by Don Brown
“Hello?”
“Yes. This is Commander John Gordon from the British Embassy. With whom am I speaking?”
“I’m Shelley Washington. Meg’s friend from London.”
“Yes, Miss Washington. She mentioned that you were coming.”
“What is it, Captain?”
“We promised to keep Miss Austin apprised regarding Leftenant Austin Rivers.”
“What about Mister Rivers?”
“As I told Miss Alexander, an Argentinean ship was torpedoed in the Antarctic, and Leftenant Rivers and several other British subjects were prisoners on that ship. An allied submarine picked up some survivors . . . and some bodies. We believe that Leftenant Rivers was among those picked up, but we do not know yet if he survived.
“They are being transported to a mobile hospital facility that the Chileans set up at Cape Horn. I told Miss Alexander that she would be welcome to come and check on Leftenant Rivers, but this could be traumatic for her if he did not survive. Because she is the mother of the leftenant’s son, the British government will pay for her transportation and lodging and for her son’s transportation and lodging. I can also arrange for your transportation and lodging to be covered as well.”
“Can you hang on a second, Captain?”
“Certainly.”
Meg began to sob softly.
“Captain, why is the information so spotty? Why don’t we have a definite answer?”
“Because the injured and the bodies are being transported by an allied submarine, not a British sub, and our communication with the submarine is spotty. We may not know anything more until tomorrow morning.”
Shelley held her hand over the phone. “Do you want to go, Meg?”
Meg nodded. “Yes.”
“When, Captain?”
“I can arrange for a plane at six. You’ll be flown from Santiago to Puerto Williams, a Chilean naval station at the tip of the continent, then by helicopter over to the Cape Horn Naval Station. I’m flying down tonight. But if you can call me at four in the morning, I will have all your transportation details.”
“Thank you, Captain. We’ll be there.”
Chilean naval station
Cape Horn, Chile
11:00 a.m. local time
The helicopter banked to the left, providing a clear view of a raging blue sea swirling around the mountainous rock called Cape Horn. The sight of the great mountain jutting into the sea proved awe-inspiring and meant that the nail-biting flight and the harrowing experience of battling gusty crosswinds on the last leg of it was almost over.
The landing proved even bumpier, prompting an apology from the Royal Navy pilot in command of the chopper. Indeed, the flight had seemed like a horrible roller-coaster ride.
Shelley hated roller coasters.
“Welcome to the Chilean naval station at Cape Horn,” the Royal Navy pilot announced as he shut down the helicopter engines. “If you will give us a moment for these overhead blades to stop swirling, we will get you safely off the aircraft.”
Shelley looked out the helicopter’s window, out across the wind-swept tarmac and across the large expanse of blue choppy water. Her eyes affixed on the huge monolithic mountain of a rock, protruding like a giant nose out into the rough waters of the sea.
From its base, where angry swells and whitecaps lashed it with an ineffective fury, to its towering peak rising at an angle 1,400 feet above the sea, Cape Horn reminded her of the great Rock of Gibraltar at the entrance to the Mediterranean, a place she had visited twice.
This great rock, along with Gibraltar, had to be among the natural wonders of the world.
The copilot slid open the back passenger door of the helicopter, and the blustery ocean breeze, with the cutting power of a sharp knife, dislodged her gaze from the rock. “You’ll note it’s cooler here than in Santiago,” he said and smiled.
“So I’ve noticed,” Meg said.
By this time, the pilot had joined the copilot standing outside the passenger door. “If you ladies would step out and follow me, the copilot will attend to your baggage.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Leftenant.”
They stepped onto the asphalt tarmac, and the wind caught Shelley’s hair. She pushed the locks from her face.
The pilot said, “Follow me. There is a large hospital tent that the Chileans have set up for the reasons I believe Commander Gordon has already explained.”
He led them off to the left. Aussie walked between Meg and Shelley, gripping their hands.
Not a word was uttered as they walked, surrounded by the sound of the wind and the breakers crashing against the rocky seawall.
Theirs was a march to an uncertain fate. Still guessing. Still not knowing.
They saw the lighthouse, and then they saw a large green Army tent, so large that it could have passed for a huge canvas warehouse.
Three flags flew in front of the tent. The British flag. The Chilean flag. The flag of the Red Cross.
“Before we go in, ladies,” the pilot said, “would you like me to check first on Leftenant Rivers?” He looked down at Aussie.
“These men inside were pulled from Drake Passage and the Antarctic. Many are British. Some are Argentinean. Some are Venezuelan. All of them were plucked from the water when their ships were sunk. Please wait here. I shall go to find Commander Gordon.”
“Mommy, is this a hospital?”
“Yes, Aussie.” Meg wiped tears from her eyes. She turned to Shelley. “I may need you to stay with him out here. Perhaps I should have left him in London.”
“Of course. We can wait over there, out on the walk to the lighthouse. Aussie might like to see the lighthouse.”
Meg looked inside the tent at a scene that resembled something from the movie MASH. Dozens of portable cots were lined up in rows. Nurses and doctors, clad in white jackets and white uniforms, moved up and down the rows of men. She saw a cot with the sheet pulled over the face.
Meg turned away and buried her head on Shelley’s shoulder.
Just then the pilot walked up with another British naval officer.
“This is Dr. Medina,” the pilot said. “He will explain what happened to Leftenant Rivers.”
“Oh, dear God, please.” Meg buried her hands in her face. “Shelley, please take Aussie outside.”
“It’s okay, Miss Alexander,” Dr. Medina said. He smiled. “He’s alive. And very lucky. We’re treating him for hypothermia.”
“You mean . . .”
“He and his men were picked up by an American submarine. Actually, a Chilean submarine with an American crew. He dove into some near-freezing waters to try to save an Argentinean officer. He never found the Argentinean, but his men were in a life raft and got to him before he drowned. It was a close call. But he received excellent treatment on board the submarine, and that made a huge difference.”
“Austin is alive?”
“Very much so. I’ll take you to him.”
Meg, trembling, hugged Shelley, then kissed the top of Aussie’s head.
“He’s alive, Meg. Our prayers have been answered,” Shelley said.
“Follow me,” the doctor said.
They headed down a row of cots. Little Aussie spotted him first. “Daddy!” He took off running the final stretch, arms open.
“Aussie? What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
“A little surprise for you, Leftenant,” Dr. Medina said. He smiled and then walked away unnoticed.
“Meggie! Both of you! You are all here!”
“Mommy and I came to take you home, Daddy!”
He first kissed Aussie on the head and forehead, and then he kissed Meg in a manner that was not at all platonic. “The doc says three more days and then I go home. And this time, I’m never leaving you again.”
More hugs. More kisses.
Shelley knew from the excitement in Austin’s eyes the moment he saw them that all of Meg’s prayers were being answered.
There
is a God after all. She stepped back to give them some privacy, then turned toward the entrance to the tent.
That’s when she saw her. Over by the entrance where they had come in. The nun. Wearing the same kind of black habit of the nun who had talked to her that day in Kensington Gardens. The nun had said God would lead her through any storm. Would be there to comfort her. And then the nun had simply vanished. How could this be? Was this the same nun? Here? Shelley hurried toward her. She had to find out. “Sister!”
The nun walked out of the tent.
Shelley ran to catch up with her, pushing her way through the tent door. The nun was a short distance away, still walking. “Sister!”
The nun stopped and turned around. “Yes? Do I know you?”
Her smile was beatific, her eyes were blue, but her face looked young. Not a wrinkle on it.
“Oh, forgive me, Sister. I thought you were someone else. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
The nun smiled but said nothing.
Shelley felt foolish, almost embarrassed, and walked back inside the tent to join Meg.
“Shelley? Is that you?”
She turned and felt her heart stop. There was Bob. She had walked right by him before. “Oh, thank God! Thank God you’re alive!”
“How did you get here? Why?”
“I came with Meg. She was looking for Austin Rivers, her son’s father. He’s alive. Right over there. But we didn’t know that when we got here. I heard on the BBC about your ship. I was so worried! They said that your ship had been sunk. I thought . . .”
“They torpedoed my ship. A Chilean fishing trawler scooped me up with some of my men. Brought us here. Hypothermia. Feeling much better now.”
“Thank God. I was worried sick . . . Oh, Bob, I’m so sorry . . . so sorry . . . that I broke the engagement. I—”
“That was long ago,” he said. “We were both much younger.”
“I made a mistake, Bob. A huge mistake . . . Will you . . . can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” A smile crossed his face. “For the record, I still have your photo in my wallet. Never thought I’d see you again.”
She sat down on his bed and reached for his hand. “Bob, I wish we could start over. I was foolish.”
He did not respond. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say something, but what? All those years. All those dreams. The hurt. Rejected by the Royal Navy and by the woman he loved. The wasted years. And now? Now what? Did she still want the life of an officer’s wife? Or did she want him?
“I . . . I just thought—”
“Look at me.” He smiled. “What if . . . we start with a cup of tea.”
She smiled.
“To rekindled friendship.”
“To rekindled friendship,” she said. “I’ll drink to that.”
She bent down and he hugged her tight.
“Oh, Bob, I have missed you so.”
Then she remembered the nun in Kensington Gardens, the nun who said God would lead her through any storm, would be with her to comfort her. Had God brought her all the way to Cape Horn to find the only man she had ever loved? Could God do that? She put her head down, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Thank you, God. Thank you.”
10 Downing Street
London
5:00 p.m. local time
Prime Minister David Mulvaney sat at his desk, alone, staring at the bronze bust of Churchill on the corner of the desk. Had he done the right thing? Had the lost lives been worth it? He reminded himself that Britain was not the aggressor. Britain had only defended herself.
Churchill would have defended Britain.
The telephone buzzed on the desk.
“Prime Minister.”
“The foreign secretary is here for you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Mulvaney stood as Foreign Secretary John Gosling walked into the office.
“Good news, Prime Minister,” Gosling said. “We got word that the British engineer who was shot, Mister Gaylord, has been handed over by Argentina to the Red Cross. His condition is still critical, but the doctors expect him to survive.”
Mulvaney nodded. “Mister Gaylord has family, does he not?”
“Yes, sir. A wife and two children.”
“Make sure his wife is notified, and make sure she is provided accommodations at government expense to be able to meet the plane when it arrives back in Britain with her husband.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And more good news. Just in. The Americans have negotiated a cease-fire. Terms of an accord are to be discussed at Camp David next week.”
Mulvaney felt a wave of relief flood his body as he sat back down in his chair. “Bloody good. God bless President Surber. Now this is the kind of news that I can cheerfully take to the king.”
EPILOGUE
Peninsula Los Molles
overlooking the Pacific
Valparaiso, Chile
10:30 a.m. local time
The sleek black submarine cut through the waters of the bay, steaming back to port instead of heading out to sea as it had been when she last saw it.
Along the deck of the sub, American sailors and officers stood at parade rest, decked out handsomely in their white uniforms. At the back of the sub, the flags of both the Republic of Chile and the United States of America flapped in the wind.
Fireboats and tugboats formed a nautical parade in front of and behind the sub, spraying water high into the warm sun-drenched sky.
With a cease-fire having been announced yesterday, and with the countries of Chile, Britain, Russia, Argentina, Venezuela, and the USA agreeing to terms for division of the massive Antarctic oil fields, Pete Miranda was returning with Chile’s prized new warship as a national hero.
Some were calling him Chile’s “modern-day Lafayette.”
Others, preferring a more appropriate naval analogy, had gone to the airways to call him “Chile’s modern-day John Paul Jones.”
Would he even remember her? Why would he? Their politics were too different. And with his newfound celebrity, he could—
Her phone buzzed. A text message.
Meet me at La Concepción in one hour. Pete
She checked her watch. She needed to leave. Now.
She took one last look at the sub returning to port in triumphant glory. Then she saw him, the handsome captain on the bridge, waving at well-wishers in a flotilla of powerboats.
Time to go.
Pier 2
Valparaiso naval station
Valparaiso, Chile
10:45 a.m. local time
Under the sunny skies of a gorgeous Pacific morning, CS Miro pulled alongside Pier 2 of the Valparaiso naval station to a throng of flashing lights, cameras, and hundreds of well-wishers on the pier.
As dockworkers threw lines at the sub for sailors to secure her and Chilean sailors moved the catwalk into position to connect the sub to the pier, the Chilean Navy band struck up a brassy rendition of “Anchors Aweigh,” the famous theme song of the US Navy.
As commanding officer, Pete Miranda would be the first to walk off the sub. With the band still playing, he stepped onto the platform, turned, and saluted the American flag flying at the back of the sub, and then stepped down the catwalk to the pier.
The first to greet him at the base was a smiling Admiral Carlos Delapaz. Pete shot a salute, which Delapaz returned.
“Great work, Commander. You’ve made both America and Chile very proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Pete, I know you’re ready to get out of here ASAP, but there’s someone who wants to meet you.”
“Certainly, Admiral.”
As other members of the Miro disembarked, Delapaz escorted Pete toward the end of the pier, where a group of Chilean Marines stood next to a British naval officer, an attractive woman, and a young boy.
“Pete, I’d like you to meet Leftenant Austin Rivers, SBS, Royal Navy.”
The officer threw a sharp open-handed Bri
tish salute. “Sir, I wanted to come and express my appreciation to you and your crew.”
Pete returned the salute. “You look familiar, Leftenant.”
“That’s probably because the last time you saw me, I was stiff as an iceberg, unable to utter a word. You blokes fished me out of the chilly waters of the Antarctic.”
“Ah, now I remember you. You dove in for a swim. Good to see you, Leftenant.”
“Sir, I’d like you to meet two special people.” He put his hand on the woman’s back. “This is Meggie. She’s the mother of my son and the finest woman in the world.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” Pete said.
“And this is my son, Aussie.”
The boy looked up and shot Pete a salute. “Thank you for bringing my daddy home.”
Pete swallowed hard and returned the salute, trying to suppress his emotions. He thought of his daughters, Kelsey and Grace. What life is really about. “Glad to be of service to you and your family, young man.”
“Sir, I wanted to be here to personally thank you. Without you . . . I wouldn’t . . .”
“My pleasure, Leftenant. I appreciate your coming here. All of you. Thank you. Means a lot to me.”
Restaurant La Concepción
Papudo 541
Valparaiso, Chile
11:30 a.m. local time
This way, Ms. Vasquez.” Fernando met Maria with a broad smile and directed her to a table with a bottle of pinot noir, a vase with a dozen roses, and two glasses. “Commander Miranda called ahead with an order for the flowers and your favorite bottle of wine.”
“Thank you, Fernando,” she said as the waiter got her chair for her.
“And if I may? Commander Miranda insisted that I go ahead and pour you a glass. He insists that you have a sample, in the event that he is detained by his military duties.”
“Thank you.” She watched the glass fill with wine. When Fernando finished pouring the wine and left, she looked up and saw Pete standing there, stunning and handsome in the summer-white uniform of a US naval officer.
“I didn’t think you would come back.”
“I told you I’d come back. I do what I say I’m going to do.”