The Last Slider by Peter K. Connolly (Released and in print.) 374 pages; Perfect bound; catalogue #04-2195; ISBN 1-4120-4387-5; US$26.60, C$33.00, EUR 21.45, £14.86 © 1995-2004 Trafford Publishing.
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"...a new novelist...features Electric Boat in Groton as a backdrop, which anyone enamoured of submarines will probably want..." "...engaging, a page-turner, if not for the plot than for the breezy writing style, much better than you might expect from a first novel." "...a fun read and a smart read..." The Day, New London CT |
"There's a twist to this one that's almost sure to catch the attention of some of the self-styled New England aristocracy." |
"...could be picked up by a number of major publishers..." "...an entertaining read with well-developed, believable characters..." "...a mystery with a twist that should appeal to many..." ...Novel Ideas - Washington Missourian |
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While workers ready the nuclear attack submarine Mystic for her launching, comely Cynthia "Casey" Kiernan, PR chief at New England Shipbuilding Corp. (NESCO) in Connecticut, struggles with distracting office politics and the slings and arrows of "investigative" journalists more intent on Pulitzers than objectivity. One such is Brad Neiman, young, self-centered Defense reporter for the Washington Word. On a business trip to Westchester County's New Rochelle, Neiman flees from a midnight hit-and-run witnessed only by Frank Manning, a part-time bookstore clerk.
Kiernan's occasional free-lance hires at NESCO include respected Hartford Crier photographer Ray Borelli. Ray reacts rather irrationally when he perceives an offense to his person. His antagonists rarely survive to testify against him. Ray nurses an intense grudge against Second District U.S. Congressman Bob Avery, and plots to amend an imaginary injury inflicted by Avery.
A bitter presidential election, an FBI investigation, and a close-up look at the logistics of christening and launching an 8,000-ton nuclear submarine provide a backdrop for this story, anchored at "The Ship," a notorious, century-old submarine builder.
Events unfold in Connecticut, New Rochelle, and Washington DC, as Mystic's crew prepares the last Navy submarine for her traditional slide down the yard's building ways.
SOME EXCERPTS
 In spite of its share of
occasional human frailties, however, the workforce
at "The Ship" has always done its job and done it better than
its rivals. The company has enjoyed a well-earned reputation as a quality
act in the eyes of the customer, the Washington power base and, most importantly,
America's enemies. And justifiably so. During the days when there were at
least eight government and private yards building submarines, the Connecticut
shipbuilder set the standards of excellence that other builders, both Navy
and private, tried unsuccessfully to emulate. Hard-hatted old-timers at
The Ship have a programmed answer to visitors' questions about quality:
"Don't ask us. Ask the guys who drive these nukes. They'll tell you
that they'd rather go to sea in a NESCO boat. Every time."To bear witness, the company's contributions to the U.S. Navy's elite submarine force have been noted in the Congressional Record on a dozen or more occasions. Nine U.S. Presidents have visited the yard and eight First Ladies have broken bottles of champagne over the bows of submarines built there. And at one time or another, the government leaders of ten or more allied nations have toured the unclassified areas of the yard and later drunk Courvoisier-laced coffee or lemonized tea from the Sheffield silver service that the British government's ambassador hand delivered to NESCO after Germany and Japan capitulated. |
One blast of the horn signaled
the start of the 9th two-minute rally. It was 5:30, just after dawn on Launch
Day. Teams of 32 carpenters on both sides of the ship resumed wielding heavy
oak beams like battering rams against the five and one half-foot tapered,
oak wedges, forcing the cradle up against the submarine's hull. Dwarfed
beneath the bulbous mountain of HY-80 black steel, with the portable high-intensity
lights reflecting off their hard hats, safety glasses and the wet deck,
the carpenters looked like extra-terrestrial SWAT teams. Ray moved around,
trying to stay out of the way and firing his digital from a variety of angles.
The extension cord that he'd connected to his AC adapter saved his batteries,
let him override the normal recycling delay of his camera and, with a 256-mb
data card, he was free to shoot several hundred high-quality pictures before
changing cards. |
From her cramped window seat in the 19-passenger commuter aircraft as it approached New London
County Airport, Cynthia "Casey" Kiernan looked down at the jigsaw-puzzle
edge of the Connecticut shoreline - - a maze of mirror-like marshes, bays,
twisting silver estuaries and shiny salt water ponds. Tidal pools, wellsprings
of life for millions of minute creatures, sparkled like diamond chips as
the sun hit them. |
 Now, even that 85-year old Navy base with its landmark pair of 30-foot silver dolphins at the front gate, could be a candidate for the scrapheap. Denault rubbed his arms against the wind. Well, let's see what happens next Tuesday. Deja vu. Here's another guy who badmouthed his country, consorted with the likes of Hanoi Jane, and who turned a band-aid into a Purple Heart. He's already promised to cancel our ships, thought Denault. How the hell can anyone waste a vote on the likes of him? Well, let's just see if the bleeding hearts on TV and in the newspapers can push Jeremiah Francis Kerwin into the White House. This guy'll try to put every last body connected with the defense industry into early retirement, he thought. No different, really, from that draft-dodging bozo in the '90s. Maybe worse. They'll be deactivating our boats faster, too, thought Denault. He'll torpedo the rest of the highly-touted New Attack Submarine class before it ever gets off the drawing board. Mystic could be the Navy's last nuclear attack sub to join the fleet until somebody wakes up. Denault turned his creased, leathery face toward the thin sunlight. "Hey," he hollered to a pair of herring gulls wheeling overhead on the brisk morning wind. "Do you two know how to vote?" |
...Casey hit the remote and jumped
from the Dan and Doris duet to the Tom and Tim twin towers of reporting
respectability. |
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