and found it caught on some twisted metal from a German U-boat that one member of the crew, Jason Canfield, told us was blown apart. Here’s some of what they found ….”
O’Brien stood in Dave’s salon with Nick and Dave, watching as the news reports unfolded. The images were of the pictures he’d shot on the sub. Nick stood, his black eyes tired, his voice a grunt, “We’re screwed.”
Susan Schulman’s report continued, “These are pictures taken by Captain O’Brien. The canisters are labeled U-235. The outside of the submarine is marked 236. There are human remains on board. The sub also was carrying parts of what is believed to be M2 German fighter jets. Where’s all this potentially disastrous cargo right now? Still out in the ocean, east of the world’s most famous beach, Daytona Beach. Cronus said he knows the location.”
The video cut to Schulman’s ambush interview with Nick.
Cronus: “I can take you there, sure. Come on, TV gal.”
Schulman: “Perhaps Mr. Cronus isn’t fully aware of the magnitude of this find. Nonetheless, Captain Sean O’Brien told us yesterday he didn’t find the U-boat. When presented with pictures we managed to obtain from Canfield’s girlfriend, Nicole Bradley, a Channel Nine intern, the dam of secrecy broke apart. And Captain O’Brien is none too happy about it.”
O’Brien: “Seems to me, Miss Schulman, you are the one compromising the safety of the nation by your zeal to be the first to put this on television rather than to be responsible and shut the hell up.”
Schulman: “Mark and Angela, Captain O’Brien says he did not bring up the canisters marked U-235. So, as far as we know, they’re sitting out there where they’ve been hidden since World War II. We spoke with a physicist at nearby Lockheed Martin, and she told us it would take about two-thousand pounds of enriched uranium to make a nuclear bomb the size of the one that leveled Hiroshima.”
Anchorman: “Thanks, Susan. Before we go to Todd Knowles’s report, a programming note, Susan will be appearing via satellite on CBS national at nine o’clock tonight fielding questions. Now, let’s go to Todd in Jacksonville.”
Dave Collins turned to O’Brien and Nick. “Not good gentlemen. The woman’s obviously very subjective. What she’s managed to do in three minutes is pop the top on a sixty-seven-old secret and place you two and Jason in the middle of what she’s painting as something almost akin to smuggling nuclear weapons.”
“Well fuck you very much,” Nick said toward the television. He shut off the sound. “What are we gonna do now? I feel like a wanted man, a freakin’ criminal, and we haven’t done anything wrong.”
Susan Schulman appeared live on CBS, in a news/talk show format that was broadcast nationally. Sean O’Brien, Nick Cronus, and Jason Canfield’s faces, along with the underwater photos O’Brien took, on television for the world to see. In addition to Schulman, the host’s guests included a U.S. senator to hypothesize, a retired Pentagon general to “put things in perspective,” a doomsday minister to lose perspective, and a Columbia University physicist to tell how nuclear bombs are made. O’Brien and Nick left, Nick swearing he’d never watch television news again.
Dave poured a scotch and wondered how long it would take before he got the first phone call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The 11:00 p.m. newscasts had O’Brien, Nick and Jason’s face on every channel, the stories going viral and getting millions of views on the Internet. Five minutes later, O’Brien’s cell rang. It was Maggie Canfield. “Sean, Jason told me what happened, how his girlfriend managed to get and give those pictures of that submarine to the news media. I am so very sorry.”
“It’s okay, Maggie.”
“No, no it’s not okay. I know it’s late, and I feel bad for even asking, but can we talk? Not on the phone. Are you at the marina?”
“Yes, I was just about to take Max for her walk.”
“Maybe I could join you. I can be there in ten minutes.
“We’ll be in the parking lot in front of the Tiki Bar.”
As he opened the sliding glass door leading to
The pier was damp from heavy dew. A vapor rose off the surface of the marina water and drifted eerily above the flickering security lamps, the sound of an eighteen-wheeler fading in the distance, the breakers across the road like a whisper from a seashell. O’Brien followed Max down the long dock. The soft flash of light from the lighthouse made him smile as it oddly looked like a firefly lost in the rising mist.
Maggie Canfield was just getting out of her car when they approached. “Thank you for letting me join you and Max on your walk.”
“It’s not always a walk, lots of stopping and starting, but it’s always an adventure, especially when ol’ Joe, the boatyard cat, is around.”
Maggie walked beside O’Brien, both following Max as she sniffed beneath the coconut palm trees, the fronds rustling from a sudden breeze across the water. Maggie said, “Jason told me what happened, how you got your anchor caught on that submarine and found those things. He also let me know he promised you confidentiality. That trust was broken. Trust is something his father and I always tried hard to instill in our son. I’m sorry this got out of hand so quickly.”
“Don’t sweat it, Maggie. Jason’s a good kid.”
“What’s all this on the news about some kind of nuclear material? Is that what you found out there?
“Maybe.”
“Dear God … what are you going to do?”
“Where’s Jason now?”
“He’s home in his room, playing video games on his computer. Why?”
“Keep a close eye on him.”
“Is my son in some kind of danger … please … after Frank’s death-”
“Maggie, just tell Jason to be aware of his surroundings. If he even suspects he might be followed, call me immediately.”
“I’m scared now. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
“It’ll be fine. Hopefully, it will pass in a couple of days.”
They stood next to one of the docks and watched a forty-two foot Chaparral enter the marina, its green and white running lights diffused in the mist above the water. Maggie turned toward O’Brien. “Jason is so looking forward to working on your boat with you this summer. Thank you, again, for giving him a greater sense of purpose.”
“It’ll be a good summer. We need to catch fish, and leave sleeping subs alone.”
Maggie smiled and pulled a loose strand of dark hair behind one ear. She watched Max a moment and said, “I’d love to have you over for a home-cooked meal. I can broil a great fish, that’s assuming your crew can catch a few.” She laughed and touched O’Brien’s arm.
“I’d like that, Maggie.” He glanced toward the Tiki Bar. “Would you like a drink? I think we can make last call.”
Maggie smiled, the revolving light from the lighthouse illuminating the tops of sailboat masts and the highest coconut palms. “I’d love that, but I better head home. I have an early day tomorrow, and I told Jason I’d be back soon.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Max followed them, stopping only once across the parking lot, the sound or laughter coming from the Tiki Bar. At the car, O’Brien said, “Maggie, tell me what you know about Eric Hunter?”