CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The news director, assistant news director, executive producer, two reporters and Susan Schulman crowded around Nicole Bradley’s desk and watched her open the computer to her Facebook page. Nicole felt more excited than she had in a long time. She had the attention of the people who ran the number-one-rated newscast. She was going to be working on a big story with Susan Schulman.
“Here they are,” said Nicole, her eyes dancing with excitement, her fingers trembling as she pointed to each picture. “My boyfriend, Jason, said this is some kind of rocket … and these parts are from fighter jets.”
“Must be an enormous sub,” said the news director.
“Look at that … wow,” Susan’s said. “That’s the ID of the sub, U-235.”
“I don’t know,” said Nicole, “because there’s like another number, too.” She clicked to the image of the conning tower. “Jason said this is what’s on the outside of the sub. Looks kinda like a fat chimney, don’t you think?”
“Then what are the boxes labeled U-235?” asked Susan.
The portly news director crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Those boxes are labeled with the short, abbreviated name of enriched uranium, U-235.”
“What?” Susan asked. “As in the guts of a nuclear bomb?”
“Yes,” said the news director. “But only if it’s highly enriched uranium.”
“What a story!” Susan pounded her fists on the back of Nicole’s chair.
“Ohmygod!” squealed Nicole. “I told you it was big!”
“You did, girlfriend!” They slapped hands in a high-five.
The executive producer said, “Hold on. We don’t know what that U-235 means. However, if it’s the stuff of nuclear bombs … oh boy. This could be huge!”
The news director said, “Susan, you run with the lead piece. Bob, you find out everything you can on U-235. Todd, call some of the universities, talk to historians, physicists, whomever, see if you can find out how advanced we think the Germans were with this stuff. Karen, you get on the line to Homeland Security, work those ‘potential threat’ angles. Susan, pictures are good, but it’d be enormous to have video from the U-boat. Take Johnny, he’s a certified expert diver. See if you can find that boat captain, the one who lied to you, O’Brien, and get him to take you out there. Let’s move people!”
As they scattered, Nicole asked, “Mr. Brickman, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing right now.” He disappeared beyond the cubicles and desks as he entered the control room.
Nicole stared at the pictures of the U-boat on her Facebook page and mumbled, “But I’m the one who told you about it.”
Susan grabbed her purse and was followed by a brawny cameraman. She stopped at Nicole’s desk. “Where can I find that cute boyfriend of yours?”
“Why?”
“I want to interview him.”
“You mean … like on camera?”
“That’s exactly want I mean.”
“Uhh … I don’t know where he is-”
“Does he have a cell?”
“Yes.”
“Call it. Tell him to meet you at the boat I saw him on, Jupiter.”
“Meet me? Why me?”
“Why not? He won’t show up if he knows he’s meeting me.”
“I … I don’t know about-”
“Listen-this is a huge story. Don’t blow your chance at jumpstarting a career by getting a little guilt complex now. One day you’ll thank me for it.”
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.