The Black Bullet

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

O’Brien had planned to spend most of the day at his river house replacing planks on his dock, which were protesting under his weight. But Dave had called and said it was urgent they talk, and he didn’t want to discuss it over cell phones. O’Brien thought about that as he drove his Jeep across the oyster shell parking lot of the Ponce Marina, Max’s small head poking out of the passenger window.

His cell rang: UNKNOWN CALLER

“Ponce Charters,” said O'Brien.

“Do I call you Captain Sean or Captain O'Brien? Hi, it's Maggie. I just wanted to tell you that I haven't seen Jason so excited in a long time. Thank you, Sean. Thank you for taking the time, taking Jason under your wing. I can already see a big change in him. It's going to be a good summer.”

"He's a great kid. You've raised him well.”

"I thank God I stumbled upon you after all this time. I remember years ago, during some of the long walks we used to take together, we debated destiny and fate, a bigger plan, the whole damn cosmos. I remember you saying we make our fate in the choices we make or those we choose not to make. I have to believe, though, that I didn't just stumble across your path, Sean. I was desperate to find help for Jason. Look, I never read those weekly community newspapers. But for some reason I did that day, and I saw your name in the first paragraph of a story about a new charter fishing business starting in the marina. What are the odds? And now Jason has a purpose this summer. I'm sorry, but I don't normally talk non-stop like this. But since Frank was killed … I … I've tried so hard with Jason.”

O'Brien remembered what Eric Hunter had said about knowing Frank Canfield, Maggie, and Jason. He started to ask her about it, but decided there would be a better time. "It's okay. Maggie. You’re a mom, and from what I can tell, a damn good one. Jason's lucky to have you. I always thought you'd be a great mother one day?”

"You did? I didn't know that.”

"Yeah, I did.”

Maggie was silent for a few seconds. "Sean, maybe we can go to dinner. I'd love to catch up with you. Although it's been more than twenty years, I feel like it was closer in time. You know?”

"I know. I'd like that.”

Max whined, staring out the car window at the sights, sounds and smells coming from the Tiki Bar.

"Is that little Max I hear?” Maggie asked.

"She smells blackened grouper sandwiches, her favorite on the menu.”

"Give her a doggie hug for me. Bye, Sean.” She disconnected. O'Brien looked across the marina, watching a white pelican sail over the boats, flapping its wings twice, and flying towards the sea. Max whined again.

“No stopping at the bar for a snack, Max.”

She followed him, picking up her pace as they got closer to the Tiki Bar. The smells from garlic crabs, fried fish and spilled beer filled the air.

Kim Davis was pouring a draft beer for a customer at the bar when she spotted O’Brien. She waved him over to her. “Sean, have things settled down somewhat since the news story the other day?”

O’Brien smiled. “I haven’t had 60 Minutes ask for an interview.”

“Good. With you trying to establish a business as a legit fishing guide, the last thing you need is people not booking you because they think they’re hiring a Discovery Channel crew rather that and fishing crew.”

“Maybe you can help me in the PR department.”

“I see you have Miss Max which means you don’t have a charter, right?”

“Right, why?”

“Eric Hunter, you met him the other day … he was friends with Jason’s father?”

“I remember him.”

“He was just here. He said he saw Jason walking down the pier toward your boat.”

“Maybe Jason left something on Jupiter.”

O’Brien walked by Nick’s boat. It was closed and appeared locked. Dave’s boat was wide open, the sound of a CNN news program on the television, the scrubbed smell of bleach off the transom. O’Brien spotted Jason at the very end of the dock, looking out toward the Intracoastal. “Come on, Max. Let’s go see if Jason is lost.”

Jason turned around when he heard O’Brien and Max approach. “I didn’t hear you, but I could hear Max’s claws on the wood.”

“She’d probably prefer you called them nails. Cats have claws. Dogs, especially one like Max, on second thought I can’t think of another dog like Max. See what I mean?” Max darted to the edge of the dock where a boater was hosing off his Morgan sailboat. Max barked at the splashing water. The boat owner looked up and O’Brien said, “You can squirt her. She loves playing in the water. Max thinks she’s a ten pound lab.” The man with the hose grinned and playfully squirted Max, who bit at the stream, barking, tail wagging, chasing the splashes across the dock.

“Jason, don’t tell me we have a charter that I forgot.”

“No, I just came down to meet my girlfriend Nicole. Said she wanted to see where I worked. You mind if I show her around Jupiter?”

“Here, take the key. You two make yourself at home. Nick left some grape leaves in the refrigerator. They’re stuffed with rice and his secret ingredients. If you guys are hungry, pop ‘em in the microwave. Don’t tell Nick that I said microwave and his food in the same sentence.”

“Thanks.”

He handed Jason the keys. “How was your birthday?”

Jason’s eyes drifted away from O’Brien. “Okay, I guess. Had a little too much to drink. Paid for it the next day.”

O’Brien watched him a moment. “Moderation is the key. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He pursed his lips, his eyes averting from O’Brien.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

O’Brien smiled. “Anytime you want to talk, about anything on your mind, I’m here for you, okay? I’ll be on Dave’s boat. If you have time, I’d like to meet Nicole.”

As O’Brien turned to leave, Jason said, “Thanks, Sean.”

Dave Collins was just starting to fix his first afternoon cocktail, a Grey Goose martini, when O’Brien stepped onto Gibraltar’s cockpit, lifting Max aboard. “Ready for a very cold martini?” Dave asked

“A little too early for me, thanks.”

“You might develop a taste for one when I share some of my research with you.”

“Let me start with a beer.”

“You know where they are. Max looks like she just got out of the bay.”

“She played tag with a garden hose.” O’Brien popped the cap off a bottle of Old Speckled Hen and tried not to overanalyze Jason’s odd behavior, but he felt Jason was hiding something.

Dave sipped his martini, smacking his cold, wet lips. “As you know, Sean, I still maintain contacts with people who have access to information that can never be made public. In that light, if you will, there are some dark secrets in America that might as well remain that way.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re about to tell me something I’d rather not hear? I’d just as soon not know where the bodies are buried.”

“You stumbled over them, you and Nick. The ‘unofficial’ classified documents indicate that U-boat 236 was Hitler’s last sub. It was by far his largest and the most technically sophisticated one the Nazis ever produced.” Dave glanced at his notes. “The sub had duel sources of propulsion-powerful diesel engines and very quiet, long-range electric motors. It had an advance snorkeling system allowing it to ride far enough below the surface to avoid most visual detection.”

“Was it carrying nuclear material?”

“Let me give you a little background information. I think it’ll put this find of yours in context with the times. In 1942 German U-Boats sank at least 259 American ships right off our coasts. These included Merchant Marine ships, tankers, and Liberty Ships. It was bloody, fast and furious until the Navy ended it. Now, advance four years later to the time Glenda Lawson’s husband, Billy, spotted a U-boat south of St. Augustine. Germany had surrendered, but there were still German U-boats prowling the waters. Via radio, they were told to surrender to the closest Allied port city. I mentioned one U-boat, number 234, surrendering to the U.S. Navy, impounded in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, May 17, 1945. This was a few days before Billy Lawson spotted the sub you, Nick and Jason found. It was at the time of the Manhattan Project. The race to build the first nuclear bomb was in the final hours. It’s known that the physicist, the man who led that pursuit at Oak Ridge and Los Alamos, Robert Oppenheimer, boarded the impounded U-boat in Portsmouth. Some believe his team removed the cargo, the HEU, of more than two-thousand pounds. There are those who speculate that we used at least some of it, if not all of it, in the bombs we dropped over Japan three months later.”

“Hold on. Enriched uranium, found on a German U-boat, may have been used in the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki?”

“Indeed.”

“And the stuff Nick and I found?”

“If it is HEU, it would be deadly as the day it was manufactured.”

O’Brien’s cell rang. It was Nick Cronus. “Sean, where are you?”

“On Dave’s boat. You okay?”

“That TV reporter, the same woman that filmed us the day the coast guard stopped-”

“What about her?”

“I’d just parked my bike. Walkin’ up to order a beer from Kim when this woman-the reporter, all tits, ass, and perfume like tropical flowers, comes up to me. I recognized her, and she asked me if I knew where the sub was. I laughed, you know me, and say, hey, I can take you there. You wear a bikini, ride in my boat, I’ll take you there. About that time she moves her arm from around her back. She’s holding a microphone. She waves and her cameraman and another chick step out from a corner. Then that crazy woman starts asking me all kinds of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Like did I know there might be nuclear bomb stuff on the sub? She said she knows there was uranium on the sub-saw pictures-wanted to know if we brought it up and where is it? I started to tell her what she could do with that microphone. Got back on my bike and rode to the other side of the marina.”

“How’d she see pictures?”

“I don’t know. But as I was driving off, I saw her open the dock gate. Looks like she’s walking toward your boat.”