“What’s TSCW?”
“It means a Top Secret Code Word clearance specific to this mission.”
“Did he say what the code word or mission was?”
“Only that the mission is called Operation Deep Force nothing more. My clearance doesn’t extend into the black world yet so he couldn’t tell me what the code word is or what you’ll be doing.”
I rubbed my eyes thinking it was too early. I must be dreaming. It was all beyond my comprehension so early in the morning.
“Oh, and he said the contracting company is called the Poseidon Corporation. Still interested?”
Stunned, my mind tried to absorb the information it heard. Usually bigger money meant a greater risk and mystery and there was that word again: Poseidon. The word slammed my thoughts back to my Navy days at Point Mugu dodging Poseidon’s Palace in the ocean depths talking around it rather than about it as if it didn’t exist. Could it possibly be the same entity? It had been over ten years since I last heard that name and it still sent chills up my spine.
Before I could answer, the towering eucalyptus trees out his office window began to blow wildly in a whirlwind like pompoms in a cheerleader’s hand. Gradually a low rumble vibrated the room softly at first and then more violently as the landing gear and fuselage of a VTOL aircraft appeared through the window descending drifting down to the open field outside.
“That will be our contract,” he said calmly. Turning to watch its props wind down he frowned.
“They sent another tilt-rotor craft just like the one that brought you back from the Trident Tine. Gotta repair that damn ball field again.”
I had moved to the window and was standing beside him when I noticed a familiar sight. Carlos was right. It was an Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft like the one from before. Then I realized the tail number was the same: N0099. On further examination, I saw a familiar face staring out from the cockpit. It was Lt. Bill Harper the Navy pilot from that trip.
Recognizing him I exclaimed, “My God that’s Harper! It is the same plane and pilot as before. From the Tine. Wonder if he’s still flying out from there.”
Carlos stood and walked out into the hallway.
“Let’s go find out. Follow me,” he said.
Having to double step to keep up I wound several paces behind him through the halls toward the entrance. Ignoring the chain-saw catcalls that came from the offices we passed I knew my friends and coworkers were just razzing me. It was a ritual at MBORC to ruffle the feathers of anyone newly placed in the spotlight so it came as no surprise. I had done the same for most of them when they won or successfully completed contracts. This was my second time in the spotlight and it was growing on me.
Chapter 3. Rendezvous
We met them on the entrance steps before they entered our building. My old friend Bill Harper was the first to approach and extend his hand. I shook with him and noticed the shiny gold oak leaf clusters gracing his shoulders.
“Hey, Bill, good to see you again,” I said. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander, on the promotion.”
Grinning from eye to eye he replied, “Thanks, Matt. Great to see you too. How’ve you been? Obviously busy.”
Even though we were reuniting after only three months, it seemed like years since we together faced imminent death but by the grace of God lived through it. Those terrifying memories were bittersweet and reminded me that my tasks were often life threatening but controllably so. I lived for the excitement of days like that but I could never tell when they were coming. I expected this was one of those days.
“Yeah I guess. Simple jobs but still busy.”
Motioning back, I added, “I was just promoted to Tech VP of MBORC today after all this time. Guess we did good huh? But I’m not really sure if the promotion’s for what I did or what I’m about to do.”
He answered with a wink and chuckle.
“It’s amazing what we have to do for a promotion isn’t ---”
Carlos pulled on my sleeve dragging my attention to the two-star naval officer standing behind me.
“Admiral Greenfield, meet Matt Cross.”
He was everything I expected in a high-ranking naval officer: tall, graying hair and beard, meticulous in his appearance and almost a spitting image of Sean Connery. As a commercial once said his dress whites were whiter than white. All that I needed was to hear him speak with a Russian accent completing my image of Captain Marco Ramius, commander of the Red October hunted by the USS Dallas in my favorite book.
“Good morning, sir. My pleasure,” I said, starting to salute. Then I caught myself and redirected my hand toward him for a handshake, trying not to appear too obvious. The Navy routine I had recently endured rushed back to me attempting to change my civilian reflexes. I had a feeling it would become an even greater influence in the upcoming mission back aboard another naval ship or whatever vessel Operation Deep Force involved.
He shifted his briefcase to his left hand, shook my hand, and looked me over.
“Hello, Mr. Cross. So you’re the genius diver that left our Navy and then outplayed us on that pi-day scenario. It’s truly a delight to meet such a naval-minded civilian.”
His comment confused me not knowing if it was a compliment or sarcasm. I did know that I detected a slight northeastern U.S. accent probably from Massachusetts or somewhere nearby and his was the voice on the phone from my early morning call.
Carlos laughed trying to break the awkward silence.
“Well, Admiral, we have him now and I just promoted him within our organization. He’s now a VP.”
Frowning, the Admiral darted his attention to him.
“Now, Mr. Montoya, does that mean that he can no longer get his hands dirty with our work?”
“Oh of course not, Admiral. It means he now has to get every part of his body dirty,” he scoffed.
Greenfield lifted his mood showing a sly smile.
“Good that’s what I want to hear.” Then looking back my way he said, “Well then, let’s get down to business. Carlos, lead the way.”
Standing with us Harper begged off the meeting excusing himself for some time on the beach.
“Gonna catch some rays and maybe a few seashells gentlemen. When you need me Admiral just buzz.”
Greenfield nodded his consent as Harper saluted and walked away.
Meandering up the stairs and down the hall toward the conference room, I kept thinking Why is the Admiral here now? He was supposed to call me at noon on the secure phone. My lack of filtering reared its ugly head again but I couldn’t help it.
“Admiral, you said on the phone this morning that you would call me at noon. Has something changed since then? I mean you’re here in California now and you were in Florida when you called right?”
He stopped and turned to me. With fiery eyes, he growled back.
“Now, mister, do you think I just flew over two-thousand miles across country in the back seat of a goddamned F-4 Phantom fighter jet at twice the speed of sound then suffered another hour on that damn vibrating whirly-bird out there just to save a phone call? Hell yes things have changed!”
Obviously, I had touched a nerve. I could almost see steam coming from his ears so I retreated hoping this was not a harbinger of things to come.
“Sorry, Admiral. I misspoke.” I felt ten inches tall after his lambasting, wanting to disappear into a passing room as he turned and continued behind Carlos. Thinking just a few more minutes and he’ll sign the contract and be gone I carried on waiting for his pen to mark the paper.
The conference room was dark, quiet, and cluttered with the last meeting’s remnants: coffee cups, stirrers, and candy wrappers.
After we entered, Carlos set about clearing the table with a speed I had never seen before. The Admiral looked over at me and nodded toward him as if urging me to help. Unfortunately, I moved too slowly.
“C’mon, Matt, get your ass over here and help me out,” he yelled. “Nobody around here cleans up after themselves anymore. You�
��d think my staff of genius scientists could pick up their own trash. After this I’m putting up a big damn sign in here that says ‘your mother doesn’t work here.’”
A chuckle from the front of the room reminded me that the Admiral was still waiting patiently watching our cleaning party. I thought it funny that my boss was so intent on cleaning the table ignoring the Admiral when we could have just used the uncluttered end to seal the contract. There were plenty of chairs for that and they were all clean.
“Now, Matt, for example look at that: a Payday wrapper,” Carlos snapped. “I know you’re the only one on our staff who eats Payday bars. Pick it up!”
As I swiped the wrapper and a nearby Styrofoam cup from the table, the Admiral spoke breaking his cleaning frenzy.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ve been on planes, more planes, and automobiles without a head for hours. Can one of you please point me to the nearest one?”
Obliging his request, I walked into the hall and directed him two doors down to the right. Normally our visitors didn’t carry their briefcases with them into the restrooms but he did. I wondered why.
Stepping away, he turned back to me.
“Oh, Mr. Cross, would you mind having coffee served when I return? The flight attendant services in our Navy planes suck especially in fighter jets. I need some caffeine.”
Smiling I returned to Carlos and relayed his request.
“Well get on it, VP Cross,” he said to me. “You’re on a fast track to fame and fortune now. Might as well work for it.”
His sarcasm confused me; it didn’t make sense that he would put me in this position then begrudge me the honor. Maybe he had been pressured to put me there. Maybe he was expanding the chain of command at someone’s request and felt bitter. On the other hand, maybe he was just having a bad day. I couldn’t tell. I let it pass and called his secretary for a pot of fresh coffee.
Chapter 4. Devil’s in the Details
Admiral Greenfield returned to a spic-and-span conference room while we sat waiting as if nothing had happened.
“Coffee’s coming,” I said.
He smiled and sat beside me, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a cell phone.
“Got to check my messages. Excuse me a moment.”
Five minutes later, having cleared his message queue he discussed his trip with us but avoided contract details waiting for the coffee to arrive. Soon Suzie entered with a coffee service, placed it on the table, and handed Carlos a manila folder.
“Here’s the proposal with the emergency RFP mods submitted earlier by Admiral Greenfield’s group.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Greenfield barked. “I have a five o’clock tee time back in Florida with my boss at SOCOM. He’ll want to know what happened here.”
Carlos pulled the contract from the folder. By our standards it was thin probably only ten or fifteen pages. I had seen thicker ones for salvaging civilian wrecks for much less cost.
“Well, Admiral,” he said, “it’s quite unusual to have such a short turnaround time on a request for proposal but I think I’ve adequately covered your needs and the mods your office submitted from Florida this morning. It should be to your liking.”
Sliding metal-rimmed reading glasses from his coat pocket, he took the contract and flipped to the last page.
“Eight million dollars!”
He recoiled then settled back in his seat paging to the Technical Objectives section.
“Hmm.” Then came another “Hmm.” Checking my watch, I noticed he continued for four minutes turning pages in between his almost irritating hums. Since I had never seen it but was told it was a dummy salvage contract, I was more than curious what all the humming was about.
“Well, it seems to be all here, Mr. Montoya, but why has the cost risen? It’s not what we originally discussed.”
“With all due respect, Admiral, the letters QRT in your RFP mods did that. Putting Mr. Cross on your quick response team will cost me lots of money; it means he will have to be replaced on his current contracts and then we will also lose his valuable expertise promoting new jobs.”
My suspicions were being confirmed about my bargaining pawn status and I wasn’t too pleased.
“How fast is the quick response?” I inquired afraid to hear the answer. “I mean when do I start?”
Carlos glanced at the Admiral and nodded then stared back at me.
“There is a dire emergency with an undersea government installation which needs your assistance now, Matt,” he said. “They need you to travel out on the Osprey today to an undisclosed location and begin working your deep-sea miracles now.”
Choking on the coffee I had just sipped I still managed to respond.
“Today? Now?” I asked, trying to remain rational. Rather than throwing a tantrum, as I wanted to do I bit my tongue and decided to talk it out.
“Now, Carlos, Admiral Greenfield, I admit that I’m a driven man but this is ridiculous. I mean I need to tell my wife. I don’t have clothes for a trip, not even a toothbrush. I---”
Greenfield held up his hand halting my objections.
“That is all taken care of, Mr. Cross,” he said. “You will be given everything you need for up to a month’s existence in our facility where you will live, work, and attempt to solve our crisis all at a thousand meters below the surface. As for your other concern, Mr. Cross, I’ll personally call your wife on my flight back to Florida.”
I was livid at not having been told beforehand that this was in the works but I had a feeling Greenfield was as surprised as I was at the new urgency. Besides calming my anger, the details of the task sounded interesting to me. I couldn’t help it. What self-respecting deep-sea oceanographer would turn down an offer to live in an undersea habitat for a month? I had visions of a deep-sea space station and I would be an aquanaut living there: surely the height of my career.
“What’s this facility called? Maybe I’ve heard of it,” I asked.
The Admiral cleared his throat and sipped coffee.
“I highly doubt it but the onboard crew calls it Discovery One in honor of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 spacecraft; its code name is Sea Station Umbra. Heard of that?”
I thought back racking my brain for any association to the name but there was nothing.
“No sir, can’t say that I do,” then I added, “but it sounds interesting.” I knew I’d hate myself in the morning for saying that but it just came out unfiltered as usual.
“What else can you tell me, Admiral?” I asked pressing further.
He looked at Carlos then slid the contract in front of him, took a pen from his breast pocket and signed it.
“We’ll discuss that on the plane, Mr. Cross, since Carlos doesn’t have the necessary clearance. I am duty bound though to tell you that only one-hundred individuals on this planet know of its existence and of those, only thirty six know why it’s there and what it does. You, Mr. Cross, will be number thirty seven.”
“I’ll assume everything that I’m hearing is Top Secret and handle it accordingly,” Carlos offered.
“That’d be a good assessment, Mr. Montoya. Going further into the description will require SCI codeword clearances. Matt now has those and will learn more of the mission later today.”
He poured himself another cup and pulled out a bank’s checkbook ledger from his case. His pen was soon upon a blank check; his hand writing a number with many zeroes.
Ignoring the number but noticing the embossed Poseidon Corporation letters on the check’s header I was taken back again into unwelcome thoughts.
Caught in the path of a downhill rolling boulder with my curiosity and ego urging it along I knew I was going to do this and enjoy it too. Lindy was right: I was hopelessly engrossed in my work always leaving her second in line but neither of us had foreseen the urgency of this new mission and my orders for immediate deployment. Sharing my ‘thrill of the chase’ as she called it, she had often displayed the same fervor in her television reporti
ng assignments but we had never left each other without saying goodbye and kissing for good luck. This would be the first time. Could I survive the guilt much less the danger of the mission? I had to try.
Then my guilt crept deeper. Just last month, I had promised her that we would be vacationing in Big Bear with the Briscoes in June but that plan was now on hold. Maybe a Fourth of July holiday trip I thought, appeasing my derelict conscience but still seeking a concrete justification. It came seconds later.
“Here’s the binder, Carlos, four million dollars,” Greenfield said holding out a check. “The balance will be paid on your successful completion of the contract.”
With a noticeably trembling hand, Carlos took the check and called out the door.
“Suzie, come in here please.”
I suspected from his reaction it was the largest lump-sum payment he had ever received. He tried to act nonchalant at the amount but failed miserably: I could see his excitement from the sweat forming on his forehead and his jittery hands.
She appeared within seconds.
“What is it, Mr. Montoya?”
“Please place this in my safe. Top shelf.”
“Yes sir.”
She took the check, glanced at it, and mouthed “Wow!” on the way out. Seconds later, I overheard a commotion coming from her desk: quiet cheers with muted whoops.
Abruptly the Admiral called Harper on his cell phone dropped it into his briefcase and closed it taking it from the table.
Standing he said, “I assume that completes our transaction today, Mr. Montoya. With your consent I’ll be leaving now and taking Mr. Cross with me.”
It was time. Precursors leading up to this point had just been talk. Now I found myself a kidnapping victim for an eight-million-dollar ransom. Against my will, I forced myself to rise and join the Admiral in the conference room doorway.
“Let me see you out. Need to hit the head before you leave?” Carlos asked looking at both of us.
Sea Station Umbra Page 2
