He thought for a moment and added, “Well not all of them. Some are used for headquarters communications and others link to foreign news services. We have to stay abreast of world news to know where to send Discovery One next, what cable to tap and then inform them of the targeted-message context from the intercept. And since it can take a week or more to switch cables with travel maneuvering and re-tapping we have to get the news to Dr. Bowman as quickly as possible.”
My ears perked up at hearing that name again. I knew about Clarke’s ‘Bowman’ but deep in my early childhood memories another Bowman existed. My best friend as a kid, Jeremy Bowman. He would be roughly my age but could he have designed and then been placed at the helm of Discovery One? I had to ask.
“This Bowman guy. Is he about my age?”
“Yes he is, Mr. Cross, why would you ask?”
“Well you called him Dave Bowman earlier but I once had a childhood friend who built majestic deep-sea-laboratory sandcastles with me, lots of them, but his name was Jeremy Bowman.” Realizing how foolish that sounded I backtracked, “No, that’s just too much of a coincidence. Never mind.”
“Well, Mr. Cross, it seems as though you may have found your long-lost friend. He goes by his middle name now but his given name is Jeremiah. Can’t say that I blame him either.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, “It is him. The kid who taught me to love and not fear the ocean. I guess he stayed true to his heart.”
“Apparently he did.” He pulled a second sheet from the folder and placed it on the table between us. Another Top Secret Umbra document it was the Sea Station Umbra crew list titled Sea Station Umbra Crew List TS SCI UMBRA-ZX (NOFORN) listing the names, ranks, clearances, and duties of the current staff. [Touch the link to view the crew list.]
I counted down to the second name and saw it there: Bowman, J. David, civilian, Umbra-ZX clearance, Station Manager. Suddenly his face and his last words came alive in my mind:
“Matt Cross, listen to me. The ocean is only dangerous if you don’t love and respect it like a wild animal in captivity. There is nothing to fear.” I loved him for that advice. It changed my life and put me where I am today living my dream.
Greenfield took the list and slid it to Briscoe.
“See any friends there you recognize, Mr. Briscoe?”
He pulled it closer for reading studied it a few seconds then slid it back.
“Nah. I got all I can handle sitting next to me.”
“Well then I’ll leave you in good company, Mr. Briscoe.”
Greenfield checked his watch again.
“I must be going now. There will be a CH-60 Seahawk helicopter waiting for you on the helipad at 2100 hours tomorrow night. Be there in wet suits with your personals in a small waterproof bag and wear your watches. Nothing else and no flashlights. You’ll be well provided for once you reach the station.”
I panicked realizing that wet-suit diving could only take us to thirty meters or about one-hundred feet down. We would need to travel much deeper to ten times that depth to reach the station, an impossible task without assistance especially in the dark.
“Wait. Am I missing something? We can’t make that dive with wet suits much less in the dark.”
Smiling, the Admiral said, “Let me finish.”
He sighed and continued, “At a predetermined point over the Pacific about two-hours out you will be dropped into the water under the cover of darkness. That should be no later than midnight. You’ll carry a small low-power sonar pinger provided to you. Using your life vests, you will float awaiting a pickup from a surfacing three-man BenthiCraft mini-sub sent from the station below. The transfer has to be quick to evade foreign satellite photo-reconnaissance but your profiles will be smaller than the surrounding waves so you’ll be invisible from space considering the lack of light.”
“Oh, that’s a comforting thought,” said the Chief. “I don’t like waves bigger than me especially at midnight.”
“Not to worry, sir. It will be a precisely timed transfer. You shouldn’t be in the water for more than ten minutes.”
“Ten long cold sickening minutes in waves bigger than me,” he groaned. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Laughing, I noticed him looking sickly. My hero diving instructor, my life’s mentor had always been prone to seasickness and he had no qualms admitting it. But once he was under the waves he was one of the best divers in the Navy. It was just those few minutes going from the surface to ten feet under that bothered him.
Off to my side the Admiral was packing up the folder tidying the pages and readying it for the vault.
“Well, gentlemen, my time with you is done. I’ll alert Bowman to your arrival tomorrow. Remember 2100 hours sharp at the helipad. Your CH-60 pilot and crew will be informed that you are part of a search and rescue training mission, that you will be safely found and the bird must disappear as quickly as possible after the drop to avoid disclosing your location. Got it?”
“Yes sir. We shall be there,” I answered comforted by the Chief’s confirming nod.
Standing at the vault Greenfield stashed the folder and locked it. Then he turned to us with an extended hand.
“Welcome aboard Operation Deep Force. I certainly hope you can find out what in the hell’s going on down there and fix it. The station’s bordering on chaos right now but that won’t last long. Soon it will be a full-blown mutiny if we let it continue. We’re counting on you. Carry on.”
With that, he turned and left the room.
Sitting with the Chief in silence, I gathered my thoughts. It had been only six short hours since I reported for my normal workaday life at MBORC and I was exhausted. In that time, my comfortable structured existence was shattered. Now homeless again with nowhere to go and no place to sleep I felt alone, abandoned. I was a kid again looking forward to another day at the beach with Jeremy.
“Where you staying Chief? Got room for another?” I asked. I knew he had been on base a few days and with his resourcefulness would have settled in.
Smiling he answered, “Yes I’ll always have room for you, Marker. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall motel across the street but it has soft beds a TV and a pretty good coffee shop. I asked for twin beds thinking you might be as lost when you arrived as I was. The town has really changed since we were here last. Let’s go. I’ll show you around.”
After a quick blue-plate-special lunch and two large slices of warm apple pie for dessert, we wandered the town skipping the girlie places (we were too old and too married for that) and found a movie theater back on base aptly named the Station Theater. It was dark and empty but it kept our minds occupied for the better part of two hours with an encore showing of, of all things The Abyss. Just what we needed to take our thoughts off our upcoming mission. The Chief left several times during the movie to visit the head claiming he had too much coffee but I believed he was throwing up; he came back each time wiping his mouth with a tissue. Several times, I wanted to join him but thinking that might look funny I just threw up in my mouth.
After the movie when we returned to the Chief’s room, there was a note about a package waiting in the lobby.
“That’d be our wet suits,” he said bluntly.
Turns out, he was right. Wet suits plus two small watertight bags filled with toiletries, special slots for our ID badges and two small belt-clip sonar beacons. Digging deeper we laughed as each of us pulled out a black business card with bold white lettering. Welcome to Discovery One it read. Then J. David Bowman, Station Manager. Somehow, that simple card eased my anxieties and lessened my fears. Not sure why but it did.