THE BRINK - OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT

by Marshall Huffman

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, I’ll have security come get you and alert them to keep him off the grounds.”

  “Thanks Peter.”

  “I’m glad you called.”

  * * *

  Peter was walking to his car when Jerry stepped out of the shadows.

  “Peter, I need to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.

  “Jerry. I’m surprised to see you still hanging around.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you were told but I’m sure it was an exaggeration.

  “How so?”

  “The bitch came on to me. She was prancing around, full of her new power. She kept rubbing up against me. What the hell was I supposed to do? You picked the wrong person. She couldn’t handle the power. It went right to her head,” Jerry said.

  “I know how that happens sometimes. Some people just can’t handle change.”

  “You’re right. Look, I don’t hold it against you. We all make mistakes,” he said, taking a step closer.

  “Yes. Yes we do,” Peter said, grabbing Jerry by the shirt and landing a hard right hand fist to his jaw.

  Jerry’s head snapped back and his lip split open. Peter let him go and he fell to his knees, looking up with blood running down his chin.

  “You’re crazy,” Jerry sputtered.

  “I would be if I believed one bit of that bullshit story you just told. You’re pathetic.”

  “I’ll sue you for this?” he said

  “For what? Tripping on a curb in a place you shouldn’t be? You were fired over an hour ago. You are on the property illegally. Maybe I should just call the police and let them sort this out,” Peter said, taking out his cell phone.

  “This isn’t over,” Jerry said, getting up.

  “I’ll tell you what is over, your tenure with DigiLabs. No severance pay, not one dime. And if you do decide to go to court, keep in mind that your sexual harassment conduct with Linda will come out in court. I wonder how your wife will respond to that? Gee honey, they all made it up, honestly. You need to think this over very carefully before you do anything else. And then there is the matter of references. How will you explain that gap in your employment history? So Jerry, take your best shot and let’s just see what happens. Now, get off this property,” Peter said.

  Jerry glared at him but turned and walked away without another word.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  - WASHINGTON DC -

  The red eye flight was full of blurry eyed business people. Suits and skirts would be rumpled by the time they arrived at their first appointments. Peter could not stand being less than impeccably dressed. He brought an extra set of clothes in his carry-on luggage so he could change at the airport if he looked too bad. Despite his best efforts, he pretty much looked like the rest of the passengers so he changed into his spare set of clothes.

  The ride to the Pentagon was uneventful since they had a driver waiting for him with a small placard with his name stenciled on it. He was shown into a large conference room with several other men and women in civilian clothes, along with a few military personnel in uniform. Promptly at 10:00 a.m., or ten hundred hours, as they say in the military, Admiral Marcus walked into the room.

  “Attention on deck,” one of the sailors shouted.”

  The military people quickly stood and the civilians just looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

  “Please take your places. We can do away with that formality for now. I’m Admiral Marcus and I will be the team leader of this project. This will be the first time I have had a chance to meet many of you face to face and we have a small reception planned after the conclusion of today’s meeting. We will have a working lunch so that we can get as much done as possible in the short time we have available.”

  Everyone was listening intently. This was a no nonsense man who was used to being in control and knew how to handle authority. He wasn’t wasting time about his past accomplishments or background, just the project at hand.

  “My aids will now pass out a folder and a large envelope. I would ask you to not open either until I tell you. Jumping ahead will only waste time. Please wait until I give the word,” he said.

  The word please almost caught in his throat. The aids circulated around the room, passing out the folders and envelopes. Once they were all distributed, he stood up.

  “If you would open the red folder to the first page and remain there. Read over the contents. It is a standard military non-disclosure and compliance statement form that is required by the government before you are allowed to work on any government project. It is rather straight forward but I will be happy to clarify any segments that you do not understand,” the Admiral said.

  Everyone read the statement. While it was only one page it was in triplicate. We may have the world’s most sophisticated computers but the military still plods along in triplicate.

  “Now, if you would all just sign those, my aids will pick them up,” the Admiral said.

  “Admiral, I don’t want to be a fly in the ointment, but I don’t think I want to sign this as it is. I would like to change the wording if you don’t mind,” one of the civilians said.

  The Admiral pursed his lips and raised his chin before speaking. “Yes, I do mind. It is to be signed as it is,” he finally said.

  “Admiral. I am a civilian. I have rights. I do not intend to sign something I can’t agree to. That would be foolish.”

  “I suppose it would. You are dismissed sir. Collect that man’s materials and show him out,” he said to one of the security guards.

  “What? Do you know who I am?” the man shouted.

  “Yes sir I do. It makes no difference whatsoever. You will be flown back to California immediately,” the Admiral said.

  “This is outrageous,” the man shouted as two armed guards took his folder and envelope and escorted him from the room.

  “Anyone else?” the Admiral asked, looking around the room. “Good. Now please sign and we can get on to other things.”

  There was a rustling of paper as people signed the compliance forms. Even Peter, who was usually obstinate to authority, signed quickly. The aids picked up the papers, checking each name off a list.

  “If you will turn to page two you will see the words TOP SECRET. It means just that. Only authorized personnel on this project are to see or discuss this project. From this moment on, no one that is not cleared to work on the project is to be consulted in any way. That includes, e-mail, fax, text-message, tweets, blogs, or any other method of communication. No excuses. ‘I didn’t know’ is not acceptable. It means any form of communication. Are we all on the same page with that?”

  Everyone shook their heads that they understood.

  “Good. Turn the page.”

  In bold letters were the words: OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT. Directly under that in red letters was: CHAMELEON.

  “You are now officially working on Operation Deep Flight. The name of the submarine is the USS Chameleon. It will be unlike anything that has ever been developed before. That is why you are all here. We are starting from ground zero. New thoughts, new eyes, and new technology that will take us into the next century,” the Admiral said, “Please, turn to the next page. This is a list of the various departments, or teams, if you will. As you can see they are broken down by name and area of responsibility. Obviously one of them will be changing,” he said with a quick grin.

  Everyone, smiled, more of a knee jerk reaction than from the attempt at humor.

  “You will have plenty of time to go over this in greater detail later. This is your file. You are responsible for it. It is not to be misplaced or lost. I’ll remind you once more that this is classified material and is Top Secret. The next few pages, six through seventeen, give further breakouts of just who is doing what. It will help you to become familiar with your team members. Now if you will turn to page eighteen. Here you will find a schematic of the initial blueline design of our project submar
ine. Some references to dimensions are also listed. As you can see it is not like anything we currently have.”

  That was a gross understatement if there ever was one. It resembled an airplane more than a submarine, at least by current standards. Peter was mesmerized by the design. He had come to the meeting with a wait and see attitude but now he was hooked. They had him and he knew it.

  “The next four pages are schematics of the various main compartments, again with rough dimensions,” the Admiral continued, “The following page is an artist's conceptual drawing of what the thing will resemble once we pull it all together.

  It was stunning and unlike anything Peter had ever envisioned. He couldn’t wait to get started. From the constant buzzing in the room, he could surmise that most shared his feeling of excitement.

  “Please,” the Admiral said, holding up his hands, “I know how you feel. I was much the same when I was first briefed on this project. But when you look at the next page. . .well let’s just say that you are in for a bigger shock. The next page please,” he said.

  A gasp, some low whistles and other sounds could be heard as people read down the list of parameters. Peter read:

  The Design Parameters of

  Operation Deep Flight

  The USS CHAMELEON.

  Depth: Crush 60,000 feet (10,000 Fathoms)

  Depth: Sustained 40,000 feet (6666.6 Fathoms)

  Cruise Speed : 30 knots (34.25 MPH)

  Max Speed: 40 knots (46.03 MPH)

  Length 150 Feet (not to exceed)

  Beam: 28 feet

  Displacement: 3,100 (long tons)

  Submerge time: 61 days

  Maximum Crew: 21

  Minimum Crew: 12

  Detectability: Total Stealth

  Capability: Cloaking

  Terrain Hugging: 360 degree radar and sonar

  Weapons: Defensive weaponry (2/3 Cruise MKIV)

  The list went on with other more complicated technical parameters concerning electrical, mechanical and metallurgical requirements but Peter kept looking at the first nine. 60,000 feet. Nothing could survive that kind of depth. Why would they want to go that deep anyway? What the hell was so important about going so deep? Everyone was talking and the level of the noise continued to rise. The Admiral was watching with an amused expression. Finally he decided it was time to speak up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. I know. I know. You have thousands of questions. We are not all that different. When I presented this to the review board they nearly went crazy. They thought I should be committed for psychiatric evaluation,” he said and a small laugh ran through the audience, “Nevertheless, I was able to convince them that this had to be done. We have the funding. I now have the people. All we have to do is build the damn thing. Now I will answer any question that is not technical in nature. You are the technical geniuses.”

  Everyone just sat there, looking at each other. No one wanted to go first.

  “Yes, I have one, maybe two questions,” Peter said, standing up.

  He could see everyone turn to look at him.

  “Uh…Dr. Farris I believe.”

  “I’m flattered. Yes. Peter Farris. I may have missed something but it seems the submarine is missing a couple of rather important items,” Peter said, “A robotic arm. It may be mentioned but I didn’t see it.”

  “What would it be used for?”

  “Any number of things. Picking up samples. Grabbing hold of objects or holding on to another submarine. It could have a thousand different uses. Lost nuclear bombs for instance,” Peter said.

  That comment got a quick nervous laugh. Even the Admiral smiled.

  “Yes, I see your point. Thank you. I’ll discuss the possibility. And the second thing?”

  “A coupling dock. Some means of transferring from the Chameleon to another vessel.”

  “That has been discussed. There is some disagreement as to the practicality of such a feature on a sub that goes so deep. It creates another breach in the hull and that is another concern. It hasn’t been ruled out but at this time the final decision has hasn’t been made. Very perceptive of you to notice both things. You would have made a good submariner Dr. Farris,” the Admiral said.

  The meeting went on until noon when they were told to put away all the material until the food was distributed. Once the delivery was made they started back to work and continued on until 2:00 p.m. when the Admiral announced a ‘head’ break. A guy sitting next to Pete asked what a head break was.

  “Bathroom. They call them heads in the Navy.”

  “Why?”

  “Who the hell knows?” Peter replied.

  They continued to work until 5:30 p.m. By that time everyone had started to work off the adrenalin rush they had all been going on. The excitement had been so thick you could cut it with a knife most of the afternoon but now exhaustion was starting to replace it. The Admiral could see the signs. It was time to call it a day.

  “We will break for today. I am pleased at how much progress we have made and how you all interacted as a group. You all appeared to get along and communicate well. That is of paramount importance on this project. I won’t have any ego tripping prima donnas on my team. You are all top professionals so posturing is totally unnecessary. We will work as a team and share in the glory, or failure, as a team. This will be the last time I bring this particular subject up,” he said. They all knew he meant it.

  “Now if you would like to freshen up we have shuttle busses to take you to the Imperial Hotel where you are staying. A reception is scheduled for 1930 hours, that’s 7:30 p.m. for you civilians. I look forward to seeing all of you there. Please make sure your documents are secure.”

  With that, he stood and walked out of the room. The aids escorted them to the waiting busses.

  When Peter got to this room he called his office. Jane answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Hey, what are you still doing there?”

  “Trying to get this place organized. I am making such good progress I hate to stop. What can I do for you Dr. Ferris?” Jane asked.

  “I was just calling to check in. Anything earthshaking happening?”

  “Everything is pretty quiet. Mr. Anderson stopped by to tell you to knock em’ dead and that he will see you when you get back. Other than that, it’s been a slow news day.”

  “That’s great. I want you to knock off. That stuff can wait. I won’t be back until late Thursday so you have plenty of time to get organized,” Peter said.

  “I know. It’s just that disorganization makes me crazy. I’ll quit for tonight.”

  “Good. I’ll check in tomorrow. You call me on my cell if you need me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  - WASHINGTON DC –

  Peter showered, changed clothes, and read over the materials they had been given until it was time for the reception. He usually hated this sort of thing unless he was with someone. While he was easygoing and not at all shy in his own element, this was not his element. Some people can walk right up and start a conversation like they have known you all their lives. He was definitely not one of those people. He looked around the room and worked his way to the bar.

  “Sprite with a lime wedge.”

  “It’s an open bar,” the bartender said.

  “Fine but I’ll have a Sprite just the same,” Peter replied.

  The bartender just shrugged. People would assume he was having a gin and tonic or vodka drink since no one would be having a soft beverage when the booze was free. He walked around the room and listened in on several conversations but joined in none of them. Finally someone approached him.

  “Doctor Ferris. It is a real pleasure to meet you. I have followed your work at DigiLabs. Quite an achievement. This is some bash the Admiral is putting on,” the man said.

  “I think the taxpayers are footing the bill,” Peter replied.

  “Quite right. By the way, I’m Doctor Jason Bean.”

  “Nice to meet you. Anyway, this is a good way to kic
k it all off, with bonding and all that stuff. So Doctor Bean, what is your part in this great adventure?” Peter asked. He didn’t especially like the man. Something about him didn’t sit well. He bordered on obnoxious. Not totally, but nudging it.

  “As I understand it. You guys at DigiLabs will be developing both the air handling system and the navigational system. That is a huge chunk to bite off. The air system will be hard enough in the space you have but the navigation system. That is a different ball of wax.”

  “It will have its challenges but we have some brilliant people working for us,” Peter said, watching as two men seemed to be making their way toward them.

  “I need another drink. You want me to get you one?” Bean asked.

  “I have one. I’m fine.”

  “Hey, the booze is free.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told. I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he headed for the bar.

  Immediately the two other men stepped forward.

  “Doctor Ferris. This is Doctor Morgan and I’m Doctor Phillips. That was a very astute observation in there today. Very impressive.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure several others thought of it as well but had better manners than me. I’m a tad outspoken at times.”

  “That’s very modest of you Doctor but I doubt that it is the case. I know a great many of these people. Most have enormous egos and wouldn’t hesitate to speak up if they had thought of it. The Admiral has a huge job on his hands keeping all the posturing in check. The egos alone will be enough to sink that submarine,” Morgan said, smiling.

  “Yes and you have one of the biggest,” Phillips added.

  “How unkind. You may be correct but still it’s unkind.”

  “No offense,” Phillips said, obviously not meaning it one bit.

  Peter enjoyed their company even though they made comments about each other incessantly. Neither seemed to ruffle the other's feathers and it was all taken in good humor. They talked for almost forty-five minutes before they were interrupted by the now familiar voice of Admiral Marcus.