“Admiral McHugh for Admiral Ryan.”
“One moment, please.”
“Bob, what’s up?” came the soft Virginian drawl of Richard Ryan, Admiral, U.S.C.G. ”How’s that daughter of mine doing?”
“Rick, Corrine’s doing fine. She and Mike had a chance meeting.”
“Oh?” responded Corrine’s father.
“Rick, a very grave matter has developed. I need some Coast Guard assistance.”
“Ask it, you got it.”
“One of my underwater installations has radioed an emergency. I can’t get my vessel on site until tomorrow at best. I need some air sea rescue units on site immediately. This is the highest national priority. The President has put my agency on Priority One, Red; war status. Our installation may be under attack, for all I know.”
“Where is the emergency?”
“About 100 miles southwest of Santa Catalina Island.”
“Isn’t that the highly restricted zone?”
“Yes. Are you secure?” said McHugh.
“Wait a minute, Bob,” said Rick Ryan as he punched an alphanumeric into the keypad on his special phone.
The special code punched in by Admiral Ryan shifted the telephone line from the normal scrambling mode to a special encrypting mode which was based on a randomly selected cipher that was set by the parties to the call. To any potential eavesdropper, the normal scrambling device sounded like garbled gobbledygook.
With the encrypting device, the line seemed to go dead and was replaced by a caterwauling not unlike the noise one gets on a modem. Messages were digitized and transmitted as series of computerized messages. The receiving telephone, when encoded with the appropriate code, which was not the same as the transmitting code, decoded the transmitted messages. Finally, a voice synthesizer completed the digital to analog emulation.
Although the system was considered the state of the art for very sensitive messages, the barely perceptible delay was annoying and, as a result, the system was only used for the most sensitive communications.
“Rick, we think that Watch Station Three may be in trouble. Our satellites received the special S.O.S. that the watch commanders would only send if the Watch Station were in danger.”
“What about ELF communications, Bob?”
“We can’t raise them on the ELF system, either.”
“Sea search and rescue will be initiated immediately. Who’s your liaison? I’ll put Captain Paul Jensen, one of my best search and rescue men in charge. He’s port master on Santa Catalina Island.”
“My DCO, Joseph Mannington, will direct the operations. He’s on his way to the West Coast as soon as this call is over. I’m going to assign Mike Liu to assist Joe in this investigation.”
“How is Mike?”
“He’s O.K., just a little shot up from some attacks on my agents, but he’ll survive.”
“Good. Let’s get moving.”
McHugh put the handset down on its cradle. “Joe, get out to Watch Station Three as fast as you can. Where’s Liu?”
“I think he’s still at NSA,” said Ellen Jones, who had just joined the group in the situation room.
“Get him here.”
In a few seconds, Ellen had located Mike at the National Security Agency. “Mike, the Admiral wants to speak to you.”
The Admiral? thought Mike. Ellen always called McHugh the old man. Something must be up.
“Mike?” said McHugh, into the secure scrambler phone. “Joe Mannington is headed to Port Hueneme, California. I want you to drop everything and join him as soon as possible. I’ll arrange for an F-15 to get you there.”
“What’s up, Admiral?”
“Mannington will brief you. It’s important.” The line went dead.
Something must have happened at Watch Station Three, thought Mike.
“Glad you could make it, Mike,” said Mannington.
“When do we go?” said Mike.
“They’re loading the new Benthic Ranger with the Mess-I reactor on the U.S.S. Thomas Morrow,” said Mannington. “We’ve also outfitted it with a Jason robot. As soon as it’s aboard, we’ll set sail. We should be on site by mid-morning.”
The Morrow, classified a supply ship but outfitted with an internal launching bay for Benthic Rangers and supply robots, was named after Navy Commander Thomas Morrow, a Navy hero who lost his life over the Cambodian border in the early seventies. The ship was affectionately called “Buck” by all CSAC members after the antic-loving pilot whose daring piloting of the old Lockheed Orion led to the discovery of the mysterious objects.
The Jason III robot submersible was the latest model of the highly successful Jason units that facilitated such discoveries as the Titanic and others.
Mike and Mannington walked over to the loading area of the Morrow and were welcomed aboard by the officer of the day. Returning the salute, Mannington said, “Where is Captain Vander?”
“Vander?” said Mike.
“Yes, do you know George Vander?” said Mannington.
“It can’t be. The George Vander I know was sixty years old twenty-three years ago. He was the commander of the USS Marysville, the oceanographic vessel from which we discovered the first Sentinel. Crusty old guy, but he could position the Marysville like no one’s business. He was a master in his job.”
At this point, Mike and Mannington were joined by an attractive redhead with flashing blue eyes in the summer tan uniform of the United States Navy. On the collars of her tan uniform blouse were the gold oak leaves of a Lieutenant Commander of the United States Navy. The slim commanding officer of the Morrow wore uniform trousers as a concession to having to climb up and down the ship.
“Captain Mannington, welcome aboard,” said Lieutenant Commander Georgette Vander, saluting Mannington.
“Thank you, Captain Vander,” said Mannington. “May I introduce you to Mike Liu? He thinks he’s a civilian.”
Mike, who was still dressed in civilian clothes, reached to shake Georgette Vander’s outstretched hand.
“Hello, I knew your dad from many years ago. How is he?”
“Dad passed away about ten years ago. After he retired from the Navy, there really wasn’t anything else left with Mother having passed on when I was a child.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He was one hell of a sailor.”
“Every chief petty officer I’ve ever met has told me that. Makes one heck of a pair of shoes for me to fit into.” She smiled. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Liu.”
After the Benthic Ranger and its armaments had been stowed aboard, the Morrow made its way out of the harbor.
Captain Vander had invited Mike and Mannington to stay on the bridge during the trip to the site of Watch Station Three. It felt good to be back at sea, even under the horrible circumstances that occasioned this trip. The sea looked so calm on this June morning. How could anything as catastrophic as what the emergency signal from the Watch Station suggested happen on such a peaceful, calm day. It was a gentle voyage with only gentle swells and no chop.
Captain Vander stood on the bridge, a cup of hot steaming black coffee in her left hand. Mike remembered that her father always had a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand and a coffin nail in the other. The scene evoked memories of those halcyon days on board the Marysville. The only thing missing was Captain George Vander’s ever present cigarette. Georgette Vander did not smoke.
The Morrow arrived on site at about 1100 hours, joining the Coast Guard cutter already on scene. Over head circled the white and orange colored rescue helicopters of the United States Coast Guard. Captain Vander brought the Morrow to within one hundred yards of the cutter and had her crew lower a launch over the side. Mike and Mannington scrambled down the narrow ladder to reach the launch, which was rolling with the waves. Once aboard, the two were transported to the Coast Guard vessel.