The need for continued monitoring of the four objects did not result from scientific curiosity. The implication of four objects apparently guarding the waters of the United States was staggering. Theories ran from super secret surveillance installations of foreign governments intent on spying on the United States to even more mind-boggling scenarios.
Over the years, the objects remained mysteriously silent despite the immense attention that the United States government paid them. The enigmatic silence of the objects caused some officials in the government to question the vast expenditure of funds necessary to maintain surveillance. However, it was a cost that was grudgingly given each year because not to do so was unspeakable. The most puzzling aspect of the four objects was their mute presence. They just sat there, giving no indication of any activity except for the anomalous magnetic signature that had first occasioned their discovery.
The secret was well-kept and the Morrow Affair eventually became old news. The vast population of people, in and out of government, never had a clue why so much of the nation’s gross national product was spent year to year on such research. In fact, the sensitivity of the objects was such that, as far as the public was concerned, governmental funds intended for oceanographic research simply disappeared overnight.
The operational phase of monitoring these objects was eventually taken over by CSAC, an acronym whose meaning remains classified to this day. A multi-agency operation created in the early days of the Cold War, CSAC was the most secretive of all such agencies and continued to sponsor missions that other agencies could not or would not do.
In 1972, Mike Liu left active duty; eventually moving on to other things. However, Bob McHugh kept him on his personal radar screen. Occasionally, Mike would be called back to take care of short-term matters, whenever Bob McHugh felt he could add to the solution of some matter. Some of Mike’s assignments did not have to do with the objects, but he was not in a position to refuse any request made by Bob McHugh, his superior in the agency. Once an agent of CSAC, you simply could not resign.
1993: The Silence Ends
With an explosive roar, multiple alarms wrenched the attendant from his routine-induced stupor. Red, orange and white lights flooded the dimly lit compartment in a psychedelic wash.
“Damn!” said the suddenly energized sonar mate.
Dropping the spy novel his wife had sent to him in the last mail pouch; forgetting to mark his place, John Lawrence immediately switched on the backup sequence and began the checkout procedure. As a last step, Lawrence switched on the digital recorder.
“Transfer module,” Lawrence said breathlessly into the microphone on the desk. “I gotta speak to the Captain.” He could barely contain himself. The only sound in the now-quiet compartment was the steady drumming of Lawrence’s fingers on the Formica counter. He waited anxiously for a response.
“What’s up, John?” said the disembodied voice coming from the tiny speaker on the countertop. It was the deep bass voice of the Watch Station commander, William O’Shannon, a Captain in the United States Navy. O’Shannon had been in the transfer module discussing a training sequence with other crewmembers.
“Captain, the control panel just lit up like the Fourth of July.”
“I’ll be right there. Have you initiated backup?”
“Aye, sir. I also started the checkout procedure.”
“Good.”
In what seemed an eternity to Lawrence, O’Shannon walked the short distance from the transfer module to the command module. Lawrence turned from his intense scrutiny of the control panel when he heard the pressure door being unlatched with a metallic clang. Curiously, he felt a sudden wash of relief knowing that O’Shannon was with him.
“Okay, John, what do we have?”
“Nothing like I’ve ever seen before, Captain. Here, take a look.”
“You’re right. It sure doesn’t look like background,” said O’Shannon calmly. He silently watched the rapid amplitude changes and frequency shifts on the magnetometer. “Have you checked the seismometer?”
“Aye, sir. Absolutely nothing — nothing at all. Everything is quiet, real quiet. One thing, Captain. The signal seems to repeat itself over and over.” John pointed to the regularity of the spikes and valleys on the green-hued screen.
O’Shannon was puzzled. He studied the screen trying to see a pattern in the greenish trace on the screen, some sense of order. He finally looked up at Lawrence.
“You’re right. Did you start the recording sequence?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Get the DCO up here,” said O’Shannon into the intercom.
Rubbing his eyes after the rude awakening, the Deputy Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Joshua Wong, entered the command module. “Yes, Captain.”
“Mr. Wong, we have a verified signal.”
Wong snapped fully awake. “I’ll start the encoding process immediately.”
“Good idea. Who gets to carry the message?”
“Machinist Mate George Waterson is scheduled for rotation on the next supply vehicle. He has clearance.”
“Good. Alert Newport News.”
“Aye, sir.”
Wong took leave of O’Shannon and Lawrence, who continued to observe the rapidly shifting trace on the screens. There would be much to do in the coming days.
1993: Awakening
Mike Liu woke with a start. He had forgotten to set the alarm and had overslept by a half-hour. That is, if you could call it sleep. Mike had tossed about all night. It was that recurring dream — that something had been left undone. He hadn’t had that dream in a longtime and it was disturbing. What had wakened Mike was someone calling his name.
This wasn’t like some of his dreams, the ones about the life he had once hoped to share with Corrine Ryan, a student at Mary Baldwin College in Staunton, Virginia. Mike had met Corrine through fraternity brothers at the University and the pair had dated throughout his fourth year. Corrine had suffered from a degenerative retinal disease at a young age and had quickly lost her vision. Maybe it was her blindness that allowed her to see the young Mike in a light so different from other people. Mike had never met any other girl who was as accepting as Corrine.
After college, Mike was commissioned as an Ensign in the Navy and sent to Stanford. Corrine went to graduate school at Columbia University to study linguistics. After graduate school, Corrine went into government service. Mike would write Corrine often, but her responses seemed less enthusiastic over time. Writing letters were difficult for Corrine, as she had to use a Braille typewriter.
In one letter, Corrine mentioned that her room mates thought he looked Mediterranean, not Chinese, in his photo.
Eventually, time and distance proved too great; the letters became fewer and farther in between. Then one day, Mike received a long letter from Corrine saying that things had changed and she could not write him anymore.
Mike never married after losing Corrine. He learned through friends that Corrine dated and married another researcher at the government linguistics laboratory where she worked. But the dream was not about Corrine; it was the other dream; about dark shadows and enormity the likes that the world had never seen.