Captain Crane winced as the sounds of pistol butts thudding against flesh and the ensuing moans reached his ears.

Sharkey gazed around; his eyes were open much wider than usual. His jaw was clenched; his lips were pulled back. He backed away quietly, his face very pale. Ski and Pat stood and slipped from their stations. The three men inched their way toward the hatch Sharkey's up to something, thought Captain Crane. I'll keep the enemy captain talking and give him a chance to come up with a plan.

**

Lt. Peter Colton's head swam. Through the throbs of pain and nausea, he reached for the TRANSMIT button, but his hand was smashed with the butt of a pistol.

"Send any message and you're dead, you American pig!" yelled a man.

The Communications Officer felt the warm trickle of blood run down his forehead and into his right eye. He started to wipe it away, but the feeling of a knife's steel edge being pressed against his throat made him freeze.

And if I don't, Seaview and all aboard her will be so much debris on the ocean floor. Our Navy will track us down and blow us out of the water.

Even if they don't, we won't have anything to go back to if these bastards have their way. And after having a hand in that, I couldn't look another American in the eyes ever again.

Even though he felt himself sweating, a shiver coursed through him. And I could never look Francis in the eyes ever again!

**
Captain Crane continued to meet the stares of the men who had turned out to be deadly enemies. "We thought you were trying to stop this-this madness. Why have you betrayed us?"

Captain Dhakti relaxed his stance, but still kept his weapon pointed at them. "Since you've got no choice but to help us with our plan, I may as well tell you," he stated. "You see, I'm not Captain Dhakti. These are not his men, either."

The enemy leader sneered, displaying several rotten teeth.

"You see, I'm really Mohammed Ali Amin Kayat. These are my men." Then, the tall, dark man emitted a laugh that chilled his blood. "Your friends have all been dispatched to Hell, where all Infidels belong."

He paused, his smile widening. "And their deaths were unpleasant, to say the least. Most unpleasant! Especially the leader, Captain Dhakti." Another wicked laugh escaped his lips. "In the end, he was whining to Allah, like a sniveling child at its mother's tit."

Whatever his ethnic origin or religious beliefs, this is one sick son of a bitch, Captain Crane thought.

The enemy leader picked up the hand mike. "This is Mohammed Ali Kayat. Have you transferred those warheads yet?"

Moans from several crewmen could be heard for a moment.

"Yes. We will have them ready in five minutes," a reply came over the intercom.

Suddenly, the boat rocked, throwing everyone off balance.

Several crewmen, led by Sharkey, flung themselves at the enemy men. As the men struggled, shots were fired. Sparks flew everywhere. Riley and several others left their stations to aid their fellow crewmen.

Crewmen had the two other men pinned down, but Amin Kayat proved to be very determined. He managed to get loose and fired, narrowly missing Captain Crane and Mister Morton.

Sparks flew from the sonar screen as the console exploded. The inactive radar station and the hydrophone also exploded as bullets found their targets.

Captain Crane dashed for the arms locker and withdrew a nine millimeter for himself and Mister Morton.

Suddenly, Sharkey doubled over as a rapidly expanding scarlet flower appeared a couple of inches above his belt on his left side. Two more shots rang out, followed by moans as Alan Gordon, a new man, and David Watson, who had been with the boat for several missions, fell to the deck. Another shot brought down Donald Denton, blood pouring from his throat.

Now in position, Captain Crane and Mister Morton opened fire. The two men who had entered the Radio Shack emerged and were quickly cut down by the two officers. Amin Kayat twitched and fell to the deck as several scarlet flowers appeared on the middle of his chest and rapidly spread. "Your men will pray for death," he hissed as pink froth, mixed with blood, trickled down his chin. Finally, Kayat lay still, his eyes open and unblinking.

Captain Crane grabbed the hand mike and keyed Sickbay. "Men down in the Control Room! Men down! Get up here quick!" he shouted.

"Aye aye, sir," responded the calm voice of Dr. Will Jamison.

**
"Come on, Pat!" Ski called as soon as they were out of the Control Room. "We've got to do something, and I've got a plan." Ski broke into a run, Pat close behind him.

"What do you have in mind?" asked Pat.

"We can shut down the power to the helm and planes controls for a few seconds. That will cause the boat to rock. They're not used to submarines, so that will scare them. Then, we'll shut down the power to the missile launch controls and the torpedo launching systems."

"But those men will still be aboard. They're armed."

"That's right. They're armed against us, but a couple of canisters with knockout gas in them will stop them cold."

They reached the Circuitry Room and quickly shut down the power to the boat's steering systems briefly. When it began to rock, Ski flipped the switch and turned it back on. Then, he shut down the power to the missile complexes and the torpedo launching systems.

"Let's head for the arms locker," Ski ordered.

Ski used his key to open the door and went to where the gas masks were kept and took two. He handed one to Pat, who put it on while he donned his. Then, they took two canisters of knockout gas. Ski relocked the door as they left.

They headed for the Missile Room. Pat opened the hatch, while Ski pulled the pins and tossed them in. Then, Pat ratcheted it closed.

The two men ran toward the Control Room. Ski stopped when he came to a wall mike. Snatching it from its wall bracket, he keyed it and held the button down. "Air Revitalization and Ventilation, this is Ski. Close the vents leading to the Missile Room. There is a gas problem there."

"This is Jones in ARV. Have closed the vents. The gas is contained."

Ski and Pat slowed to a brisk walk. "Whew! That was close!" exclaimed Pat.

'Yeah, I know," Ski said.

For a moment, they were silent. Then, Pat spoke again.

"That was easy. I thought we'd have a lot of trouble taking back the boat."

Despite the ease with which they had accomplished their objectives, Ski felt tentacles of uneasiness snake through him. "Too easy," he murmured, almost coming to a stop.

Pat laid a hand on his elbow and squeezed slightly, his blue eyes studying him. "You okay, Ski?"

Ski nodded, then smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood between them. Pat knows me like the back of his own hand. We've been best friends for years. Nearly a year and a half ago, it became a hell of a lot more than that. Sometimes, I think he knows what I'm going to say before I do. "I guess I keep remembering what my Grandmother Doroteya used to say."

"You've told me about a lot of things she said. Which one are you talking about?"

"She used to say, 'If you can win out over something too easy, you can expect trouble and heartache out of it later.' That woman was a Romany Gypsy from Russia. I used to think she was weird, but I found out that she was right almost all of the time."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Doc and his entire staff hurried past them.

His heart pounding, Ski and Pat followed them to the Control Room.

**

When Lt. Peter Colton regained consciousness, he felt hands turning him onto his back. "Sparks? Sparks? Can you hear me?" Mister Morton was saying.

He opened his eyes, but quickly closed them as a wave of nausea passed through him. "Yes, sir. Is-is it over? I didn't get to send a message, I don't think." Then, other thoughts stole into his mind. Francis! He's usually in the thick of the danger. God, please let him be all right! "Where's the Skipper? And Fr-Chief Sharkey? Are they okay?" he asked.

"I'm right here," said Captain Crane. The voice came from his left side. "I'm fine. Don't try to talk."

"Is-Is Chief Sharkey all right?"

No one said a word for a long time. Despite his pain and sickness, he was conscious of tension in the air. "Is Sharkey all right?" He tried to sit up, but as soon as he did so, everything began to fade away. His heart pounded, which increased the throbbing in his head.

"Chief Sharkey and some other men were wounded. The enemy men have been either killed or locked up in the brig. I'll let you know something as soon as I find out anything," Captain Crane said.

He heard other men moving around him. "Get Sparks to Sickbay."

Then, he felt himself being lifted. Mr. Morton supported him on one side; another crewman on the other. Suddenly, a bolt of pain shot through his head. Then, everything faded into oblivion.

Part 2

Dr. Will Jamison sighed and nodded to Frank Hanson and John Rogers, his corpsmen. "Have some men come and get Denton and put him in the reefer on C Deck,"" he ordered. He didn't have a chance. A bullet through the neck. Blew away his trachea and tore through the left carotid artery and the jugular vein. He was dead before we could get him down here.

"Aye aye, sir," Frank said quickly.

Joseph Pheerse, his Pharmacist's Mate, was hooking up the IV tubing of a "piggy-back" of antibiotics into the main tubing of Sharkey's IV. He had already hooked up similar units to the IVs of Watson and Gordon. "Pheerse, come into my office when you get through with that," Doc told him.

"Aye, sir," Pheerse said.

When they were alone in Doc's office, Pheerse shut the door.

He poured himself and Doc some coffee before he took his seat behind Doc's desk. As Pheerse sat down, Doc noticed his drawn expression.

"God, what a mess!" he sighed. "And it could've been a lot worse!"

"Yeah. Those Arabs could have launched those missiles at the United States. We think we've had disasters before. Multiple nuclear detonations would have demolished most of the country."

"I know. And more men could have been killed aboard Seaview trying to stop them." Pheerse turned to Doc and placed a hand on top of his, which sent a little rush of pleasure through him. "You were amazing, Will. You just handled it. You made it look like child's play."

Warmed by the compliment and the admiration in Pheerse's eyes, Doc turned to him, feeling his spirits lift considerably. Despite his rule about refraining from demonstrations of affection while on duty, he leaned over and quickly kissed Pheerse on the lips.

We won't have time to get together tonight. It's been a long day, and it'll be a long night, too.

**
Captain Crane picked up the receiver of the Vidphone. Punching buttons, he called the Radio Shack. "Amps, put through a call to Admiral Harriman Nelson at COMSUBPAC Headquarters," he ordered.

"Aye aye, sir." There was a brief pause. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"I've just come from Sickbay. Sparks is resting comfortably. Doc says he is doing all right, but he has a concussion. Doc is keeping a close eye on that," Captain Crane told him.

"Thank you, sir. I'm putting your call through now," said Amps before a click told him that he had closed his link.

In a few minutes, the face of Admiral Nelson filled the vidphone's screen. "Lee, I'm glad to hear from you. We've just gotten word that your contact and his men have fallen into enemy hands. Whatever you do, don't take anyone on board claiming to be Captain Dhakti and his men!"

"We already know. We found out too late. However, the situation is under control. Seaview is safe." Then, Captain Crane gave the Admiral a detailed account.

"Thank God you're okay," murmured Admiral Nelson, his expression becoming more solemn than it already was. "If-if." Pausing, he harrumphed several times.

"I'm fine, Admiral. There was one death. Seaman Donald Denton, one of the newer men was shot in the neck. Sharkey, Gordon, and Watson were shot, but are expected to make full recoveries. Sparks was struck in the head several times for trying to send a Mayday. He has a
concussion, but Doc expects him to be all right in a couple of weeks."

"I-I wish I'd been there. Maybe I could've spotted something before they made their move," Admiral Nelson said.

I've been going over everything in my mind. I-I should've spotted something, but I didn't, Captain Crane thought frantically.

"I've been telling myself the same thing."

"Lee, I'm returning to Seaview immediately." He paused.

"My best to you and the crew. Until later."

"My best to you, too, sir. Until later."

The screen went blank as the connection was broken. Despite the harrowing day, a warm feeling seeped into him. Thanks to the discreet code they had worked out, he and the Admiral could convey their love to each other. I needed that! I just wish he were here right now.

Being in Harri's arms would help ease his loneliness and anxiety. This has been a God-awful day."

**
A week later.

Doc paused by Chief Sharkey's bunk. "Chief, you're healing very nicely," Dr. Jamison told him. "If all goes well, I may release you and put you on light duty in a couple of days. You're still running a low-grade fever. We'll need to get that cleared up before I can release you."

Sharkey nodded. Doc moved to the next bunk. Finally, Doc finished and returned to his office.

He'll be back before I know it. I just get settled. Then, he comes back and checks the dressings and takes vital signs. It seems like the pain is worse every time I have to move. Normally, Sharkey hated the tedium of Sickbay as much as any man who wanted to be where the action was. Right now, all he wanted to do was to crawl into a dark, soft spot and never wake up. I've been shot before, but I didn't hurt all over like I am this time. I must be getting the flu.

As soon as Doc went into his office, a tall, muscular man with his head and right hand wrapped in bandages pulled up a chair from the corner and sat beside his bunk. Two blue eyes stared out of a face far paler than usual. His full lips parted in a warm smile. "Hey, Petey," he murmured, reaching out to Sparks.

Sparks' large uninjured hand wrapped around his. "Hi, Francis. I heard what Doc told you. I'm glad you're doing so well." He paused. His eyes suddenly brightened with excess moisture. "When I heard you were shot--." He paused again and cleared his throat.

Sharkey squeezed Sparks' hand, wincing at the pain it caused. "And when I saw those men force their way into the Radio Shack and begin beating you, I just wanted to kill every one of those sons of bitches."

Their gaze met and held. For several moments, they said nothing. It's so good to have Petey here with me, he thought.

Frank Hanson walked to stand beside Sparks. "Come on, Sparks. Back to bed. He needs his rest, and you do, too."

Sparks' lips pressed together as his eyes narrowed. Then, his expression relaxed. "Just a few more minutes. I-I just wanted to see him and talk to him."

Frank nodded. "Just five more minutes," said the corpsman, then walked away.

Sparks bent down. "I'll be glad when we reach port. I know what I want to do as soon as we get there."

Sharkey looked into Sparks' eyes. "Maybe by the time we get there, I'll be healed enough to wear you out first," he replied. He could not help grinning. Removing his hand from Sparks', he reached up and touched Sparks' cheek. "I love you, Petey. I don't know what I'd do if--." The lump that rose in his throat choked off the words.

Taking his hand again, Sparks quickly brushed it with his lips. He gazed into Petey's deep blue eyes. A tear spilled from Petey's right eye. Quickly, he wiped it away, then smiled broadly. "Same here, Francis. Same here."

**
Several days later.

I've never hurt like this! thought Sharkey. My back feels like someone smashed it. My arms and legs feel as if they've been broken in several places! My ribs hurt. It hurts to breathe! My neck and head and shoulders ache. If I open my eyes, the light might as well be knives stabbing into my brain. My arms ache! Even my fingers and toes are killing me!

"We'll transfer Sharkey and Gordon and Watson to gurneys. That way, we'll have better access to them," Sharkey heard Doc tell the corpsmen. "Sparks can stay in his assigned bunk."

Sharkey turned to face the wall as tears of pain began spilling down his cheeks. If anyone touches me right now, I'll punch them out! he thought, taking a ragged breath.

As Doc and the corpsmen moved the other men, their moans seemed to echo off the steel bulkheads. The corpsmen placed them on their assigned gurneys and hung bags of IV solution on poles. "We're going to give you something to help you rest," the corpsmen told the two men. Pheerse held three capped hypodermic needles in his left hand. He uncapped one syringe and stuck it into Gordon's IV. Slowly, he depressed the plunger. When he had injected the contents, he deposited the needle into the disposal unit on the wall and proceeded to Watson, where he repeated the procedure.

The two corpsmen and Doc approached. "It's your turn now. Just let us do the work," Doc instructed as he threw back the covers.

Quickly, the corpsmen dropped the height of the gurney to match the bunk on which he lay. As three pairs of arms slid under him and centered him in the middle of the gurney, a groan of torment forced its way past his lips. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

As the corpsmen raised the gurney's rails, Sharkey gripped them, grinding his teeth together in an attempt to bite back his screams and stop the tears from falling.

Petey immediately appeared at his side. A hand gently rested on his shoulder as another touched his side. Two blue eyes met his. "Take it easy, man. Easy," Petey said softly.

"Sparks, stand aside right now!" shouted John. "Can't you see we're trying to take care of this man?"

As John attempted to push Sparks back, Sharkey reached out and grabbed his lover's arm with his right hand as if it were a lifeline. "Let him stay," Sharkey grated through clenched teeth.

Pheerse hung an IV bag above him and inserted the tubing, took hold of his left wrist. "I have to start an IV. Then, I can give you something for pain," he declared, his tone gentle but firm.

Reluctantly, Sharkey loosened his grip on the gurney so that Pheerse could position his left hand. Sharkey felt a rubber tourniquet being tied on his upper arm, which caused it to ache even more. Pheerse then began mashing on the back of his hand. When will it end?

Sparks took his right hand and held it. "Take it easy, buddy," he coaxed.

"You'll feel a stick," said Pheerse.

There was a stick. Then, the feeling went away. "I'm just about done," Pheerse said, taping the IV in place. Then, he uncapped the last hypodermic syringe and slowly injected its contents into the port of Sharkey's IV line.

"What are you giving me?" asked Sharkey.

"Demerol," said Pheerse. "Just lie back and take it easy."

"You're going to be fine," Sparks said in his quiet voice. However, his solemn expression belied his reassurances.

Part 3

Three days later.

Heaving a deep sigh, Dr. Will Jamison looked up from the binocular eyepiece of his microscope for a moment, then stared into it again. I've felt helpless many times in the face of a medical unknown, but this is one of the worst times.

Pheerse stepped in, his expression somber. "Have you found out anything yet?" he asked.

Doc shook his head, feeling the tension draw his brows together. "Whatever this bug is, it sets up osteomyelitis, then invades the periosteum, and the joints of the body, especially the cartilage and the synovium. From there, it has spread to the ligaments. So far, it hasn't spread anywhere else. We've medicated the condition with Keflex, Cephalexin, Cipro, Floxin, Rocephine, Vibramycin-you name it. I've administered several NSAIDS, but with no discernable success. I don't dare administer steroids until we can successfully knock out the infection." Steroids decreased the body's natural immune system. If he did administer steroids, he could hinder the body's ability to fight the disease.

"What else can we do?" asked Pheerse. "Right now, I'd kill for a kilo of heroin. Hospice centers can get it if it's absolutely necessary. Sometimes, it provides relief from severe pain when nothing else will help. Right now, I'm willing to try anything. Nothing we've done seems to alleviate the pain. I've given those men sufficient doses of morphine to normally put them in a coma. It has very little effect.

Those men out there are hurting. I'm talking the kind of pain that patients in the last stages of bone cancer face. Nothing-I mean nothing-will help that. The patients' bodies are weakened anyway.

Finally, they go into shock and die." Most people outside the medical profession did not realize that in many cases, the main killer during the last stages of cancer was the intractable pain, not the disease itself.

"I know, Joe. Right now, they're lying with their heads and necks packed in ice. Ice bags have been placed under their armpits, in their groin regions, and at the elbow and knee joints. Despite the antibiotics and large dosages of ibuprophen and acetomenophin, they're running fever just over one hundred and five degrees." Doc felt his throat constrict with emotion. "If we don't find a remedy soon, we're going to lose those men."

**

The moans of Gordon, Watson, and Sharkey had lessened for the moment.

Sparks stood next to the gurney where Sharkey lay, his hand resting on Sharkey's right waist. His heart thudded for a moment in dismay as he felt the abnormal amount of heat in Sharkey's body. For the moment, he had stopped writhing, but his eyes were still glazed with pain and drugs. His white-knuckled fingers curled around the rails of the gurney. Occasionally, tears welled up in Sharkey's brown eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

With utmost gentleness, Sparks reached up and wiped them away with his other hand. This Sickbay has the latest equipment and drugs. Why doesn't Doc give them something that will work? Sparks raged silently. He's been sick like this for a week. Something's got to give or--.

Sparks was unable to complete the thought. Tears blurred his vision and threatened to spill down his face. He wiped them away quickly. Images of the good times they'd had together ran through his mind. It can't end like this. In all my adult life, I've never felt so loved and treasured until Francis and I got together. It's so strange.

I've always been attracted to men who were my size, or bigger. Francis is a lot shorter and less muscular than I am, but his big heart more than makes up what he lacks in stature.

He hurt me only once. Most men get turned on when a partner thrusts hard against their prostates, but it causes me pain. A lot of pain. It was his first time to penetrate me, and he didn't know that.

When he realized he was hurting me, he stopped right then. He pulled out and held me, saying he was sorry, over and over. When the pain subsided, I looked at his face. He was crying. When he went inside me again, he made sure not to pound into my prostate, just graze It as he went up in me. He made it so good.

An image of life without Sharkey stole into his mind, but he pushed it away. No! He can't die! I need for us to make love again; to hold each other and wake up in each other's arms again. I want him spooned against me and feel his back against my chest again.

Pheerse laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go lie down and get some rest. You look like you could use it," the Pharmacist's Mate said gently.

Sparks shook his head. "He's doing better, don't you think? I need to be here for him."

Pheerse shook his head. "He's exhausted, and so are you. You won't be able to be with him if you pass out and end up getting worse, yourself. Go lie down," he urged, his tone firmer.

Sparks nodded and went to his bunk. He lay down, then turned over and faced the bulkhead as tears began to spill down his cheeks.

**

Dr. Will Jamison had just finished taking the vital signs of the last man when Admiral Nelson pushed open the door and stepped in, followed by Captain Crane. They want another status report on these men. I wish I had some good news to tell them.

Doc nodded, acknowledging their presence, then motioned for them to go into his office. Once they were all inside, Doc shut the door and took his seat behind his desk.

"Has there been any improvement, Doc?" asked Admiral Nelson.

Doc shook his head. "No," Doc admitted. "If anything, Gordon and Watson are worse. Sharkey's condition hasn't deteriorated, but he's not gaining any ground."

"What the devil is wrong with them? Have you figured that out yet?" demanded Admiral Nelson.

"But there must be something you can do-make them comfortable, if nothing else," Captain Crane protested. "It sounds more like a torture chamber than a place where the sick are treated."

"Admiral, Captain," he began, nodding at each one in turn. "They're the victims of a mutant strain of bacterium. It's similar to the bacteria that produce severe cases of acne and those which produce spinal meningitis. It's resistant to all known antibiotics. The pain it produces is so bad that nothing can kill it. Thank God this disease hasn't affected the meninges. If it had, they'd all be dead by now," Doc told the two officers.

Captain Crane's eyes took on a cold, flinty appearance. His mouth formed a tight, grim line. "Thank you, Jamie," he said, rising to his feet.

Admiral Nelson looked at the Captain quizzically. Then, he turned his attention back to Doc. "I'll be checking back with you. Notify me if there is any change," he said, standing and walking out the door, Captain Crane a couple of paces behind him.

^**

Pheerse hung Sharkey's chart in its slot in the rack when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he saw Captain Crane standing next to him. Admiral Nelson stood nearby.

"Captain Crane, can I help you with anything?" asked Pheerse.

"Yes, you can. Get me a large hypo-the largest you have-and fill it with sterile water," he commanded.

Pheerse looked at Captain Crane a moment before responding. He thought about asking the Captain what he wanted it for, but the look on his face stopped him.

"Captain, I'll be in the lab if you should need me for anything," said Admiral Nelson as he turned and walked away, but not before Pheerse saw Nelson's eyes widen and a wry smile part his lips. "If you have anything that would add a reddish tinge to it, add a little of it, too."

"I'll check and see what we have," Pheerse said, going to the medical cabinet and taking out a large hypodermic syringe. He searched for a medicine with a reddish tinge to it and thrust the needle into the ampule. He withdrew half a centimeter of the substance and pulled the needle out. He filled the barrel with sterile water.

"Is there any medicine you can put in there that will burn and hurt?" asked the Captain.

"Rocephine burns like hell. Any time we administer it, we combine it with Xylocaine to lessen the pain," Pheerse said.

'Could you put some Rocephine in the syringe, too, but leave out the Xylocaine?" Captain Crane asked.

Pheerse paused for a moment, but the stony look on Captain Crane's face spurred him into action. He squirted out half of the water, then drew enough Rocephine to fill the barrel. Only the Lord knows what he's going to do with this, and the less anyone else knows about it, the better, Pheerse decided as he capped the needle.

A grim smile played on Captain Crane's lips. "I'll bring this back for disposal when I'm through," he said, striding from Sickbay.

**

Captain Crane strode into the Control Room. Mmm! He's one good-looking son of a bitch! Kowalski thought as he looked up from the sonar screen. He could not help smiling at some of the thoughts that raced through his mind. Pat and I made a vow to each other. I'd never really break that vow, but the Skipper is one man that could tempt me.

Patterson, who sat beside him at the hydrometer station, glanced at him. His eyes narrowed slightly. Kowalski turned back to the sonar screen.

Captain Crane walked to his station. Pausing behind him, Crane laid a hand on Kowalski's shoulder. "Ski, I need your help on a special detail," he whispered, then gestured to Malone, who was the relief man for the first Control Room watch. "Take over Ski's station."

Patterson turned his head toward them a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Ski felt his partner watching them intently. Pat's lips pulled back slightly as his jaw moved forward very slightly in that way it did when something displeased him.

Kowalski followed the Captain from the Control Room and down the passageways. "What is it, Skipper?" he asked, hoping his curious partner would not be too upset. He's been edgier than usual since those bastards tried to hijack the boat. Sharkey and the others being on the guarded condition list in Sickbay hasn't helped any.

"We're going to pay a call on the guests at the Seaview Hilton. I want you to do the interrogation." Captain Crane handed Kowalski a large hypodermic syringe.

Kowalski grinned. He fully understood the role he was to play. Oh, okay! I've helped the Skipper with this sort of thing before. I'm the bad guy who will hurt them-and I'm just the one to do it. Of course, I can't let myself get too carried away. I wouldn't want to leave any evidence. I can do some things it'd be hard for an officer to get by with. They're more limited in what they can do.

And I've been itching to get my hands on them after what's happened to Sharkey and Gordon and Watson. Oh, yeah! As the two men walked into the Detention Area, the three guards who were sitting around a desk stood at Attention. Normally, only one guard was posted, but due to the fact that their prisoners were enemies of the United States and had tried to commandeer Seaview and fire its nuclear missiles at American cities, extra guards had been assigned to the detail.

"At ease," said Captain Crane. "Ski and I are going to talk to our guests. Get out your nine millimeters and have them ready. If they try to escape, you know what to do," he told the guards.

Ski picked up a riot baton which stood in a corner of the small room. Grinning, the five men strode the short distance to the Brig. Through the bars of the occupied cells, several Arabs in bright orange coveralls with PRISONER stenciled across the back sat on bunks in the cells. They were not handcuffed, but they were wearing leg shackles. Their dark eyes and expressions showed their silent anger and bitter hatred.

Suddenly, Ski struck the bars of the cells several times with such force that even the metal deck vibrated. "Listen to me, you pig fuckers. We want to know who you're working for and what your mission is. Also, we know that you brought a-a plague aboard." Ski withdrew the capped hypo from the pocket of his red coveralls. "The medical staff has bred the disease in an-an incubating agent." Kowalski had heard Hanson or Pheerse use the term while he had been confined to Sickbay. He hoped he had used the term correctly. "What we want to know is how did you get the disease on board?"

"Infidel! Infidel submarine. Infidel country!" one man with a scar running the length of his right cheek shouted, spitting at him. "Die, Infidel, die!"

"Die, Infidel, die!" The other men took up the chant.

Scarface unzipped his coveralls and began to urinate through the bars. Several others did the same.

Rage surged through Kowalski. "I'm not a patient man, at best, but you decided to do things your way. Now, I'll do things mine." He turned to the guards. "Unlock the cell door. Get one of the men. I don't care which. Cuff him."

"Watch it, Ski," Captain Crane whispered a warning.

The guards unlocked the cell door and grabbed a man. Cuffing him, they flung him into a chair.

"Who are you fighting for?" demanded Kowalski.

"Allah," was the reply.

Kowalski viciously backhanded the man twice. "How did you bring that disease aboard? How is it spread? What is it? What will cure it?" he snarled.

"The destruction of Allah on the Infidel," replied the man.

Kowalski uncapped the syringe. The man's eyes widened; his jaw dropped. "If we have to die, we're going to take all of you out, too," Kowalski said, pulling his lips back from his teeth and drawing his brows together. I've been told I could scare the shit out of the Devil when I do that. I don't know if these men have enough sense to be afraid.

"Give each man an equal share of the injection," said Captain Crane.

Kowalski pulled down the man's coveralls and injected some of the contents into his right arm. Immediately, the man screamed words in another language as he held his left hand over the place where Kowalski had injected him.

Kowalski nodded to the guards, who uncuffed him and tossed him back into the cell. They pulled out another man, cuffed him, and sat him in the chair.

Kowalski squared off in front of him. "How is the disease spread? How did you bring it aboard? What is the disease? How is it cured?" demanded Kowalski.

The only reply was a sullen stare.

Kowalski quickly unzipped his coveralls so he could slip them down far enough to expose the man's upper arm. He injected a portion into the man's arm. Immediately, his face contorted in agony as he began screaming.

The routine was repeated until only one was left.

The last man sat in the chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. "No! No! Don't do it!" he pleaded.

Captain Crane stepped forward. "If you'll tell us what we want to know, we might not do it. First, you've got to tell us what we want to know."

"How did you get the disease aboard?" asked Kowalski, his tone less harsh than it had been.

"The-the bullets! They special made in lab. They bad!" the man said, his accent very heavy. "They have-ugh-little holes-ugh-pores-in them. That's where the sickness is kept. If someone is shot, disease makes them sick if bullets don't kill them."

"How can we cure it?" demanded Kowalski and Captain Crane almost as one voice.

The man began to shake. "No cure! No cure! If you get sick, you die!" he replied.

Kowalski felt a chill course through him. He started to unzip the man's coveralls to inject him, but the man leaned forward. "Don't kill me! I not want to do it! I not want to be here!"

Captain Crane placed a restraining hand on Kowalski's arm.

"Then, why are you here?" demanded the Captain.

"Because in my country-in my village-we are controlled by our religious leaders. If we don't do as they say, we will be killed. Our families, too. If I not go into guerilla unit, my family will be killed," he sobbed. "I know things. I hear things. I do things. I no like, but I have to, or my family will die."

"We have connections. If you help us, we can try to get your family out. If you don't, there's a good chance your family will die, anyway."

"How can you help?" the young Arab demanded.

"We can offer you asylum in exchange for whatever information you can give us. If you do this, we will help you. We will radio the CIA to dispatch a special unit and try to get your family out."

"I tired. I tired of running. I tired of hiding. I tired of killing. I tired of fear. Before the leaders we have now came to power, Allah did not teach these things. They're not men of Allah. I will help you."

"And we shall help you," Captain Crane promised. "Kowalski, put the syringe away." The Captain turned to the guards. "Put this man in the other cell block. "

Something about the manner of the Arab touched him. He wasn't too disappointed that he would not be allowed to inject him.

Maybe war is hell, even for some followers of Allah, Kowalski realized. But Chief Sharkey and the other can still die, he reminded himself. If they do, it isn't going to make a damn bit of difference that one man was reluctant to go along with it. He's still the enemy, and must be stopped.

**
Doc forced the bite stick between Watson's jaws as the seizure began again. He had already administered all the drugs he could.

Doc saw Gordon's body began to jerk violently again. "Get me that bite stick again!" Doc heard Frank demand as he and John worked with him.

Doc glanced at Watson's EKG, then at Gordon's. Both men's hearts were throwing atrial and ventricular arrythmias like crazy.

Watson's temp jumped up to 108.2 degrees about four hours ago, and I can't bring it down. Gordon's temp is 107.8, and has been for almost that long.

"The anti-seizure drugs haven't helped at all this time," commented Pheerse, a worried look on his face.

"I don't look for them to," Doc said. When a human's temp reaches 106 degrees, it is usually fatal. If a patient does survive, he's usually left brain damaged.

"V-fib!" yelled Frank as he and John grabbed the defibrillator. Frank pulled back the sheet and quickly removed the hospital gown that Gordon was wearing.

John squirted some gel on the paddles and rubbed them together, then turned on the machine. "Five hundred watt seconds. Clear!"

Frank stepped back as John placed the paddles on the man's chest and sent a charge through his heart. There was no response.

An ominous wail came from the EKG. A flat line ran across the screen.

"Hit him again," Frank ordered.

John shocked him again, but it was no use.

Frank grabbed an Ambu-bag as John stood on the bottom rail of the gurney and began doing chest compressions. After several sets of compressions, John paused for a pulse check. Frank pressed his fingers against Gordon's carotid artery. "Continue CPR," he said.

Doc and Pheerse worked with Watson while Frank and John cared for Gordon. After almost an hour, Doc turned to Gordon's gurney and placed his stethoscope in his ears. He listened intently for any sound of life. There was none.

"Time of death: 0948 hours," Doc said, removing the stethoscope from his ears and placing the earpieces around his neck. Solemnly, he covered Gordon's face with the sheet.

Doc turned back to Watson. Suddenly, Watson's EKG showed a galloping heartbeat that indicated bleeding into the heart muscle itself. His heart has had so much strain on it, it's giving out. Doc knew there was nothing more he could do.

The EKG began to show fainter and fainter heart action. Then, the familiar ominous wail reached his ears as the EKG flatlined. Doc grabbed another Ambu-bag while Pheerse did chest compressions.

After several sets of compressions, Doc called a pause for a pulse check. As he touched the carotid artery, he felt no sign of life.

Although Doc knew it was no use, something would not let him quit at this point. "Continue CPR," he called.

Almost an hour later, Doc issued the order to stop CPR. He listened with his stethoscope for sounds of air exchange or sounds of circulation. The eerie, stillness of Death remained.

Sometimes, silence is not golden, Doc thought bitterly. "Time of death: 1038 hours," Doc announced, covering Watson's body.

Dreading what he would find, Doc went to the gurney where Sharkey lay and examined him. His heart rate is one hundred two beats per minute.

His blood pressure is one sixty over ninety four. It's high, but it could be a lot worse. Hmm! His temp is 104.8! It's actually dropped!

Doc walked to the small sink and splashed his face with cold water.

Then, he went into his office. Doc stood behind his desk, staring at his medical degree. The writing blurred together as his eyes began to burn. He bit his lower lip as a lump formed in his throat.

The door opened, then closed softly. "Are you all right, Will?" asked Pheerse.

Doc did not dare say anything, due to the emotion that threatened to burst forth. He shrugged, his eyes bright with excess moisture.

Pheerse said nothing. He laid a hand on his shoulder as he leaned to kiss his cheek.

Finally, Doc cleared his throat. "I fight an enemy that we can't see, but we damn sure know it's there. That enemy is death."

"And you're damn good at what you do," Pheerse told him, placing a hand on Doc's upper arm and squeezing gently.

Grunting, Doc shook his head. "It's a hard fight, at best." The despair lifted a little, due to Pheerse's moral support. "Usually, though, I'm allowed weapons to fight with. But this time, all the weapons I use have been taken away from me and I've got to go up against Death barehanded."

"You'll come up with something," Pheerse reassured him matter-of-factly.

"I hope to God I can. It's too late for two men. If I don't come up with something pretty damn quick, we're going to lose Sharkey, too."

Part 4

Captain Crane knocked on Admiral Nelson's cabin door.

"Come in," came the rich voice of the Admiral.

Captain Crane entered the office and closed the door.

Admiral Nelson rose from his desk and met him. They embraced, clinging to each other and drawing strength from the contact.

"It seems like forever," murmured Admiral Nelson against Crane's chest.

"Umm hmm," agreed Crane as he pulled Nelson close and kissed his red hair. As he did so, he felt the reaction to Nelson's nearness in his loins.

Their lips met. As their kiss deepened, the intercom buzzed. "Admiral Nelson, I need to speak to you and Captain Crane as soon as possible," Doc's voice came through the speaker.

Captain Crane groaned softly. It had been the first time in several days that they had had the opportunity to be alone together.

They had planned to eat lunch; if they were extremely lucky, perhaps they would have time to do more than that.

The somber tone of Doc's voice worried Captain Crane. A chill of foreboding coursed through him. He picked up the hand mike and keyed it. "I'll be right there," he told Dr. Jamison.

"I'm coming with you," Admiral Nelson declared as he opened the door and stepped into the passageway. Captain Crane followed closely behind him.

In Sickbay, Frank and John were placing the first man in a standard triple-zippered body bag. The second body lay on a gurney beside the first one, draped with a white sheet.

Sparks stood by Sharkey's gurney, his expression very strained. He leaned close to Sharkey's head and said something, but his voice was so low that he could not hear. Dark circles stood out against Sparks' too-pale complexion.

Doc turned to Frank and John. "Draw blood samples for a full tox and pathological workup," he ordered. "Do the same for Sharkey, as well."

"Aye, sir," was Frank's immediate response.

Pheerse immediately began removing syringes and vaccutainor tubes from the racks and drawers and laying them out on trays.

Doc looked up. "Admiral, Captain," he acknowledged them, nodding to each man. "I wanted to let to you know that Watson and Gordon didn't make it."

Captain Crane nodded. The sad helplessness that he always felt when one of his men died washed through him. Damn! "How is Sharkey?" he asked.

"He's still in extremely guarded condition. His fever has dropped slightly, though. I don't know how he's held on this long."

**

Doc completed checking Sharkey's vital signs. His heart, although still in sinus rhythm, was beating very rapidly. His fever was still 104.8. However, his pulse was weak. Sharkey moaned in agony; he stared through half-closed eyelids. His brown eyes and black hair stood out against his very pale skin.

Pheerse and Frank emerged form the laboratory. In Pheerse's hand were some papers. He handed them to Doc. He studied the printout of the results of the blood work. The results from Watson and Gordon were almost identical. However, Sharkey's results showed a strange substance. I don't understand this. These men have all been together for the past two years. What did Sharkey get into that Gordon and Watson didn't?

John closed the drawer he had been looking into and came over to join them.

"Pheerse, did you know Sharkey's blood work showed he had an unusual substance?"

"Yes, sir," Pheerse said. "It's hardly more than a trace. I don't know what it is."

"Run further tests. I've got to know what it is. It may make all the difference in the world."

Pheerse and Frank strode back to the lab, followed by John.

*

Sparks, who had been sleeping, rose from his bunk. He walked the short distance to the Sharkey's side and stood there, staring down at him. For a moment, Sharkey's eyes focused and met Sparks' concerned gaze. "I'm here, man. I'm not going anywhere," Sparks promised gently.

Doc thought he saw Sharkey's lips twitch as if he were trying to smile.

Sparks backed away and motioned for Doc to follow him. When they were a few feet away, Sparks turned to him. "Why don't you do something for him? You can't let him die! You just can't!" Sparks' voice, which was vibrating with suppressed anger, suddenly broke. He looked away.

"Sparks, we're doing all we can," Doc assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. As he did so, Sparks turned to face him. The ravages of Sharkey's fight for life were mirrored in Sparks' too-moist eyes, which were underlined by dark circles.

Suddenly, voices erupted from the general direction of the lab. Pheerse stepped through the door with a paper in his hand, followed by Frank and John. "Doc, we have the results of the tests. You're not going to believe this."

"What did the tests show?"

"That strange element is--." Pheerse cleared his throat. "As hard to believe, tests show it to be arsenic."

"Arsenic!" Doc exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"The Marsh test shows it," Pheerse declared.

"But where? How? Who could have given it to him?" Doc walked back to the gurney and studied the tips of Sharkey's fingers. There were a couple of white blotches on two fingernails. Hmm! He didn't receive it recently.

Otherwise, all his fingernails would be striated. But when did he get it?

That could explain why the strange disease had not proven fatal for Sharkey yet!

"I've got to know exactly how much he has in his bloodstream, " Doc told his staff. "It's critical that I know."

"I don't have the information about the where and how, but I've got the data on how much is showing in his system." Pheerse handed Doc the sheet.

Doc studied it for several moments. Suddenly, a plan began to form in his mind. It's a big risk. Vomiting and diarrhea are hard on a strong person, but Sharkey is very weak right now. It might shut his liver down or cause seizures and send him into shock. As weak as he is, a couple of hard seizures could kill him. His kidneys can shut down, as well, if I even slightly miscalculate the dosage. But nothing else has worked. "I think it's worth a try," Doc decided.

Sparks strode around the gurney to where Doc was standing.

He grabbed Doc's arms hard. "Doc, have you lost your mind?" he shouted. "Arsenic is a poison! You'll kill him!"

Doc looked into Spark's eyes. He's on the edge right now.

He knew he had to watch what he said, as well as how he said it. He nodded. "I won't lie to you, Sparks. There's risk involved. However, I can control the dosage of the arsenic. I can't stop the onslaught of this disease or manage his pain. If something doesn't give, Sharkey is going to die, anyway. I think it's worth a try." He paused, the continued. "But I also believe your moral support has done as much good as anything else, probably more. I believe you want him to have every chance to beat this thing that he can have."

Slowly, Sparks nodded, then released Doc. He took his usual place beside Sharkey's gurney. "Hey, Doc has come up with a plan. He's found a way to knock out this disease. Don't worry. You'll be as good as new in no time." Although Sparks' voice was reasonably steady, tears rolled down his cheeks.

Doc went to his office. First, he called Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane and advised them of the latest turn of events. Then, he took an old volume from the top shelf. I've kept this old medical book more for a conversation piece than anything else. He flipped through the pages until he came to the information he sought.

He went back into Sickbay. With utmost care, he prepared the needed injection. Solemnly, he nodded to Pheerse, who administered it in Sharkey's hip.

God, let this be the right thing to do! Doc prayed silently.

**

Through a heavy haze of fatigue, Doc monitored Sharkey's condition.

Suddenly, Doc felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around to find his Pharmacist's Mate standing there, a concerned look on his tired features.

"Doc, I'll watch Sharkey for a couple of hours while you rack out. You're out on your feet."

"I know, but Sharkey has been gagging off and on for over an hour. He doesn't have anything in his stomach. That is making it worse on him. I can't leave him now."

"Right now, his white count has dropped slightly. Even his fever has decreased a bit," Pheerse declared.

"But in the labs we ran two hours ago, his liver profile has changed, too. It's beginning to show effects of the arsenic," Doc reminded him. "His liver is beginning to throw bilirubin and other impurities into his bloodstream."

Sharkey moaned loudly for a moment, but it faded to a mere whimper. His breaths came in varied, ragged gasps. His arms and legs stiffened slightly. He moaned again, more loudly this time.

On the other side of the gurney, Sparks sat on a stool. His head rested on the gurney's rail. One hand rested on Sharkey's chest.

Sparks raised his head and looked at Sharkey. A tear trickled down each pale cheek. His mouth was twisted with strain.

"Easy, Francis. Just take it easy," Sparks said softly.

His voice trembled slightly. "I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Sharkey seemed to relax a little, but Sparks looked even more worried.

In a few hours, I'll give him another dose. Hopefully, Sharkey's body will be able to cope with the arsenic. Right now, it's still a toss-up. Which will give out first? Sharkey's body, or the disease.

**

Sharkey slowly opened his eyes a millimeter at a time. As the bright overhead lights of Sickbay seemed to bombard eyes, it felt as if shrapnel grenades were going off in his head. A dull, intense ache possessed his entire body. Every time he moved or breathed, shards of fiery agony shot through him.

He narrowed his eyes to mere slits as he felt tears trickle from his eyes. He remained still, not wanting to cause himself any more agony.

His stomach twisted. He felt he would vomit at any minute. His intestines churned, as if they wanted to force themselves from his body.

Through a haze of reddish-gray, Sparks' face seemed to float above him. "Take it easy, Francis. I'm right here. Hang in there, buddy," his mellow voice urged.

Petey! Oh, Petey! My lover! Despite the anguish even that slight movement caused, he could not help smiling slightly. I never thought I'd find someone I could be really happy with. It was a long shot that we got together. I was involved with a couple of men before I was twenty. Then, I settled down and got married. Sharkey broke off thoughts of the next twenty-plus years of his life. I wasted a lot of my life trying to be normal. If I hadn't gotten involved with Petey, my whole life would have been wasted time.

When I think of how close I came to turning away from him--. Sharkey found that thought even more painful than all the memories of his three marriages. I was too worried about what others would think if they knew I was in a same-sex relationship. But I got my head set on straight, and we lasted anyway. Petey's love for me is all that matters. I saw that before I lost him. At least, I can say I've known true happiness before I die.

**

Dr. Jamison finished checking Sharkey's vital signs. With a long, heavy sigh, he noted his findings on Sharkey's chart. Sparks, who had moved away from Sharkey's side long enough for Doc to conduct his examination, took his place beside Sharkey once more.

Frank entered the main sickbay. "Sir, I've just finished testing the latest blood sample." With an unusually grim look on his face, he handed the printout of the results to him. "Sharkey's liver profile is really out of whack. Blood tox levels are dangerous. His kidneys aren't filtering his blood properly."

Doc scanned the printout. His spleen and lymph nodes are very swollen. He has developed jaundice. His urine output has dropped significantly. It shows a lot of abnormal toxicity. It's characteristic of the beginning of renal shutdown. I really didn't need a lab report to tell me that. Sharkey is still running fever. Right now, it's hard to tell at this point which is causing him more problems: the disease or the arsenic. I need to start him on dimercaporal to counteract the effects of the arsenic, but if I do, Sharkey won't have any chance to beat the disease.

Shit! Talk about a rock and a hard place!

He's still restless and uncomfortable. You can see it in the way he holds his body, and his expression. But his level of consciousness is dropping. He's becoming stuporous. Doc sighed again. Perhaps it's more merciful this way. At least, he isn't screaming in agony.

Pheerse stood at the medicine cabinet, preparing another injection. His gray-green eyes met Doc's. Doc shook his head. "Another injection will kill him for sure," he stated, unable to keep his voice from trembling slightly.

Sparks looked in Doc's direction. His lips moved for a couple of moments, but no sound came forth.

"You don't have to stay here. We'll look out for him. Go lie down and get some sleep," Doc advised.

Sparks shook his head, glaring at him. Then, he faced Sharkey. "Come on, Francis. Listen to me. I know you're tired. I know you're hurting! But you can make it! I know you! Just hang on,
Francis. You've got to! Just hang on! You've got to! You've got to!" Sparks pleaded, his voice breaking as he repeated the words over and over. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he did not bother to wipe them away.

Doc replaced the chart in the rack on Sharkey's gurney. At moments like this, I wish I'd taken up another line of work, Doc thought as his throat constricted with emotion.

Part 5

The pain faded. Tingling alternated with numbness in various parts of his body. Serenity and darkness settled around him. He began to feel as if he were floating-floating away from the pain and the fatigue.

So tired! So very tired! Thank God. The pain's gone.

As the peaceful darkness settled around him, a voice called to him. Petey's voice! "Come on, Francis. Listen to me. I know you're tired. I know you're hurting! But you can make it! I know you! Just hang on, Francis. You've got to! Just hang on! You've got to! You've got to!"

Summoning every ounce of determination, he homed in on the voice and the pain. If he didn't, he knew he would die. I may not make it out of this, Sharkey thought, but it won't be without a fight! Keep talking, Petey! An image of being at the controls of the FS-1 floated through his mind. He was coming in on his final approach on a carrier. Lightning zipped through the black sky and reflected off the inky black water. On the carrier deck stood a man, holding a powerful flashlight in each hand. The man was beckoning for him to land.

The man was familiar-tall and muscular, with dark brown hair and clear blue eyes. As he neared, the man's full lips parted in a grin. Sharkey's heart leaped. Just a few feet away! There's safety-and Petey!

Suddenly, the controls froze as the craft nosed over. He was going to crash!

**

Doc stood beside Sharkey's gurney. Deepening of the yellowing of his skin and the white part of his eyes indicated that the jaundice had worsened slightly. He had developed diaphoresis due to the arsenic, but his skin temp was still very warm. His sweat had a metallic, sickly, pungent smell, indicative of severe kidney malfunction.

Pheerse joined him. He shook his head sadly.

On the other side of the gurney, Sparks began to sway. Doc and Pheerse ran to his side. "Come on, Sparks. We're putting you in your bunk."

Sparks protested feebly, but Doc and Pheerse led him the short distance and gently laid him down, then covered him. "Get some rest, Sparks. You need it," Doc said, covering him with a sheet and a blanket.

Pheerse's gaze locked with Doc's for a moment. His own feelings were reflected in his Pharmacist's Mate's wide, too-moist eyes.

They returned to their vigil beside Sharkey.

**

With his right hand, Abdul al Besuol unzipped his orange coveralls and let them fall around his ankles. He squatted, then reached back and inserted two fingers of his left hand into his rectum.

Anxiety gripped him. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then, he pushed as if he were defecating. The thin six-inch object, encased in plastic, slipped into his grasp. Abdul pulled it out.

Beside him, Rasheed bin Samir did the same, stifling a moan as a cylinder two inches in diameter and seven inches long slipped from his body. That done, he peeled off the plastic and thrust it under his mattress. Opening the cylinder, he handed it to Hassan Jakim.

Hassan's eyes closed as he pried open what looked like a cut made by a razor blade and pushed down. A small round wafer with several tiny wires attached to it emerged from the gash.

Quickly, the men assembled the various components and hooked up the powerful, yet tiny photocell to the device. Abdul hooked up the antenna and pulled it to its entire two-foot length.

Damn pig-shit Infidels! Abdul thought as he took the tiny microphone and inserted the receiver unit in his ear. They're clever, but not as clever as they think they are.

And to think that Dawud al din Qadir turned away from Allah! He's aided those Infidels. He who turns away from the true path and aids the Infidel is worse than the Infidel. Does he really think the American Capitan can save him? He really expects the Capitan to rescue his family somehow?

Abul Kayat had brought in din Qadir and several other young men from their village. Dawud had been a new conscript-a reluctant conscript on top of that. Because of that, there were several details about our plans that he was not told. Praise Allah for that! But he knows enough to do our cause great harm if he talks. Their plans to hijack the USSRN Seaview and fire those nuclear warheads on important cities in the United States had failed. So be it. Could the Infidel think he could defeat Allah and his disciples so easily?

Abdul looked for a way to affix the long, thin antenna to the ceiling of the cell. The wire would then be secured into the corner. He smiled.

Some prisoners who had previously been kept there had left a wad of gum on the wall about three inches from the floor. Praise Allah, who has provided for his Divine Purposes!

As inconspicuous as the device was, it would not be discovered before the Infidel submarine and all its crew had been dispatched to Hell, to be tormented by all manners of Djinn.

But first, he would make sure that every member of Dawud al din Qadir's family died the agony of a traitor's death.

With a fingernail, he pressed the tiny transmit key. "Abdul al Besoul to El Naya Mohammed Ali," he said in his native language.

"Transmit your message," came the harsh voice of Erfouad Tamir, one of El Naya Mohammed Ali's key men. "You were not successful in launching Seaview's missiles."

"No. We have a traitor among us who has caused our plans to fail. Dawud al din Qadir has sided with the Infidel. Wants them to take his people from the village and give them a home in the United States."

If everyone had been pure in heart, we would have been blessed with victory and lived to see Allah prevail over the Infidel, Abul raged silently.

"No member of his family will live another day," promised Erfouad Tamir. "You know that Allah's will must be carried out?"

Abul knew and accepted it without hesitation, as he knew the other men did, also. Since they had been unable to commandeer Seaview and use her for their purposes, she must be destroyed. If we, too, have to die, it means that we will be with Allah sooner! "Yes. When next we meet, it will be in Heaven." Abdul broke the connection.

When the lights were turned off, he would turn the device back on. It would take about four hours for the submarine to intercept Seaview. Then--.

As Abdul thought of the delights that Heaven held for him, he settled back and smiled.

**

Lieutenant JG Ray Fenton was rubbed his heavy, burning eyes.

He ran his fingers through his short, light brown hair. "God, I'm tired of these long shifts," he muttered. I'll be glad when Sparks gets off the sick list. We don't have much radio traffic, but sitting at this console for twelve hours at a stretch is about as exciting as watching paint dry, he finished silently.

He had been with Seaview almost two years. When he had been on active duty in the Navy aboard the aircraft carrier, the USS Hornet, his nickname had been Amps. His Naval Reserve unit still knew him by it.

The door to the Radio Shack opened. Amps turned as Riley stuck his head in. In his hand was a large Styrofoam cup with a lid on it. "Brought you some java. I didn't know what you liked in it, so it's black."

I usually put a tiny bit of sugar in it, but I'll drink it anyway. I hope it's strong. Another four hours before my watch ends and I'm already about to z out!

"Thanks, Riley," Amps said, smiling.

Riley left, closing the door behind him.

Amps turned around just in time to see a red light that he was sure had not been on before go out.

Strange! When I first came on watch, I checked out the units. All were functioning as they should be for the most part. Still, some of the lights that are supposed to come on do not. Others flicker on and off for no reason. Ever since those Arabs came in here and roughed up Sparks, this console hasn't been the same. Sometimes, this equipment is temperamental, anyhow. Maybe it just misses Sparks.

Amps stared intently at the console. When the light did not come back on immediately, he stretched and settled back in his seat. Seaview received no messages. Without radio traffic to distract him, it was all Amps could do not to fall asleep. Damn, this has got to be the longest shift I've ever pulled, Amps thought as he fought to stay awake.

**

Captain Ivor Sikorsky stood on the periscope island of the Novodnikov. The men attentively manned their various stations in silence. There were no problems to distract him from his dour thoughts.

If I were a religious man, I'd swear that the Devil was creating his usual havoc in the world. What is it coming to? When the Motherland was whole, we were a proud people. Captain Sikorsky's stomach knotted again with a vengeance. Now, the Motherland is in pieces, and the government I serve must sell its military and Naval skills to the highest bidder.

Yes, Capitalism seemed to benefit the United States.

However, with the collapse of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, many of the states had once again become independent nations. Many had elected to try Capitalism. What has Capitalism done for us?

It destroyed our government. It took away jobs, it rendered people homeless, that's what! It took away medical care from those who could not afford to pay for it. Granted, medical facilities in the United States we