A Triple Thriller Fest (62 page)

“Yeah, let’s go,” agreed McHugh, downing the last of his coffee and briefly shaking as the caffeine hit his system.

The three friends walked out to the elevator platform where Mike, Anderson, and Carver were busy putting finishing touches on the various instrumentation systems.

On this first bottom dive, McHugh had made the decision that he and Robison would be the two observers to join Anderson and Carver.  Dressed in blue coveralls and long johns, McHugh looked more like an automobile mechanic than someone soon to touch the bottom of one of the deepest parts of the Atlantic Ocean.  Robison had a brown paper bag with him, the kind of brown bag you might get in a department store.  Liu was already dressed in his wet suit.

The
Squid
looked glorious.  It was hard not to fall in love with this sleek machine.  As the crew stood around the
Squid
, Robison brought out his brown paper bag and with a flourish demanded everyone’s attention.

“On this solemn occasion, I think that it is appropriate to celebrate the maiden voyage of the
Squid
.  Therefore, as the mother, father, progenitor and care-taker of the creature we call the
Squid
, I hereby declare her operational.  As a small memento of this moment, I had some shoulder patches and hats embroidered with the
Squid
insignia for each of you and the other members of this mission.”

Someone produced a Polaroid camera and shot some photos of the momentous occasion.

The patch was beautiful.  The royal blue patch was ringed with gold edging, the gold MacAlear logo was intertwined with the tentacles of a white Squid.  Robison started to pass out the hats and the patches.  Sevson stopped him, “Don’t you think it would mean more if the whole kit ‘n caboodle went to the bottom and then up?”

“Hey that’s a good idea, why didn’t I think of that?” said Robison.

“Because you’re a dumb shit, Robison.” explained Sevson with a grin.

Standing off to one side, in a loud stage whisper to Mike, McHugh growled, “Make sure none of that is charged to the United States Navy, Lieutenant Liu.” 

Having said that, McHugh made sure he got his patch which he put into the left breast pocket of his coveralls and his hat which he put on his head with a broad grin.

The brief ceremony completed, the men fell to the tasks at hand.  The crew of the
Squid
climbed on board the submersible and disappeared one by one through the conning tower and into the pressure sphere.  Carver, the last of the four man crew to board the
Squid
, pulled the hatch closed and locked the hatch.  Having donned his SCUBA tank and face mask, Mike plugged the cable for the intercom into the receptacle on the
Squid
.

“How do you read me?” inquired Mike.

“Loud and clear, champ!”

The launching sequence went flawlessly and quickly.  Within what seemed only minutes, the
Squid
was committed to the deep, Mike and the two MacAlear technicians watched as the white color of the submersible gently disappeared into the darkness.

The pinging of the depth sonar increased in frequency as the
Squid
spiraled toward the bottom.  The
Squid
settled gently on the soft bottom, stirring up a cloud of silt, undisturbed for centuries in the quietness of the Hatteras Abyssal Plain.  Until the silt settled, there was nothing that the crew could do but wait.  Anderson switched on the outside lights for a second, but all they saw was the reflection of the dust cloud. 

The time gave McHugh and Robison an opportunity to revisit the topographical maps drawn by McHugh’s oceanographic team at Port Hueneme, California, from data collected by Nematode and the USS
Marysville
.  The plan was for this team to reconnoiter the northern sector of the mysterious object.  Liu and Sevson in a subsequent dive would explore the southern sector.

“From this map, it appears that we have landed about one half mile to the northeast of the object,” said Robison making some rough calculations based on the
Squid’s
descent time and current meter readings.

After the silt cloud had dissipated, Anderson adjusted his buoyancy and ever so slowly lifted off the bottom so as to not kick up any more silt.  Taking his magnetic bearings, adjusted for the magnetic anomaly, Anderson headed the
Squid
southwest, toward the mysterious object that had long tantalized everyone on this mission.

Twenty minutes past and the forward scanning sonar picked up a signal that was unmistakably the object.  As the object drew closer, Anderson turned on the outside flood lamps.  McHugh and Robison reclined on the mats that served as cushions and looked out the forward portholes.

What they saw was a smooth, almost polished black curved surface that extended to the limits of illumination, as far as the eye could see.  Anderson steered the
Squid
on a path that first ran along the edge of the object, it was like walking along a curved wall of black glass.  He then steered the
Squid
up and over the object, again nothing but the same black glassy surface.  There were no cracks, no seams, no doors, no windows, nothing.  Walt conducted temperature, current, salinity, background radiation, and sonar tests - nothing. 

The
Squid
stood off of the object and tried to measure changes in or fall off from any of the readings - nothing.  Only the metastable helium magnetometer showed any indication of the presence of the object, the readings correlated with the earlier surface and over-flight data.  Anderson and Carver used the depth sounding sonar to construct a profile of the object.  The shape was that of a gigantic oval object, no seams, no bumps, no doors, no windows, no anything. 

“Damn, that thing is just not real.  Nothing real could be that smooth,” exclaimed a mystified McHugh. 

“You know what you said topside, Bob?” said Robison.

“Yeah?”

“I think we’re in deep shit,” replied Robison.

Using the strobe lights and television camera, Robison took multiple shots of the smooth, grayish-black curved structure, the size of a football field.  The height of the object was about fifty feet from the silt bottom; there was no way to determine how deep the object sat in the silt.  Bathymetric readings from the USS
Marysville
suggested that the object sat in the center of what might have been an impact crater but the centuries had softened even that conclusion.

The time went too quickly, and soon Carver announced that they had overstayed their welcome and would have to leave.  Anderson dumped his ballast and the
Squid
began its upward spiral home.

The R/V
Falling Star
stayed on station for about a week and multiple visits were made to the mysterious object.  Eventually, Mike was also given a chance to see the mysterious object first hand.  The profound impact of this perfectly smooth massive object lying on the ocean bottom would send shock waves through the intelligence establishment. Unfortunately for Sevson and Robison, their scientific reports were cloaked in the highest levels of secrecy and would never be published.  However, both Sevson and Robison asked for and got funding to conduct similar research in non sensitive regions thereby giving them cover for reporting on these tremendous engineering advances in ocean exploration.  The curtain of state secrets fell quickly on the mysterious object in the Hatteras Abyssal Plain.  Mike and McHugh continued to work on the project from their offices in Port Hueneme.

1000 Hours: Monday, September 16, 1969: Port Hueneme, California

“Come in, Mike,” said McHugh.

Mike entered McHugh’s office.  With McHugh were two men dressed in civilian suits.  The three seemed to have been engaged in discussion about something but ceased when Mike knocked on McHugh’s door.  The three men were seated, McHugh behind his desk and his two visitors on the side chairs.

“Have a seat, Mike,” said McHugh.  “These two men are from Naval Intelligence.  They would like to talk to us.  Seems we blundered into something much bigger than we thought.  Mike, this is Commander Richard Thompson and Lieutenant Robert Cohen.  Gentlemen, Lieutenant Mike Liu.”

“Mister Liu,” spoke the older of the two.  “The object located on the Hatteras Abyssal Plain, appears to be one of several located around the continental United States.  After your work with Commander McHugh, we went back to our magnetometer surveys and found the same anomaly in three other locations, they escaped detection simply because their magnetic signature is only noticeably detectable during low altitude flights and no one understood their significance like that fellow Evans did here.  Despite his hot rod flying, Buck Morrow’s flying antics have enabled us to stumble on to something of mind boggling consequence.

“While we are now satisfied that they are not of Russian origin, we quite frankly do not know how or when they were placed in their locations.  The work that you and Bob McHugh have done has contributed to our knowledge immensely.  However, in order to integrate the data in the most expeditious fashion possible, we need your expertise.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” asked a puzzled Mike.

“Lieutenant Liu, both Lieutenant Cohen and I are actually from an interagency group called CSAC whose charter is to conduct investigations no other agency can or on its own could conduct,” said Thompson.  “We have been instructed to invite you and Commander McHugh to join our efforts.”

“What does CSAC stand for?”

“That is classified, as is its very existence.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Normally, CSAC agents come from one or another of the service intelligence agencies, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Secret Service, the Federal Alcohol and Firearms Department, or the Central Intelligence Agency.  As a result, those agents can assimilate quickly into the structure.  However, in your case coming from regular navy duty and all, we will have to train you in forensics, criminal investigation, technical knowhow, firearms etc.  When your duty permits it you will be sent TDY to the FBI training academy in Quantico, Virginia, for the basics.

“Your cover will be that you have joined the Office of Naval Intelligence.  Oh, by the way, how do you feel about carrying a gun?”

1100 Hours: Tuesday, May 24, 1970: Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico

Edward McIntyre got out of his jeep and walked over to the military policeman standing near the parking lot to the detention barracks.

“Who’s that?” asked McIntyre, a Captain in the Air Force.

“Some Navajo shepherd,” replied the Airman, “one of the investigators thinks he might have some information of interest.”

“Doesn’t look very happy,” commented McIntyre as he went into the detention barracks to pick up some files.

The Navajo was taken into the detention barracks by the Air Force investigator through the back entrance.

1970-1993: The Intervening Years

The existence of the mysterious objects had been uncovered during an ordinary geomagnetic profiling flight over the western Atlantic Ocean in the late Sixties.  The flights were commissioned by the Oceanographer of the Navy for ostensibly scientific purposes and called, “Project Magnet.”

Project Magnet’s true purpose had been to profile the background magnetic signature of the waters adjoining the continental United States to facilitate anti-submarine warfare.  The nuclear submarine force of the United Socialist Soviet Republics prowled the seas off the coast of America waiting for orders to launch ballistic missiles aimed at strategic targets onshore.  Knowing the magnetic background allowed the U.S. Navy to detect and monitor these forces and to deploy submarine, surface and airborne deterrents.  The P-3B Orions were a principal component of the Navy’s ASW capability.

Some cowboy Orion pilot flying the deck had stumbled onto something unimaginable.  That something was called the Morrow Affair before the federal government was able to hush it forever.  Certain key participants in the Morrow Affair were suddenly transferred to parts unknown.  Navy Lieutenant Commander Thomas Morrow, considered by many to be too unreliable to keep the secret, was sent to Vietnam, where he performed as a fighter pilot outstandingly, but with tragic result.

This discovery and later verification of four mysterious objects located in the waters around the United States initiated an urgent agenda to determine what and why they were there.  Although attempts were made to try to determine if similar objects existed in other parts of the world, none were ever found.

Given the geo-political climate of that period, a nation could not simply fly over territorial waters of another and conduct the types of surveillance that was needed to detect such objects.  Even the intelligence services of the United States were unable to gather any information that could help CSAC in discerning the existence of other similar objects in other parts of the world.  If they existed, the countries that knew they had them did not share such knowledge.

Initially, funds were established to only deploy remote sensing devices on the ocean floor.  The information they gathered was transmitted through cables to surface vessels, some disguised as ocean tugs or, even, lighthouses such as the Ambrose vessels. 

Because of the enormity of what the objects or “Sentinels” as they came to be called could signify, this system of remote sensing was eventually replaced with manned stations located adjacent to the objects on the bottom.  Called “Watch Stations,” the manned, pressurized habitats were commissioned by the Navy and staffed with its personnel.

Under the guise of exploring “inner space,” the government mounted a substantial monitoring program when initial efforts to identify their origin had proven fruitless.  Construction of these ocean-bottom monitoring stations was facilitated by a secret fleet of ocean vessels outfitted with clandestine launching bays.  The public disclosure of one of these vessels, the
Glomar Explorer
, had been unfortunate, but was put to rest as an attempt to raise sunken Soviet submarines.  The ruse was quickly accepted in the era of U.S.-Soviet confrontation called the Cold War.