Free Ghostboat by George E. Simpson, Neal R. Burger

hand. “The Candlefish was chalked up as missing in action, and that was the end of it.”
    “I see. And how did they chalk up Hardy?”
    “They didn’t. They just ignored him.” Cook thumbed to the back of the folder and drew out papers, handing them one by one across to Frank. “Here. Fitness reports, qualification exams and reports, summaries by ComSubPac. Here’s his whole history since he was discharged in 1946—everything relating to the Navy.”
    Frank hefted the pile of papers. “What do you mean? He had more contact with the Navy?”
    “Yeah. Lieutenant Jack Hardy is now Dr. Jack Hardy of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. He’s been in the field for twenty-odd years. Very well thought of, in fact.”
    “That’s a pretty responsible position...”
    “You mean for a guy who shows such an apparent lack of it?” Cook again closed the folder.
    Frank said nothing. He picked up one of Basquine’s dossier files with Hardy’s name penciled on the lip. He glanced through it quickly while Cook sat in silence. Suddenly Frank sat up in surprise. “Listen to this! This is the Captain’s report, dated August 14, 1944.” He read through Basquine’s account of an incident involving Hardy and the performance of a routine slug test in which Hardy made a gross error of mechanics, resulting in heavy damage to the sub and the loss of a torpedoman’s life. Basquine’s account was heavily laced with terms like “gross negligence.”
    Cook frowned his concern. Frank placed the report on the desk and pointed out the words: “The Executive Officer, Lt. Bates, recommends Lt. Hardy for immediate transfer to shore duty upon our return to Pearl, pending investigation for court-martial. In my judgment, justice will be better served by full disclosure of the facts to a Board of Inquiry, no transfer acceptable even if requested by Lt. Hardy himself, and no recommendation for court-martial.”
    The meaning was abundantly clear to both Frank and Cook. In effect, Hardy was being “sent to Coventry.” Basquine was recommending that he be forced to remain aboard a submarine with eighty-three men who were probably all convinced he was a monumental fuckup.
    “Pretty stiff,” said Cook. “I wonder if Lieutenant Hardy knew he was being shafted.”
    “I wonder... if he didn’t deserve it.” Frank dropped the report. “And he ends up in oceanography?”
    Frank got up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and moved to the porthole. He gazed out at the Candlefish and ran the name “Hardy” over in his mind. Hardy—and oceanography. Cook saw the smile.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I’m suddenly very impressed with our good fortune.” He ignored Cook’s puzzled look and slapped a hand down on Hardy’s dossier. “We can use this guy.”
     
    The first newsmen began calling at mid-afternoon, interrupting Diminsky’s last-minute packing. He played dumb with the first man, annoyed with the second, and outraged with the third. Then he stopped answering the calls. When he stepped off the Imperator after a fruitless search for Frank, he ran smack into the first crew of cameramen from the local Hawaiian TV station. They hurried past him to set up cameras alongside the Candlefish and get some footage before they lost the sun. Diminsky stood on the dock and fumed.
    He found the base commander in his quarters and demanded to know who had authorized the break in security around the Candlefish.
    “I did.”
    Diminsky sat back in defeat. Admirals don’t outrank admirals, and the man across the desk looked really to argue the point. He explained quite calmly that his brother-in-law was a vice-president of the same local TV station and had asked for permission—
    “How did he get wind of it?” Diminsky stuck a finger on the base commander’s desk. He was rewarded with a cold silence.
    “Somebody leaked the information!” Diminsky snarled.
    “I don’t know that, Admiral, but if you would like to hold an inquisition, I’ll