Omega Deep (Sam Reilly Book 12)

by Christopher Cartwright

  MC cocked an incredulous eyebrow and gave a sharp smile. “Of course. Another salvage job?”

  Sam shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. You have a nice day. It was a pleasure watching you two carve up the surf while we mere amateurs simply tried our best not to get killed in the process.”

  She smiled at the compliment. “Take care.”

  The dress-officer said to Tom, “Someone will be along shortly for your boards and vehicle.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Tom said, handing his keys to the extended palm of one of the Marines. “It’s the ’56 Jeep.”

  “We know, sir,” replied the Marine, taking the keys.

  “I’m sorry for the interruption ladies.” The dress-officer said.

  “No problem, sir,” Kathy replied. She then turned to Sam and Tom. “Ocean scientists, huh?”

  Tom and Sam smiled and shrugged, “Thanks for lunch!” Tom said being hustled away by Sam to catch the trio ahead of them. “Duty calls.”

  The Marines broke free and double-timed it to the bird on the left, climbing in ahead of the door guard in full dress, who flipped up the stairs and climbed in, sliding the door closed. The Marine at the open door of the other chopper saluted the admiral as he took the back stairs ahead of Sam and Tom. Over his shoulder, the admiral said, “There’s a cabin on your left, boys, get yourselves cleaned up and I’ll see you in the main section in five minutes.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sam stepped up into the helicopter. “Any idea where we’re heading?”

  The president of the United States answered from inside with his renowned calm and authoritative voice, “Pearl Harbor. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After getting changed out of their wetsuits in the tiny lavatory cabin, Sam and Tom entered the main passenger area of the helicopter wearing jeans and white t-shirts. The whole room was fitted out with the same tan leather and plush pile carpet as Air Force One. They both immediately noticed how stunningly quiet and free from vibration the helicopter was.

  As they looked toward the back, tired-looking aides and staffers, in civilian clothing, cradled laptops and tablets, talking quietly among themselves. Most of them looked like they hadn’t had a chance to change their clothes in the last thirty-six hours. In the rear sat Margaret Walsh, the secretary of defense, General Louis C. Painter, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, and the president of the United States.

  Sam and Tom sat down, facing the secretary of defense and the admiral. A waiter came and placed glasses of cold water with ice in small wells in the fuselage-side armrest of the recliners, and offered both men coffee. They both asked for black, and the waiter disappeared. The admiral smiled awkwardly as the three men sat in silence, waiting for the secretary to look up from whatever it was she was typing. Sam and Tom looked out their windows at the other helicopters flying in formation with them. After a minute, the secretary snapped her laptop closed and took off her glasses, letting them hang on the cord around her neck. “Listen. I’ll get right to it. We need your help.”

  Sam nodded. He wouldn’t have been summoned by the president if they hadn’t. His mind raced to their original reason for approaching Tom’s father for information. Had the secretary of defense somehow intervened?

  Sam opened his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “We’re here to help, anything we can do, ma’am.”

  The secretary nodded. “I’ll let the president inform you of the problem. What he’s about to say, only three other people on Earth are fully aware of, so it is with serious gravity that we’re taking you both into our confidence. As such, nothing you are told is to ever be repeated.”

  “Understood, ma’am,” Sam and Tom replied in unison.

  The president said, “As you already know, a British Boeing 747 Dreamlifter crashed under unusual circumstances nine weeks ago. After that, the Buckholtz, a large container ship ran aground at Neuwerk Island. Both of these seemingly random events were orchestrated for the most serious purpose of stealing some of the most advanced stealth and chameleon technology ever produced.”

  Sam nodded. He’d already gathered that. What he didn’t know was why American technology was being built offshore, and what the president wanted him to do about it, so he remained silent.

  “What you probably don’t know is that since then, the Chinese aircraft carrier, the Feng Jian was sunk by what they are insisting was an American nuclear attack submarine.”

  Sam studied the president through narrowed eyes. “What circumstances, Mr. President?”

  “The Feng Jian pursued what appeared to be one of our nuclear attack submarines into a region of the South China Sea known as the Labyrinth because of its dangerous submerged reefs and atolls. When the submarine reached a dead end, it appeared to hover out of the water, and race across a coral reef. Just when they thought for certain it was nothing more than a holographic projection, the strange vessel launched a torpedo. The Feng Jian couldn’t maneuver within the narrow channel and was struck, causing it to sink into the shallow waters.”

  Sam asked, “So what fired the torpedo?”

  “We don’t know. It wasn’t one of ours, but it might have been based on our technology.”

  “Really?” Sam asked. “What makes you think that?”

  The president sighed heavily. “The Feng Jian’s radar crew reported they were unable to see any sign of the submarine, thus suspecting it to be nothing more than a projection.”

  “But what did they see?” Sam persisted.

  The secretary of defense clicked on an image on her laptop and then turned it around to show Sam and Tom.

  “This,” she said.

  Sam swallowed. It was a perfect replica of the strange sphere they had seen on the FDR recording of the Dreamlifter’s cargo hold.

  “It was one of ours?” Sam asked.

  The president scowled. “It might have been. Or someone else certainly wanted it to look that way.”

  Sam said, “Jiè dāo shā rén.”

  The president looked confused. “What?”

  “It’s an old Chinese military strategy,” Sam said. “It means, to kill with a borrowed knife. The concept was to trick a third party to attack, using the strength of an ally, instead of one’s own army to win a battle.”

  A series of worrying lines loomed on the president’s forehead as his frowned. “So far, we have a crashed British aircraft, a German cargo ship aground, and now a Chinese aircraft carrier torpedoed. The question is, risk of war threatens our nation, who is most positioned to gain from such a war?”

  Sam said, “I’m sorry, Mr. President, my expertise is more in the area of ocean salvage and archeology. My guess is you have plenty of military advisers who might offer better opinions…”

  “I’m asking your opinion, Mr. Reilly,” the president said, tersely.

  “When Tom and I dived the internal hull of the Buckholtz, we were attacked by another scuba diver. In the struggle, he was killed instead. The diver was wearing a dry suit known to be manufactured for the Russian elite Foreign Intelligence. German Federal Intelligence Service investigators retrieved the body. Unfortunately, the Eurocopter used in the transfer crashed en route and incinerated on impact, destroying the remains.”

  The secretary asked, “What are you suggesting?”

  Sam expelled a deep breath. “I believe the Russians are behind this attack.”

  The president said, “That’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  The president frowned. “Because the Russians were the ones who gave us the technology.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sam felt his world shatter.

  He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate and put things into logical order. The greatest superpowers in the world had all been thrown into direct conflict. It was impossible to believe that the world was going to race toward WWIII and even more unlikely that the Russians were now helping them by providing advanced stealth technology.

  Sam opened his eyes and met th
e president’s eye. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  The president grinned. “China wasn’t trying to force their opponents to fight one another. You were on the right track, though. In this case, nothing makes enemies work together like the sudden appearance of a greater foe.”

  Sam listened, but unable to get where the president was leading, remained silent.

  The president continued. “Did you know that during the Cold War, at the Geneva Summit in 1985, President Ronald Reagan and Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev agreed to pause the Cold War and come to each other’s aid in the event of an alien attack?”

  Sam laughed. “You’re kidding, sir?”

  “No. It’s the truth. Gorbachev confirmed it in an interview in 2009.”

  Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Are you telling me we’re under attack from an alien race?’

  “No, no. Of course not. But all the same, the Russians, along with anyone else, would come to us to help defeat a mutual enemy.”

  “So, who’s the enemy?” Sam asked.

  “They don’t know.”

  The slightest of smiles formed on Sam’s lips as he waited for the president to explain.

  The president met his eye. Conflict twisted his face into a grimace of indecision, as though deciding how much to tell. In the end, it appeared, he opted for the truth. “There’s an insurrection.”

  “And the Russians came to us for help?” Sam remained skeptical. “There’s been rebellions before.”

  “This is different.”

  “How?”

  “Military secrets and technology are being stolen from the Russian government. Advanced submarine technology is being sold to a third party. A growing league who have infiltrated governments throughout the world and are slowly building a secret society – hiding in the oceans.”

  Sam thought that sounded a little far-fetched. “What makes you so confident the Russians are telling the truth?”

  The president set his jaw. “Because we have the same problem, and so does Britain, Germany, and France.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After following the coast south, the Sikorsky VH-3D Sea King, banked to the left, suddenly deviating inland.

  Sam thought about the implications of the news. “The Russians sent you the spheres to try and find the mole?”

  The president nodded. “After the loss of the Boeing 747 Dreamlifter, they had Germany send the second sphere by cargo ship. When the Buckholtz ran aground, we knew we were in real trouble. Two days later, when we heard the Feng Jian was sunk, by what appeared to be an American nuclear attack submarine but gave off a radar image of a sphere, we knew our time was running short.”

  “Elise said that DARPA was working on the spheres nearly a decade ago, back when she was still working for the CIA. How did we let the Russians beat us to it?”

  The president smiled. “Who said they beat us?”

  “So, the sphere that attacked the Chinese aircraft carrier…”

  “Was most likely one of ours,” the president finished the statement.

  Sam glanced at the secretary of defense. “What does your intelligence team think this league’s reasons are?”

  She spoke without hesitation. “It appears they want to encourage WWIII.”

  “Why? Won’t that just destroy them in the process?”

  “We believe they have an underwater habitat. Somewhere large, where they believe they might survive the fallout of such a war.”

  Sam said, “How long have we known?”

  The president answered. “Nearly five years.”

  “Five years!” Sam just about swore. “Why haven’t we done anything about it?”

  “We did.” The president turned to his secretary of defense. “Perhaps Painter had better explain to you what we’ve been trying to do.”

  Sam glanced at General Painter, the highest-ranking officer in the U.S. military, and direct military advisor to the president and the secretary of defense. “Sir?”

  “More than a decade ago we commenced research and development into a perfect submarine. Something entirely undetectable.”

  “Go on,” Sam said, knowing that stealth was the golden aim of all submarines.

  “Recently, the project reached its successful fruition with the discovery of the material known as blackbody, found on a 13,000-year-old meteorite, we were given the medium needed to make a truly undetectable submarine.”

  Sam knew plenty about the strange element, known as blackbody. Microscopically, it was similar to an atomic sponge, capable of soaking up all surrounding sub-atomic particles. The ancient Master Builders knew about the material and had devised a method of controlling the stones, to protect the earth from extinction, after the magnetic poles rapidly switched positions, causing catastrophic changes to the weather.

  The material was highly unstable and capable of destroying the world if mishandled. It horrified him that his government would try to use such a material to advance its military. Even so, it also amazed him. As far as he was aware, the last of the unearthly element had been destroyed. “Where did you obtain it? I thought the entire meteorite had been thoroughly mined?”

  Painter nodded. “We discovered the meteorite, found near Göbekli Tepe in the Southeastern Anatolia Region of Turkey, broke in two upon entry into our atmosphere. Originally, it was assumed the second piece broke up in the atmosphere, but after a long search, it was discovered in a field near Portland Oregon.”

  “And you took it to produce the ultimate submarine?”

  “Exactly. It was called the USS Omega Deep, and to date, it was the most advanced submarine on Earth. The submarine was launched nearly three months ago now and was on a mission to find this secret league’s underwater habitat.”

  The Sea King turned on to its final approach to a helipad at the Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickham.

  Sam frowned. “You said it was the most advanced submarine on Earth?”

  Painter nodded. “I’m afraid we’ve lost it.”

  “How?”

  “We don’t know. It might have been a mechanical malfunction, it might have imploded, it could have run aground into a submerged mountain, an accident with a torpedo bay…” Painter sighed heavily. “Or…”

  “What?” Sam asked.

  It was the president who finally answered. “There’s a chance its commander has intentionally stolen the submarine and its technology.”

  Sam was mortified. “Who was its commander?”

  The president spoke directly to Tom, “I’m sorry son, your father was in command.”

  The Sea King landed adjacent to the main administration complex of the submarine command. It was hard to hear anything above the scream of the helicopter’s powerful engines. The pilot finally shut them down, and Tom’s voice became audible.

  “No way, my father never would have betrayed his country. The U.S. Navy was the closest thing to God to my father. There’s no way he would have betrayed it.”

  The president put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “We know. Your father has served his country for more than four decades. No one is really suggesting he’s behind this, but we can’t rule out the chance that someone on board did.”

  Sam asked, “How many on board?” Sam asked.

  The secretary of defense answered without hesitation. “There were 192 submariners, men and women, the absolute cream of the crop – they were hand-picked by Admiral Dwight Bower, himself.”

  Tom took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and pushed his hand through his hair. “How long can they survive if the submarine’s lying on the seabed somewhere?”

  “Painter?” The secretary asked, turning to the Chairman.

  “Around 120 days, give or take. She’s equipped with a symbiotic drive which can theoretically support the homeostasis system on board indefinitely. The crew still need food and water though. She’s equipped with a new cloaking engine which absorbs all sound, making her completely undetectable by sonar. She’s also the fastest nuclear sub e
ver built, by a fair margin – which, unfortunately in this situation, significantly widens our search area.”

  “No distress beacons were recovered?” Sam asked.

  “None.”

  “Well at least theoretically we have plenty of time, right?” Tom asked. “Assuming they’re just stuck.”

  Painter turned to the secretary, waiting for her response.

  “No,” she said. “Time is something we don’t have a lot of. We lost contact seventy-eight days ago.”

  “Seventy-eight days!” Tom said, exasperated.

  “All right,” Sam said, placating his friend. “So, what’s the plan then?”

  The president faced him directly and said, “Right now, we’ve exhausted our options, and we’re looking to you and Tom to find a needle in a haystack, without knowing which ocean that haystack resides.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The U.S. Navy Undersea Rescue mobile command center was housed in a basketball court, which had been appropriated for this specific mission. The large room was abuzz with people working round the clock to avert the tragedy. Sam took in the sight of more than a hundred people, who worked across an array of desks, laptop computers, communication stations, satellite feeds, and in a private meeting, liaising with people from submarine search and rescue throughout the world.

  The president of the United States, the secretary of defense, and the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff disappeared to attend a briefing with the COMSUBPAC – Commander, Submarine Force, U.S. Pacific Fleet, leaving Sam and Tom in the hands of the commander of the U.S. Navy Undersea Rescue Unit.

  A man in his mid-fifties greeted Sam with a firm handshake. “I’m Commander Benjamin Woods. I’m currently in charge of the search and rescue operation for the USS Omega Deep. I’ve been involved with the deep submergence rescue program since the 1980s, having originally trained on the DSRV-1 Mystic, back when she was still in service.”