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  road, by the way—into town. Winston Churchill Avenue

  actually intersects with the main runway and is closed by a

  series of gates and traffic lights, much like a railway

  crossing, every time a plane takes off or lands.

  So it was kind of cool, looking out the small

  portholes of our plane, to see the cars backed up waiting

  for us to get our butts on the ground so their occupants

  could go about their day. Since the airport is shared by the

  Royal Air Force, and is known as RAF Gibraltar, we taxied

  over to a military ramp where we were met by a staff car

  that would drive us to the pier.

  Our waterborne conveyance would be waiting for

  us at the pier, and the actual extraction part of the

  assignment would begin the moment the vessel was

  boarded.

  Ah yes, the vessel...

  Within minutes we arrived at the embarcadero, the

  main pier for the ferries, cruise liners, and even a mix of

  military gunboats, working tugs, and small cargo ships.

  "I don't see it," Foutsey said when we pulled up to

  the gate.

  "I did. It's here. Across from the cruise ship. I saw it

  when we landed," I told him. I was as excited as I had ever

  been. This was going to be freaking amazing.

  "Glad you did, because I'm rather at a loss,"

  Foutsey said. "Lead the way, then!"

  As we walked along the pier, towards the end and

  to the right, there was the most beautiful white cruise ship.

  It was a Costa liner, decked out in a gorgeous array of

  colorful flags, with fat-happy tourists lining its rails. A

  sharp crew in dress whites was busily crisscrossing the

  decks, and its stoic captain stood out on the starboard

  bridge wing preparing to put to sea. It's like they were

  awaiting our arrival.

  Only they weren't.

  Because our boat lay directly across from theirs:

  ours was a nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine

  called HMS Vigilant. That's right, kids! We're riding on a

  submarine!

  "My God, will you look at her," Foutsey marveled.

  "She's a mean looking little bitch, isn't she?"

  "Yep. And there's nothing little about her. Check it

  out!" I said, pointing to the huge length of the boat that

  was obscured by the water. "That part with the conning

  tower and that short deck is maybe only a quarter of how

  long she really is. Look under the water there."

  It was almost shocking to see the stealth black hull

  running to the end of the pier, and if you focused on the

  water aft of the flag staff, whenever the wavelets would go

  still for a moment you could see the outlines of the missile

  doors just below the surface.

  "Hey, Foutsey, did you hear the one about the gay

  whale?" I asked him.

  "Can't say as I have."

  "He went around biting off the ends of submarines

  and sucking out the seamen."

  "Droll. Just droll, Mister Allen. Now I know how

  you got your code name. You are the rascal," he said,

  laughing at my dumb joke. "So is there a doorbell? How do

  we get you aboard?"

  "What? Aren't you coming?"

  "Oh, as much as I'd love to, I shall be here, holding

  down the fort, as it were. But I expect to hear all about it,

  my boy," he said. A car pulled up to the gangway where

  we were standing, and three crewmen piled out and

  approached us.

  "May we help you?"

  "I'm booked on your cruise today! Where's the

  squash court?" I joked. Not smart. No ensuing laughter.

  "Uhm, sorry. I'm part of the—uh, is there a Commander

  Madge here?"

  "He's the captain. He expecting you?" the petty

  officer asked, not in the friendliest of voices.

  "Yes he is."

  "And whom shall I say is calling?"

  "Uh... Rascal," I said, sheepishly. "Just tell him it's...

  "Rascal. Right. Won't be a moment," he said,

  boarding the boat and disappearing down a hatch. The

  other two stood warily by, eyeing me from the side.

  Within seconds, Seaman Friendly popped his head out of

  the hatch.

  "Do you have a cracker?" he asked.

  Yes, I did. It's a plastic key, a little bigger than a

  credit card, that carries an encrypted Eyes Only message. I

  pulled it from my pouch.

  "Rob! Bring it here," he ordered his mate. I passed

  the cracker to him and stood by. "Won't be a moment!" he

  said, whack-a-moling himself back down the hatch.

  Moments later, and I was in with the cool crowd.

  "Sir, welcome aboard HMS Vigilant. Follow me,

  please."

  I managed to turn and wave to Foutsey as I walked

  across the gangplank, and the crewman— Thom Bleaker, I

  would learn—pointed for me to enter the boat first. I

  climbed down the ladder and landed in a place they called

  Piccadilly Circus, a central part of the boat where the mess

  room, the lounge, and a row of lockers stood off of the

  main corridor. I'm telling you, it was Star Trek. Everywhere

  I looked there was something interesting to see and to

  marvel at.

  "Excuse us, Rascal! Make way! Head's up!" My new

  buddies were trying to get aboard and I was clumsily

  blocking the ladder.

  "Sorry!" I apologized, as I stepped aside, nearly

  colliding with two crewmen heading forward to begin

  their watch. "Sorry! Excuse me!" That one was for the

  crewmen.

  "Follow me please, Rrrr ascal," he smiled, obviously

  having fun with my codename. "I'll take you to the captain.

  You lot make ready," he said to his mates.

  The walk forward was quick enough, and my heart

  skipped a beat when we passed through the bridge. It was

  even doused in red light, just like in the submarine movies.

  Just forward of the bridge we joined a circular

  staircase that took us down one deck, and then we headed

  aft again. In a few steps, he stopped outside of a sliding

  door that was to our left. Which meant that it was on the

  right side of the boat. The name on the pier panel to the

  side of the door read: Cdr. Dennis Madge, R.N., Captain.

  Impressive.

  Three quick knocks: "Come."

  Thom slid the door open. "Captain, I have our

  contact with me. Johnnie Allen, codenamed Rascal. All of

  his bona-fides check out, sir."

  "Thank you, Bleaker. Let's meet this Rascal," he

  chuckled. Thom turned to me and nodded in the direction

  of the captain's cabin. He took a step back so I could enter,

  and there he was. The most impressive specimen of a

  Royal Navy captain one could ever imagine. It was like he

  stepped out of the books at Central Casting. Fit, in his mid-

  forties, very handsome, with a perfectly trimmed salt-and-

  pepper beard, and wearing a neatly pressed day uniform

  that didn't reveal a single wrinkle.

  "So you're the Rascal," he grinned, firmly shaking

  my hand. "Welcome aboard HMS Vigilant. Your first trip

  on a sub?" he asked.

  "First time I've ever seen a sub! Up cl
ose, anyways,"

  I told him. "This boat is fierce!"

  "Oh, laddie, you don't know the half of it," he said.

  Wow! If he wasn't already a kid's perfect example of a

  submariner, I caught his Scottish brogue when he spoke to

  me. I think that's why they make whiskey up there in

  Scotland. It's so everybody can talk like Captain Madge.

  He was awesome!

  "It's quite a trip we've planned, I hear," he said. "Fill

  me in. All I know is we're headed to Morocco to pick up

  some poncie embassy babies who don't know how to

  hitchhike their way home."

  "Yeah, something like that," I said.

  "Da ya mind tellin' me why there's a yank doin' the

  job here? Not that it matters, mind, but I'm a curious sort,

  if ya know what I mean," he said.

  "Your guys are playing decoy. The DST will follow

  the Brits while the yank sneaks in with Her Majesty's

  yellow submarine and snatches the prize. Fun, yeah?" I

  smiled. He shot me a thumbs up and reached into the

  metal drawer to the side of his desk.

  "Ya fancy a wee dram, Johnnie?" he grinned,

  producing a bottle of twelve-year-old Glenlivet and a

  couple of glasses. "We'll have us an angels' share, yeah?"

  "You're the captain!" I smiled.

  "That I am, lad. Here, a little kiss from the land of

  Moray. I've got kids younger than this scotch!" he said,

  cheerily pouring the amber nectar in glasses stamped with

  the HMS Vigilant logo. I was gonna have to find a way to

  lighten the boat's load a bit by procuring one of these

  glasses for my own personal use.

  "Cheers, mate!" and we clinked glasses and sniffed

  and swallowed one of the most distinct pleasures in this,

  or any world. Straight. Neat. Soulful.

  "After I get a complete briefing from ya, I want to

  see that you've settled in to your quarters, and after you've

  ate some supper we'll have a little fun. Maybe I'll even let

  ya have a glance through the periscope! When it's night

  we'll go up the sail and out onto the flying bridge. Lotsa

  fun things to do on a sub!" Captain Madge said. "Do ya

  know we get Netflix? Net-fucken-flix! Right bloody here

  on a goddamned submarine. Can ya beat that?"

  "No way! And I thought it was a big deal that we

  had a DVD player on the ships I worked," I told him.

  "You a seaman?" He lit up. Now we had something

  in common other than our love for the distillers at

  Glenlivet.

  "U.S. Merchant Marine. Worked for Limerick,

  Matson, APL. We were contracted to the Military Sealift

  Command, and I worked in the steward's department. Did

  it for two years, and then I got this job," I explained.

  "How'd you get your job, anyway? All that secret

  agent stuff tends to go over me wee head, ya know?" he

  said.

  "My captain on the Stargazer was a company

  employee, and he basically recruited me. I passed. And

  here I am, drinking heaven with a Royal Navy sub captain.

  Don't get no better than this!" I smiled, saluting him with

  my glass.

  "That's great, lad. Proud ta be workin' with ya.

  Vigilant will do ya proud, too" he said, returning the salute.

  "So can I ask? When will we get underway?"

  "About twenty minutes ago," the captain chuckled.

  "And when we go under, ya really won't know we're

  moving. But, yeah, she's really a stout boat, even topside.

  Mind you, it's a calm day and all, but to my mind she rides

  better than any surface vessel."

  "I'll say. Damn! So when do we dive? And does it

  make that oogah oogah sound when we do?" I asked,

  barely containing my fanboy joy.

  "Let's do it now!" He popped the intercom and the

  response was instant.

  "Yes, Captain, Falk here," came the voice.

  "Well, Falk you! It's your great and powerful

  captain speakin'," he grinned. "What say we take her down

  to the third floor?"

  "Ladies lingerie?" he laughed.

  "And bloody house wares!"

  "Are you being served?"

  "Falk you again!" he laughed, and almost

  immediately came two blasts of the dive horn. "Is that

  aoogahie enough for ya, laddie buck?" he chuckled.

  "Oh my God, I can't believe this! If they could see

  me now!" I replied.

  "Let's go ta work, yeah?" he said, stowing the

  precious Glenlivet in the file drawer. "Let's see what she

  can do. We're Morocco bound!"

  Chapter 24

  'm going to marry Johnnie Paul Allen. I can't even

  believe it sometimes, but I am. He will be in my life

  I until I die. I will be away from this world, my eyes

  closed forever, and he will have been with me every day of

  that life.

  I know that he loves me. I know that he's loved me

  since the day we met. What I don't know is if I'm capable

  of giving so much love back to him. Is it possible? My

  heart is full of love for him. I cannot stand being apart

  from him for even an afternoon. Time seems to stop when

  I'm with him. Is that even healthy?

  But I once thought I loved Torben the same way. I

  really did. I would have done as much for him as I know I

  would for Johnnie now. Do I even know how he really

  thinks? Because our languages are so very different.

  What if we get married and he ends up realizing

  that I'm stupid? That I think like a kid, or that maybe I'm

  not so smart? What if he just gets tired of me and gets on a

  plane and goes back to the

  States?

  Did this go too fast?

  Does my family really like him as much as they act

  like they do? I know that Jannik does. Hell, I think Jannik

  loves Johnnie even more than he loves me.

  But we've already been through so much together;

  that's got to count for something, right? I mean, we both

  got hurt on that trip to Belgium.

  Okay, stop it!

  You know how much he loves you, idiot! There's

  just so much going on right now. Jannik won't leave us

  alone! He's like having a kid to raise. He relies on us so

  much, and I know Mama and Pop have got to be feeling

  bad about that. He barely even talks to Ingrid. And now

  he's fucking spying on us?

  God, what did he see? What did he hear? And he

  was fucking playing with himself while he did it! Fuck!

  And now Johnnie's who-the-fuck-knows-where,

  doing what-the-fuck for a country he says he doesn't even

  like anymore.

  How am I supposed to do this? Nobody tells you

  how this shit's supposed to work. If life just consisted of

  dick sucking and butt fucking that'd be one thing, but it

  doesn't! It just goddamn doesn't! And who am I supposed

  to ask for advice? I don't have anybody for that.

  Mama, please make it better for me. I'm so dark

  inside right now. I'm hurting so badly because I don't

  know if I'm doing the right thing. You've always held me,

  and made me feel safe. You make us feel important; like

  we matter. And I know you wanted grandchildren. I know

&
nbsp; you wanted a wife for me. You love me; I know that you

  do. But I know you never wanted a boy that loves other

  boys. I know you wanted me to be normal, and to load the

  house up with babies for you to love.

  I feel so bad. And I'm sorry, but I feel like I was

  raped by my brother. He was so selfish and cruel to do

  what he did. I've loved him since I saw him the first time

  at Mor-Mor's house, when he came home from the

  hospital. He was my friend. Always. My very best friend.

  And he is in our home and sneaks like a creeper and

  watches me in my most private and intimate moments

  with the man I love.

  What will Johnnie do when he finds out about it? I

  can't not tell him. We've always been a hundred percent

  open about everything with each other, and that's why it

  all works for us. But what will he think when I tell him

  what Jannik did? The boy that he risked his life in Russia

  to save has committed the most unspeakable violation of

  our personal lives, and he's just supposed to ignore it?

  How can he? And how will he ever look at Jannik the same

  way ever again?

  I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about it! But

  I have to do the laundry. And dinner has to be made, and

  breakfast after that, and the bathroom needs cleaning. I

  promised Johnnie I would change the oil in his car and do

  a lube while he's away. And Jannik has another

  appointment with the doctor in three days. Is that even

  helping him, especially after the revelations from the last

  meeting?

  Bo and Per called. They want to go out for beers.

  Maybe Tobias, too. Should I invite Torben? I know I'd feel

  horrible if everybody went out and left me behind. I'm

  short of breath!

  Ingrid hasn't been back to see Torben! I'd better sit

  down. The couch is so deep. I fall into it and I'm afraid I

  can't get back up again. The water is so far away in the

  fridge, and I should have some.

  Why can't I stop crying? Johnnie, when will you be

  home again?

  Chapter 25

  ere's something that is a take-it-to-the-bank fact:

  There is no better food in the world than that

  H served aboard a ship. And this Royal Navy sub

  was no different. Piles of it, all you want, and so tasty and

  satisfying.

  Dinner was a crisp, fresh salad; homemade

  dressing; two kinds of soup; fish; steak; potatoes au gratin;

  lots of fresh cooked vegetables; pies and ice cream. I'm

  telling you, it rivaled anything than that big white cruise