Masters of the Broken Watches

by Razi Imam

  “How is that even possible?” John asked, incredulous. “Control time? I’m sorry, sir, but are you being serious?”

  “I’m completely serious,” Drake answered, looking worried. “Why do you think we’re having this conversation? I think what Doctor Cebrián and his team want to do is share this discovery with the world, and our secretary of defense doesn’t want that to happen. We’re walking into a political, social, and ethical minefield.”

  They both sat in silence. Drake kept nursing his drink, gazing at the model of the Bainbridge.

  “Sir, how do you wish to proceed?” John asked.

  “Keep on course,” Drake said. “We have our orders, even if we don’t fully agree with them. As much as I hate this situation, we have a job to do.” He got up, indicating the meeting was over.

  “Sir, permission to speak freely,” John requested and then hesitated. Drake nodded, gesturing to him to speak.

  “Sir, I don’t fully understand the motive of our defense secretary,” John explained, “but I do believe this isn’t what you and I swore to defend as officers. We should be providing the scientists with protection and safe passage instead of apprehending them and taking over their research.”

  “This is why I wanted to hear your thoughts. Duly noted,” Drake said, stretching his hand out.

  John stood up, shook hands, and saluted before making his way to the door.

  “XO,” Drake stopped him, “I keep getting Judge Judy on TV. Have someone take a look at it.” He pointed a remote at the TV on the wall, trying different stations.

  “Aye, sir,” John said. “I’ll have media look into it. Thank you, sir.”

  ***

  JOHN JUMPED OUT of his bunk and checked his cell phone. It was 0430. The screen appeared to be locked, annoyed he shut the phone off and switched it on again. His phone had been giving trouble over the last twenty-four hours. It all started when he had gotten a message to update his phone and since then it had been acting up. He made a mental note to have his IT folks look at it.

  This was going to be a big day. They were less than eleven hours from reaching the Paracel Islands. He turned on his shower to find that the cold water wasn’t working. He waited for a few moments—he couldn’t take a shower in scalding hot water. After what seemed like an eternity, he shut the shower down and walked back to his room, entering the code for engineering in his intercom. A hurried voice responded.

  “What’s happening to our cold water, sailor? I need to take a shower,” John demanded.

  “Sorry, sir,” the duty engineer responded. “It’s been one helluva night. We’re not sure what we’re dealing with. We’ve had fire sprinklers going off, electrical systems shutting down, water being routed to places where we’ve shut the valves off. I’m speaking with facilities management, but they’re not sure either. It appears the maintenance server is acting up.”

  “Well, get it fixed,” John ordered. “We’re on a mission, sailor, and we need to be one hundred percent ready.”

  “Aye, sir,” the engineer replied. “I’m manually rerouting cold water to your quarters and the captain’s quarters. Please give it a minute and you should be good to go.”

  “Fine,” John replied, letting go of the intercom button.

  As promised, cold water started running again. John showered, changed, and headed straight to the officer’s mess. The instant he entered the room, he knew something was wrong. For one, instead of Fox News, CNN or ESPN, Judge Judy was still on, and the buffet trays—which ordinarily would have scrambled eggs, hash browns, and pancakes—were all empty. There was a side table with crackers and cheese, bread, peanut butter, jelly, and small bowls of oatmeal. On a smaller table, there were three jugs of juice, and jugs of regular and chocolate milk.

  He poked his head into the galley and found the captain’s personal chef, Mess Specialist 3rd class, holding his forehead, looking at the microwave.

  “What happened here?” John asked.

  The chef turned and fired a salute. “Sir, we’ve had nothing but problems since 0300. All the equipment is acting up. It works for a few seconds and shuts off randomly. None of the stoves, microwaves, or ovens are working. I haven’t been able to make breakfast. The cooks in the main dining hall are having the same problem. You can imagine how upset the sailors are, especially because there’s no coffee.” He started to fiddle with the microwave, as if it would magically start working.

  “I see,” John replied. “I’ll look into it. Not having coffee isn’t an option.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said the chef with a sigh. “Engineering has been working on it, too.”

  John grabbed two slices of untoasted bread and spread peanut butter on them. He ate his sandwich with a cold glass of chocolate milk while watching a woman sue her boyfriend for leaving his dirty socks lying around the house on Judge Judy.

  Drake was already on the bridge, looking out at sea. They were still cruising between the two commercial ships. Drake acknowledged him and John saluted. “At ease,” Drake said. “Have you heard of all the problems we’ve been having?”

  “Yes, sir,” John replied, frustrated. “I’ve been made aware of them, including one I experienced personally while trying to take a shower.”

  Drake grunted in response, and they proceeded to the Combat Information Center. The plan was all systems go. The Bainbridge was at optimal combat readiness, and they were making good progress toward Bombay Reef. The CIC team also informed them that according to the latest satellite surveillance reports, a Luyang-I class destroyer had left the Chinese naval port of Shantou, and it appeared to be headed to Bombay Reef.

  “Dammit,” Drake cursed. “XO, meet me in the war room at 0900 hours, as planned,” he ordered, exiting.

  “Aye, sir,” John said. He stayed behind, catching up on the latest reports. Before he knew it, it was 0845. He made his way to the war room.

  Captain Drake and his team of senior officers were already seated when John joined them. They had pictures, schematics, and crew manifests of the Luyang-I destroyer on the main screen.

  “So,” Drake said, “we have a potentially messy situation on our hands. The Chinese have dispatched a destroyer to Bombay Reef, and it can’t be a coincidence. Either they know about our mission or our scientists have done something to piss them off. Per our calculations, they should’ve reached the Paracel Islands several hours ago, but for some reason, they’ve slowed down considerably. We’re not sure why. We need a plan that’ll get us to our scientists first.”

  “Are there any theories as to why they’ve slowed down?” one of the officers asked.

  “They’re exhibiting weird navigational patterns, as if they’ve lost steering control,” another officer replied.

  “We can push our engines to full capacity,” the chief engineer offered, “and switch on our auxiliary engines. That should give us an extra ten knots.”

  “Good,” Drake said. “Let’s get to work. Dismissed.”

  The officers dispersed, except for John. He wanted to address the ship’s recent nonessential systems issues. Although mostly irritants, they were becoming serious. “Captain, about the series of bizarre events concerning nonessential systems—”

  “XO,” Drake said wearily, “not having cold water, working ovens, or ESPN hardly constitutes an emergency. As long as we’ve got propulsion, weapons, and we remain combat-ready, we’ll be fine.”

  “I understand captain,” John persisted, “but this is different. I think there’s a pattern developing.”

  As if on cue, the General Quarters alarm sounded and an automated announcement started blaring. “All personnel report to the deck. This is not a drill. All personnel report to the deck. This is not a drill.”

  “What the hell is happening? Who authorized General Quarters?” Drake shouted as they ran to the bridge.

  The officer of the deck (OOD) was frantically flipping switches at his station, trying to turn it off. “No one, sir!” he shouted, wide-eyed. “It just came o
n! We’re trying to shut it down.”

  “XO, get on the goddamn intercom and order the chief engineer to override the alarm,” Drake shouted, furious.

  John was already on with the engineer when the alarm stopped. A soft rhythmic chorus of men and women singing replaced it.

  The words were unrecognizable. “Rossiya svyashchennaya nasha derzhava, Rossiya-lyubimaya nasha…”

  After a few moments, Drake directed the officer to break formation and stop the ship.

  “XO, we’re listening to the fucking Russian national anthem.” Drake said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Powerful Spleen

  “Escape from the black cloud that surrounds you.

  Then you will see your own light as radiant

  as the full moon.”

  ~ Rumi

  HUE, THE NAVIGATOR of the Luyang-I, clicked off the notification that the ship was drifting to port by a tenth of a degree. Nothing out of the ordinary—this kind of deviation happened all the time due to changes in sea current. He approached the pitch darkness of the front windows to look at the stars, eventually returning to his post. His monitors showed that all was normal—speed, revolutions, fuel, engine temperature, and pressure. The ship was purring.

  The directional monitor then showed a deviation of a fifth of a degree. Once again, not worth adjusting. It was interesting, however, that the deviation was all on one side. The current must be coming from starboard.

  He walked over to a nearby station, poured some tea, and grabbed a cookie. A pontificator by nature, he stood there thinking about how the whole world only knew one type of Chinese cookie—the fortune cookie. He shook his head and returned to his station. The directional monitor showed a deviation of three-tenths of a degree. Using the helm, he adjusted course to starboard, but the port deviation increased to two-fifths of a degree. He compensated further, only to find it climb to half a degree again.

  He asked his second officer to call engineering to see if they were experiencing anything unusual. The answer came back negative. His second officer handed him the phone. “So, what’s the big deal?” an engineer barked over the engine noise. “Adjust course.”

  “The more I adjust, the more it deviates,” Hue explained, raising his voice. “It appears there’s something wrong with either the helm, or the directional computer.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the any of the systems,” the engineer declared, taken aback.

  Captain Zheng was finishing his dinner when his intercom buzzed. “Yes, what is it?”

  “Captain, would you mind coming to the bridge?” Hue asked hesitantly. “We may have a technical issue.”

  “Have you asked engineering to look into it?” Zheng asked.

  “Sir, the chief engineer is standing next to me.”

  Zheng entered the bridge and the crew saluted him, standing aside as he made his way to the two men next to the navigational computer. “So, what’s the problem?” he barked.

  “Sir, we’re unable to steer the ship properly,” Hue replied.

  “Explain,” Zheng ordered.

  “Sir, the ship is drifting to one side,” Hue continued. “Every time we course-correct, it drifts even more. We’re going in a large circle.”

  “How is that possible?” Zheng asked. “The ship can’t deviate a full degree without our explicit instruction.”

  “That’s what I said,” the chief engineer added.

  “Have you run diagnostics?” Zheng asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the engineer continued. “And all systems are working fine. The rudder angle indicator, helm control, gyro compass, and rate-of-turn indicator are all fully operational.

  “Clearly not!” Zheng shouted. “We’re going in a fucking circle!” He pushed the men aside. “Let me see what’s happening.”

  Holding the joystick, Zheng started to adjust for the drift, but every adjustment created an even bigger problem.

  “It’s as if the ship has a mind of its own,” Zheng said, frustrated. “I hate these updates and overhauls. Something always breaks down. I’m sure something corrupted our systems while we were docked.” Letting go of the joystick, he asked. “What are our options?”

  “We have to shut down all systems,” the chief engineer said “Upload my last backup, and restart all systems one by one.”

  “That’s not an option!” Zheng shouted. “That would take twenty-four hours. The Skjold may be gone by then.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “Maybe it isn’t a steering problem.” He pressed the intercom and ordered his senior officers to the war room, then ordered a full stop. He didn’t want to burn any more fuel.

  Wang Li heard the drowning of the ship’s engines. He opened the door of his cabin and peeked into the bulkhead, finding nothing unusual.

  He hesitated for a moment and stepped out. With strong, confident strides, he made his way to the bridge. He was about to turn onto the bulkhead when he heard Zheng shouting and sounds of steps around the corner. He stood still and waited for the voice to subside and then peeked. Zheng and his senior officers were all heading for the war room, and in their hurry the last officer hadn’t fully shut the door.

  “Why the hell is my ship going in circles?” Zheng demanded of his officers. “Every diagnostic test has come back negative.” They stared straight ahead, unable to provide any answers.

  Just then the war room door swung open.

  Zheng too turned around to see who it was, but no one walked in. “Who the hell is it?” he barked. “Either come in or shut the door.”

  Hesitantly, Wang Li entered and saluted.

  Zheng’s face broke into a disgusted expression. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I-I-I h-heard our engines had stopped and wanted to offer help,” Wang Li stammered.

  Zheng was too angry to deal with him, returning instead to his officers. “I need an answer, now. Why are we going in a circle?”

  The engineer started narrating all the diagnostics he had run and their results.

  “Speed differential,” Wang Li muttered, looking at his shoes.

  Zheng heard Wang Li over the loud voice of the engineer. He lifted his hand to silence the engineer. Turning to Wang Li, he said, “What did you say?”

  “Speed differential,” Wang Li repeated. “Navigating the reefs requires high-speed turns, and our rudders don’t turn us fast enough. We increase the speed of one propeller and reduce the speed of the other, causing the boat to turn at sharper angles.”

  Zheng looked at his chief engineer, who nodded in agreement. “Of course, but I’ve already checked our propeller speeds, and they’re identical to each other.” Mid sentence, he went quiet and started to type on his laptop. “Unless…”

  “Unless, what?’ Zheng asked. “Spit it out.”

  “Unless in the last update, the control chip code got corrupted,” the chief engineer said, reviewing the machine code of the control chips of the engines. “We’re not dealing with corrupted code. We’ve been hacked. Whoever’s done this is highly skilled. The code is extremely sophisticated. It’s made one propeller run faster than the other.”

  “Hacked?” Zheng said. “How?”

  “Not sure, sir,” the chief engineer said. “But we can fix it without rebooting every system. I’ll upload my backup onto the control computer and reboot this system. It’ll take three or four hours at most.”

  “Do it,” Zheng said. He called over an officer from a nearby monitoring station. “Shut down internet access and begin a ship-wide scrub of all computer systems, all the way down to crew laptops, even mine. We’ll use secure protocols to communicate with headquarters for the remainder of the mission.” He then addressed Wang Li. “If I see you in this room uninvited again, I’ll throw you in the brig. Now, return to your quarters.”

  Wang Li saluted and left the war room, unsure why the captain despised him so much.

  ***

  SITTING ON TOP of the dune, Michelangelo and Shiloh waited patiently as daylight broke a
cross the horizon. “I’m going to get into the water with the oxygen tanks,” Michelangelo said. “The others should be surfacing any time now.” He strapped the tanks to his back and waded into the lagoon, swimming into the center and keeping watch for any sign of the team.

  As the water started turning bluish-green and transparent, Michelangelo also saw the big issue—the domed floor would keep the team from surfacing. He started swimming from one end of the lagoon to the other, looking for a weak area where he could punch a hole. After a good deal of searching, he found a four-inch gap about ten feet down, where the blue-green light was brightest. Using the base of an oxygen tank, he started to bang at the hole with all his strength.

  His timing couldn’t have been better. The dive team had just emerged from the opening, the last of their oxygen depleted. Nidal gauged the varying levels of panic setting in on the team’s faces as they struggled to hold their last breaths. He gave his regulator to Charles, relying on his Navy SEAL training to remain calm. A rhythmic banging sound vibrated through the water from above, and he saw debris floating down. Following the debris, he swam up and found a small crack in the bedrock and someone bringing the base of an oxygen tank down. Using his fingers he began to pry at the crack.

  Maria realizing the seriousness of their situation took charge of the team. She knew that even though they were seasoned divers they could only last two to three minutes without oxygen. Making hand gestures she communicated to follow her movements.

  Bending her legs back, she placed her hands behind on her heels. This move arched her back naturally lifting her hips up and stretching her neck back. In yoga it is called the Camel pose, a backbend that creates space around your sternum, elongating the spleen. The reason she had the team do this pose was to activate the spleen to excrete highly oxygenated red blood cells into the bloodstream. This allowed them to hold their breath longer giving them much needed additional minutes.

  While the team looked like convex floating life forms, both Michelangelo and Nidal were able to break the bedrock. The oxygen cylinder came through, and Nidal rushed it back to the team. Fabienne was the first to inhale a deep breath, followed by Charles, Maria, Sebastian, and then himself. After taking a few breaths, Nidal went back to the opening and took the second tank through the same hole.