Breakthrough (16 page)

26

President Carr stood in the White House conference room, facing the large monitor with his arms folded across his chest.  He watched the video of Keister and Clay speaking with Palin.  Behind him around the large table sat Stevas, Miller, Langford, Clay, Keister, and his military chiefs.  The video ended with Palin scooting his chair back and the screen came to an abrupt end, frozen on the last frame of the video.  Carr remained staring at the picture as the room fell silent.  He slowly began shaking his head.  “What in the hell are we dealing with here?” he said, turning around.  Carr leaned forward, putting his hands on the table.  “I mean Jesus,” he raised his voice, “do we even know whether this man is a friend or not?!”  He looked around the table.  “Well?!”

Stevas spoke up.  “We need to assume
not
.”  He continued when the President looked at him.  “We cannot be sure of anything which means we have to assume the worst.  This ring is huge, far larger than they would need to bring just a thousand people through.  I don’t believe for a minute they have been here long.  I think they came through and got caught before they could bring whatever comes through next!”

“So you’re saying what then?” asked the President.

“I’m saying we need to take action while we still can.”

“And what kind of action are we talking about?”

Stevas glanced around the room.  “We destroy the damn thing.”

Clay looked at
Langford who managed to remain completely still.

“Destroy the ring?” asked Miller, sitting across from him.

Stevas nodded.  “Shut down the portal.  Destroy it and by doing so we cut them off.”

Clay could not believe his ears.  He looked at the military brass at the end of the table, and they seemed as un-phased as
Langford.  Was Clay the only one who thought Stevas had just gone off the deep end?

“Just like that?” replied Miller. 

“That’s right,” Stevas said, looking back to the President.  “Look, we have to be preemptive here.  If we do it right we close down any possibility they have to attack us and with luck we trap them here as leverage.”  The President did not answer.  He was considering Stevas’ point.  “At the very least that buys us time.”

Miller frowned. “Time for what?”

“To prepare, in case they come back.  A defense, for Christ sake!”

Miller remained skeptical.  “Wait a minute, how do they come back if we destroy this thing on our end?”

Stevas looked surprised by the question.  He clearly did not have an answer.  In fact, Clay wondered if he had even considered that.  How could the President be listening to this man?  Clay cleared his throat and everyone in the room turned to him.

“Excuse me,” he said slowly.  “But I think we may be overlooking some things here.”  Stevas gave him a cold stare, but Clay ignored him and asked the question anyway.  “Surely we don’t believe they would be incapable of returning if we destroyed the ring.  After all they got here before without a ring on this side.  We don’t know how they would, but if they did come back shouldn’t we expect them to be a little…upset?”

Stevas’ stare grew even colder.

“And shouldn’t we be concerned at the ramifications of destroying this portal?”

Stevas looked hard at Clay when he replied.  “Our experts don’t think there will be any negative side effects.  We’re just pulling the plug.”

Miller broke in.  “Who?  Who doesn’t think so?”

Stevas turned to Miller with a slow and deliberate reply.  “Experts.”

Langford
looked at Stevas. “And how are you envisioning we destroy this ring?”

The Naval chief, Bruce Bishop, leaned forward at the other end of the table.  “Subs.”  Everyone turned to Bishop.  “We can have the ring surrounded with two dozen Trident submarines inside of twenty-four hours.”

Clay’s heart sank.  This sounded like something that had already been planned out and they were now just trying to sound objective for formality.

“They probably have some kind of defense, so launching a large number of torpedoes gives us the best chance of getting through.  The intent is to do just enough damage to stop it from spinning.
”

Everyone turned to the President who had remained quiet.  He looked down thinking and finally raised his head.  “Any other opinions?”

Clay had to keep himself from jumping out of his chair.  “Uh…yes sir,” he said raising his hand.  “How about
not
doing that?”  It was not meant to be funny, but Clay could see Langford’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.  Clay looked at the others.  “I don’t understand.  We know virtually nothing about this man, or these people, yet we are willing to start a war because we
think
they are going to attack us?”

“Tell me Mr. Clay,” said the President as he straightened, “how would you explain yourself to the country, to the world, if you are wrong?  How would you explain it to them if we are attacked and you did nothing with what little time you had available?”

In his mind, the chance of an imminent attack was low and based on virtually no information.  In fact, the information Stevas chose to cite was handpicked from everything else they knew.  He denied the claim on how long they had been here, but he happily accepted as fact that the portal was from another planet.  He would not accept the idea that they were here for a more benign reason, but he certainly accepted that there was a small number of them.  He was choosing specific items to make his case and throwing out the rest, all while using everyone’s fear of the small chance he was right.  Clay suspected he simply wanted to attack, but why?

“Mr. President,”
Langford interrupted, putting a cautious hand on the table next to Clay’s.  “I think what John is getting at here is to remind us that we make the best decisions when we have the most accurate information.  In this case, we have very little information which means any decision we make now could easily be a bad one.”

“Sir,” Clay continued, “a lot of our information to date suggests there may be other possibilities here, and not all necessarily dangerous.”

“Which means what?” Stevas chided from across the table.  “We give them the benefit of the doubt?”

Neither
Langford nor Clay even bothered to look at Stevas.  Instead they kept their attention on the President.  “Not the benefit of the doubt sir, just time to gather more information and make the best decision possible.”

“Alright,” said the President.  “Then get me some more information.”

“Yes sir,” Langford replied.

“I presume you’re referring
to this remote sub of yours?” he asked.

Langford
nodded.  “We think it may hold significantly more information on it.”

“Do we know where it is?” the President asked.

Langford looked at Clay who nodded.  “Yes sir.”

The President leaned forward again onto the table, leveling his gaze directly at Clay.  “Then go get it!”

27

The K-955 submersible was the smallest and fastest submarine in the Navy.  Designed primarily for research and recovery
, the small craft housed a maximum of four people which left two empty seats behind Clay and Caesare.  Together inside, they ran through a complete systems check.  The water from outside sloshed up over the forward window while they bobbed back and forth on the surface of the Caribbean Sea. 

Several miles from where they were hoping to find the Triton II was as far as Captain Emerson was willing to get with the Pathfinder.  He could not believe it when he read his instructions from the Pentagon that Clay and Caesare were headed back out.  Emerson and his crew barely had time to accept the transfer of the K-955 from a sister ship before the helicopter dropped the two men back onto his foredeck.  He greeted them by simply shaking his head.

Navy SEALs, including ex-SEALs, had a reputation for being a little crazy.  Clay expected they had just that reputation in Emerson’s mind.  He looked to his right where Caesare was holding a manual up and verifying the locations of the various instruments.  “How does your side look?” 

Caesare shrugged.  “Good.  Pretty straight forward actually.”  He looked to the left side.  “How about you?”

Clay nodded. “Not bad.” He gripped the control stick in front of him.  “Stick will take a little getting used to.”

“We’ve got,” Caesare looked back over his shoulder at a digital read-out behind them, “a full charge which should give us about a twenty to thirty mile range.”  He looked forward again.  “We also have full oxygen which should last well beyond that, especially without two more sets of lungs behind us.  I think we’re about ready.”

Clay reached up and tested the hatch seal by trying to turn the large metal wheel.   He then moved the microphone on his headset closer to his mouth.  “Pathfinder, this is ‘Saint Bernard.’”

“Go ahead Saint Bernard
,” came Tay’s voice through their headphones.

“We are checked out and ready to
launch,” Clay said.

“Roger that.  Release at will.” 

With a quick nod, Clay reached up to a large red handle above them and wrapped his hand through.  “Releasing now,” he said and pulled down hard.  There was only a slight dip when the sub detached from the arm, since it was already floating on the surface under its own buoyancy.  The sub began to roll to the right just as Caesare engaged the main motor, giving it instant propulsion and causing the roll to correct itself.  As the small sub surged forward, the waves that were lapping across the front, bubbled window suddenly rushed up and over the top causing the front to dip slightly.  Clay kept his right hand on the stick and slowly inched it forward increasing their speed.  He then lowered the small flaps on the tail which increased their dive angle, and the K-955 smoothly slipped below the surface. 

“Feels good,
” remarked Clay.

“Good,
” said Caesare, looking down as his notebook.  “We need a heading of 131 degrees.”

Clay turned until the directional indicator matched.

“At this rate,” continued Caesare, “we should reach the bottom in about eight minutes.”

The bottom of the Caribbean Sea, or at least this part of it, was rather boring.  As many of the coral reefs passed beneath them, so did vast stretches of white fields of sand.  Past ninety feet deep, Caesare activated the ultra-bright LEDs ringing the front of the sub so they could see further in front of them.  The K-955 skimmed over several shelves which dropped below into patches of dark coral and more of the large fields of sand.

Thirty minutes later
something appeared on the small green screen in front of Caesare.  “Looks like we have a large object a few degrees off to port.  About three hundred yards ahead.”

Clay gave a gentle turn and inched off the throttle, allowing the sub to slow.  He continued forward at a reduced speed and
eased up completely as the object got closer and closer to the center of Caesare’s screen.

“Just about on it…” he said slowly.  “Okay, reverse throttle and stop.”

The tiny sub slowed to a gentle stop.  Both men looked forward through the small bubble, peering closely at the sandy bottom.  Several patches of green plant life poked up and were scattered randomly around them.  They slowly waved back and forth in the ocean’s gentle current.  Clay gave the stick a tiny tap and inched the craft forward.

Caesare stretched to look out to the side.  “We should be
right
on top of it.”

“I see something
,” said Clay.  “He dipped the front forward and pushed a button which forced a strong burst of current out from just beneath the sub’s belly.  The current pushed a large amount of sand and soil away but caused a cloud to temporarily envelop the area.  They waited patiently as it dispersed.  Just below them was a very large and rusted metal anchor.”

“Crap.”  Caesare leaned back in his seat.  “
We’re oh for four.”

“Well on the bright side at least th
e Triton should be easy to spot,”  Clay said.  “Even if it drove itself head first into the sand it should still be sticking out like a sore thumb.”

“What a relief,
” Caesare said sarcastically as he wiped off some condensation from the window in front of him.  “You know-” he was suddenly cut off when their sub rocked from side to side.  “What was that?”

Clay shook his head.  “I don’t know.”  He leaned forward and looked out the window at the brightly lit sand.

“Are we in a cross current?”

Clay frowned.  “At this depth, I doubt it.”  Outside the sub, the sand remained still.  The small cloud created by the sub a few minutes earlier had almost completely settled.  Their sub rocked again, harder.

“Whoa!” Caesare said bracing himself against the side window and ceiling of the sub.  He and Clay looked at each other.  “Are you sure?”

Clay was puzzled.  He grabbed the handle of the forward exterior light and rotated it around in front of them.  He spotted some coral ahead and inched the sub forward.  The sub glided to within fifty feet of coral reef covered by a variety of plant life, some of which were long tendril shaped flutes jutting up from the rock base.  “Look.”

Caesare followed his gaze through the front window and out to the plants beyond.  “They’re barely moving.”

“Exactly.” 

“Strange.”  Caesare looked out the side window and back behind them.  Maybe we’re in some kind of channel.  He turned back around when the small green screen beeped again.  Another object was showing on the radar like screen.  “Got another one.  Could this be lucky number five?”

They sped up and glided over the coral then down the other side and across another patch of sand.

“A few degrees north,” Caesare said.

Ahead, a larger ridge of coral rose above the sand which Clay skirted and angled away to starboard.  Something in the distance reflected the sub’s bright light which prompted Clay to ease up on the stick.  “This one isn’t buried,” he said.  As they neared, the object became brighter indicating a highly reflective material or a relatively clean surface. 

“Looks about the right size.”

“It sure does.”  Clay let off the stick again to let the water slow the sub’s speed to a crawl.  After several more seconds, the unmistakable shape of the Triton II materialized in front of them with its nose deep in the sand.

“Thar she blows!” declared Caesare.

Clay nodded.  “Thank god.  I was beginning to have my doubts.”  Something occurred to him
and he turned to Caesare.  “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ll be headed back tonight!”

“No,” Clay said, “the dolphins were right.  We found it…” he looked at the GPS coordinates, “not more than a quarter mile from where they said it was.  This validates the team’s translation system.”

“That’s true,
” Caesare nodded.  “Wait.” he said with a raised eyebrow.  “Did somebody claim it didn’t work?”

“I forgot to tell you that part.”  Clay inched up to the Triton and pulled back on the stick to stop them completely.  “Stevas tried pretty hard to discredit them.  It seems their information didn’t necessarily mesh which his
larger view
.”

“You’re kidding.  What did he say?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t repeat the conversation.  Let’s just say that he is
aggressively
considering our options.”

Caesare shook his head.  “How did that guy ever make it to that position?  Makes me really doubt the system sometimes.”  He turned on another set of lights flooding the area directly below and grabbed the handle of their craft’s articulating arm.  He gave Clay a smile.  “Shall we make our pickup?”

Slowly from underneath the submersible, a long articulating arm unfolded and extended outward.  Caesare controlled it from inside the sub, his fingers wrapped around and through the complex handle.  The thin metal arm stretched out in front of the window reaching for the Triton sitting silently in the sand.  

“Easy does it
,” Caesare mumbled to himself.

Clay kept his hand steady on the stick, trying to maintain perfect buoyancy and keep the sub as still as possible.

The long, crab-shaped claw on the end of the arm approached the rear end of the Triton.  Caesare slowly twisted his handle which caused the claw to twist in the same direction.  He pushed it forward again and tried to loop the larger half of the claw under the Triton’s propeller.  After several attempts, he finally managed to wrap the claw up through a small gap near the rear stabilizing fin.  Tightening his grip caused the claw to close and grab the Triton’s tail.  Very slowly, he pulled on the handle simultaneously retracting the metal arm.  The Triton did not move.  Caesare pulled harder, careful not to loosen his grip.  The Triton still did not move. 

Clay continued watching his instruments and tried to keep the K-955 still.

“Damn,” said Caesare, “this thing really managed to burrow itself in.”  He pulled harder and finally the sand surrounding the buried end of Triton began to move.  More of the sand fell away and the Triton came free.  The rest of the sand slowly fell away as it slid out. 

“Nice,” said Clay.  “Now bring it in and we-” suddenly their sub shook violently and a powerful surge sent them and the sub smashing into the
mound of sand.  “What the hell?!”  Clay struggled to regain control.  He pulled back on the stick reversing the motor but the craft was dragging backward.  Clay looked out and then up through a small window on top.   “What the hell is wrong with our buoyancy?”  He looked at the instruments.  “Are we taking in water?”  Clay was referring to the K-955’s buoyancy tanks which filled with water to increase the sub’s underwater weight and allow it to descend.  To rise, the pilot would inject high pressure air into the tanks, forcing some of the heavy water out and increasing the craft’s buoyancy.  Neutral buoyancy was that combination of air and water that provided the perfect weight and allowed the craft to remain at a desired level.  Clay had suddenly lost control of it.  He could barely move the sub which now felt stuck to the sandy bottom.  He pushed a button above the control stick, increasing the air and decreasing their weight.  The hiss of the high pressure air could be heard from below and outside the cockpit.

Caesare quickly shifted from side to side as they hit the ground and rolled sideways.  He tried to brace himself with his only free hand, the other still on the articulating
arm’s handle.  He was trying desperately not to lose his grip on the Triton which was bobbing back and forth like a giant fish trying to escape his clutch.  His forearm tightened while he squeezed as hard as he could.

Clay jammed the control stick back and forth trying to
keep the craft from dragging.  They were becoming more buoyant but it was too slow.  Something caught Clay’s eye from above.  He looked up into the darkened water, the sunlight from above now only a dull pinpoint far above them.  He kept looking until he saw it again.  “This isn’t a current,” he said to Caesare.  “I think we have company.”

“What?!”  Caesare twisted his head trying unsuccessfully to look through the small window above.  “What is it?!”

“I don’t know,” said Clay.  Again, they were suddenly slammed back against the ocean bottom.  The K-955 groaned under the impact with a loud metal reverberation behind them.  He looked up again just as a giant shadow passed above them.  “Whatever it is, it’s big.”

“We’ve got to get out of here.”  Caesare looked at Clay.  “Do we drop the Triton?”

“No way,”  Clay’s eyes narrowed.  “I’m not going down for this thing again.  Hold on!”  He pushed the stick forward and slammed his other hand down on the button, pushing more water out of the tanks in a loud rush of pressurized air.  Almost immediately, the sub bounced up from the sand and the motor whirled at full throttle sending up a cloud behind them.  The K-955 zipped forward, its nose pointed to the surface.

Something hit the sub, this time causing it to roll hard to one side.  Clay quickly rolled against it to compensate and managed to level them back out, his hand still jamming the stick as far forward as possible.