A Triple Thriller Fest (92 page)

“Have we tried to raise them on ELF?”

“Yes, sir.  No response,” said Mannington.  “When we ran an analog check on the system, we discovered that the communications link had been rendered inoperative.”

“How soon can we be on station?”

“The support ship, the U.S.S.
Thomas Morrow
, could be on station by late tomorrow morning.  It is presently at Port Hueneme, taking on stores for the Watch Station.”

“Forget the stores; get that ship on its way as soon as possible.  Get the nearest Coast Guard Station to send some Sea Stallions on site to search for survivors and get a Coast Guard cruiser on its way as well.  Get me the Commandant of the Coast Guard.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Mannington.  “Yeoman, get the Commandant, U.S. Coast Guard, immediately.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the yeoman’s mate, who immediately dialed the number of the commandant’s office on the classified scrambler telephone.

“Admiral McHugh for Admiral Ryan.”

“One moment, please.”

“Bob, what’s up?” came the soft Virginian drawl of Richard Ryan, Admiral, U.S.C.G.   ”How’s that daughter of mine doing?”

“Rick, Corrine’s doing fine.  She and Mike had a chance meeting.”

“Oh?” responded Corrine’s father.

“Rick, a very grave matter has developed.  I need some Coast Guard assistance.”

“Ask it, you got it.”

“One of my underwater installations has radioed an emergency.  I can’t get my vessel on site until tomorrow at best.  I need some air sea rescue units on site immediately.  This is the highest national priority.  The President has put my agency on Priority One, Red; war status.  Our installation may be under attack, for all I know.”

“Where is the emergency?”

“About 100 miles southwest of Santa Catalina Island.”

“Isn’t that the highly restricted zone?”

“Yes.  Are you secure?” said McHugh.

“Wait a minute, Bob,” said Rick Ryan as he punched an alphanumeric into the keypad on his special phone.

The special code punched in by Admiral Ryan shifted the telephone line from the normal scrambling mode to a special encrypting mode which was based on a randomly selected cipher that was set by the parties to the call.  To any potential eavesdropper, the normal scrambling device sounded like garbled gobbledygook.

With the encrypting device, the line seemed to go dead and was replaced by a caterwauling not unlike the noise one gets on a modem.  Messages were digitized and transmitted as series of computerized messages.  The receiving telephone, when encoded with the appropriate code, which was not the same as the transmitting code, decoded the transmitted messages.  Finally, a voice synthesizer completed the digital to analog emulation.

Although the system was considered the state of the art for very sensitive messages, the barely perceptible delay was annoying and, as a result, the system was only used for the most sensitive communications.

“Rick, we think that Watch Station Three may be in trouble.  Our satellites received the special S.O.S. that the watch commanders would only send if the Watch Station were in danger.”

“What about ELF communications, Bob?”

“We can’t raise them on the ELF system, either.”

“Sea search and rescue will be initiated immediately.  Who’s your liaison?  I’ll put Captain Paul Jensen, one of my best search and rescue men in charge.  He’s port master on Santa Catalina Island.”

“My DCO, Joseph Mannington, will direct the operations.  He’s on his way to the West Coast as soon as this call is over.  I’m going to assign Mike Liu to assist Joe in this investigation.”

“How is Mike?”

“He’s O.K., just a little shot up from some attacks on my agents, but he’ll survive.”

“Good.  Let’s get moving.”

McHugh put the handset down on its cradle.  “Joe, get out to Watch Station Three as fast as you can.  Where’s Liu?”

“I think he’s still at NSA,” said Ellen Jones, who had just joined the group in the situation room.

“Get him here.”

In a few seconds, Ellen had located Mike at the National Security Agency.  “Mike, the Admiral wants to speak to you.”

The Admiral? thought Mike.  Ellen always called McHugh the old man.  Something must be up.

“Mike?” said McHugh, into the secure scrambler phone.  “Joe Mannington is headed to Port Hueneme, California.  I want you to drop everything and join him as soon as possible.  I’ll arrange for an F-15 to get you there.”

“What’s up, Admiral?”

“Mannington will brief you.  It’s important.”  The line went dead.

Something must have happened at Watch Station Three, thought Mike.

0800 Hours: Tuesday, June 29, 1993: Port Hueneme, California

“Glad you could make it, Mike,” said Mannington.

“When do we go?” said Mike.

“They’re loading the new Benthic Ranger with the Mess-I reactor on the U.S.S.
Thomas Morrow
,” said Mannington.  “We’ve also outfitted it with a Jason robot.  As soon as it’s aboard, we’ll set sail.  We should be on site by mid-morning.”

The
Morrow
, classified a supply ship but outfitted with an internal launching bay for Benthic Rangers and supply robots, was named after Navy Commander Thomas Morrow, a Navy hero who lost his life over the Cambodian border in the early seventies.  The ship was affectionately called “Buck” by all CSAC members after the antic-loving pilot whose daring piloting of the old Lockheed Orion led to the discovery of the mysterious objects.

The Jason III robot submersible was the latest model of the highly successful Jason units that facilitated such discoveries as the Titanic and others.

Mike and Mannington walked over to the loading area of the
Morrow
and were welcomed aboard by the officer of the day.  Returning the salute, Mannington said, “Where is Captain Vander?”

“Vander?” said Mike.

“Yes, do you know George Vander?” said Mannington.

“It can’t be.  The George Vander I know was sixty years old twenty-three years ago.  He was the commander of the USS
Marysville
, the oceanographic vessel from which we discovered the first Sentinel.  Crusty old guy, but he could position the
Marysville
like no one’s business.  He was a master in his job.”

At this point, Mike and Mannington were joined by an attractive redhead with flashing blue eyes in the summer tan uniform of the United States Navy.  On the collars of her tan uniform blouse were the gold oak leaves of a Lieutenant Commander of the United States Navy. The slim commanding officer of the
Morrow
wore uniform trousers as a concession to having to climb up and down the ship.

“Captain Mannington, welcome aboard,” said Lieutenant Commander Georgette Vander, saluting Mannington.

“Thank you, Captain Vander,” said Mannington.  “May I introduce you to Mike Liu?  He thinks he’s a civilian.”

Mike, who was still dressed in civilian clothes, reached to shake Georgette Vander’s outstretched hand.

“Hello, I knew your dad from many years ago.  How is he?”

“Dad passed away about ten years ago.  After he retired from the Navy, there really wasn’t anything else left with Mother having passed on when I was a child.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  He was one hell of a sailor.”

“Every chief petty officer I’ve ever met has told me that.  Makes one heck of a pair of shoes for me to fit into.”  She smiled.  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Liu.”

After the Benthic Ranger and its armaments had been stowed aboard, the
Morrow
made its way out of the harbor.

Captain Vander had invited Mike and Mannington to stay on the bridge during the trip to the site of Watch Station Three.  It felt good to be back at sea, even under the horrible circumstances that occasioned this trip.  The sea looked so calm on this June morning.  How could anything as catastrophic as what the emergency signal from the Watch Station suggested happen on such a peaceful, calm day.  It was a gentle voyage with only gentle swells and no chop.

Captain Vander stood on the bridge, a cup of hot steaming black coffee in her left hand.  Mike remembered that her father always had a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand and a coffin nail in the other.  The scene evoked memories of those halcyon days on board the
Marysville
.  The only thing missing was Captain George Vander’s ever present cigarette.  Georgette Vander did not smoke.

1100 Hours: Tuesday, June 29, 1993: On Site Over Watch Station Three

The
Morrow
arrived on site at about 1100 hours, joining the Coast Guard cutter already on scene.  Over head circled the white and orange colored rescue helicopters of the United States Coast Guard.  Captain Vander brought the
Morrow
to within one hundred yards of the cutter and had her crew lower a launch over the side.  Mike and Mannington scrambled down the narrow ladder to reach the launch, which was rolling with the waves.  Once aboard, the two were transported to the Coast Guard vessel.

Climbing on to the cutter, Mike and Mannington were greeted by the Captain of the cutter.  “Welcome aboard, gentlemen.  Heard you were on your way.”

“What have you found so far?” said Mike.

“So far the only debris has been six yellow life preservers, no markings except for military specification numbers, and the emergency transponder buoy,” said the cutter’s Captain.  “We’re continuing our search.  How long do you think it will take to launch the Benthic Ranger?”

“It’s going through final checkout right now,” Mannington replied.  “We expect to be able to launch in about one hour.  Have you found the transponder locating the site of the Watch Station?”

“Yes, you’re standing over it.”

After examining the life preservers and confirming for themselves that the debris was CSAC issued material, Mike and Mannington launched back to the
Morrow
.

“Captain Mannington,” said Chief Warrant Officer Jeffrey Graham, the pilot of the Benthic Ranger.  “We should be ready to go in about fifteen minutes.  Could you and Commander Liu be in the launch bay in Benthic Ranger uniforms in that time?”

“We’ll be there, Mr. Graham.”

Aboard the Benthic Ranger for this dive would be the pilot, Graham, his co-pilot, Senior Chief Petty Officer John Bell, a dive physician, Dr. Ruth Fleming, a Jason pilot, Seaman First Class Alex C. Broward, Mike and Mannington.  Because of the operational module for the Jason, the cabin of the Benthic Ranger was crowded.

Graham and Bell were making the final inspection and had just completed the checklist when Mike and Mannington walked on to the dry deck of the launch bay, a platform elevator set in the bowels of the
Morrow
, a bit of camouflage to deter prying eyes from learning the true purpose of the
Morrow
.

After Mike and Mannington had boarded the Benthic Ranger, Lieutenant Bell closed the hatch with a solid muffled clang.  The O-ring seals gave out a hissing sound as they were seated with compressed air.  Mike took a seat directly behind the pilot and Mannington took the adjacent seat behind the co-pilot.  Dr. Fleming sat behind Mike and Broward busied himself with checking out the components of Jason.

After all the passengers had buckled themselves to their seats, Graham started the Mess-I nuclear reactor.  Navy divers in scuba gear stood around the Benthic Ranger.

”
Morrow
, this is Benthic Ranger,” said Graham.  “Benthic Ranger is ready for launch.”

”
Morrow
copies, initiating launch sequence.”

With that, the launch platform of the
Morrow
slowly slid into the ocean powered by the silent motion of hydraulic pistons.  Looking out the front window of the Benthic Ranger, Mike watched the Navy divers standing in front of the submersible being slowly swallowed up by the ocean.  Soon, the platform had lowered itself past the bottom of the
Morrow
and the greenish blue light of the surface water replaced the yellowish sodium vapor lights of the launch bay.

The upper water was a teeming aquarium of life as the colorful fish of the photic zone swam all around the vehicle.  Navy divers also swam around the Benthic Ranger making their last inspections prior to sending the vehicle to the bottom.  Soon, one of the divers swam to the front window and gave the thumbs up sign and then just as quickly disappeared.

“Okay, here we go,” said Graham as he started the rear propeller of the Benthic Ranger.  He guided the Benthic Ranger through the hydraulic lifts and into the bluish green sea water.  Overhead, the crew of the Benthic Ranger could see the bright white shimmer of the ocean surface.  The color gradually changed to a deeper and deeper blue as one looked downward.

Once free of the launch platform, Graham trimmed the diving planes on the submersible and began a rather steep decline.

Mike, who was experiencing the new generation of Benthic Ranger for the first time, was being given a special treat.  No longer were the trips to the bottom long, drawn-out spirals.  The trip to the bottom lasted about 15 minutes.

The Watch Station looked normal except for the imploded stores module.  However, both Benthic Rangers were missing from their moorings.  Before going to the Watch Station, the Benthic Ranger made a slow orbit around the Sentinel using both forward scanning sonar and high resolution television to search for the Benthic Rangers and to record the search.  With its mercury vapor floodlights on, a fairly large area of the bottom could be explored at one time.

Mike, more used to a limited view, was fascinated by the broad vistas available to the crew of these new Benthic Rangers.  He had not been on a Benthic Ranger since the mid-seventies, the last time Mike had been on a tour of active sea duty.  The seriousness of the mission did not diminish the awe Mike felt for these new machines.

“Wait a minute, did you see that?” said Mike, as he pointed out the shadowy object at the fringe of the lighted area.  Graham brought the Benthic Ranger to a quick stop by reversing the rear propeller.

“Shine the light about ten degrees left,” said Mike.