“Sonar, course and speed of target?” Devers asked into the mic.
“Speed is, well, she’s not moving as far as we can tell, sir. Still hard to get a good fix because of the high seas, but her course is erratic. Sir, she looks dead in the water.”
“It has to be Russian,” Devers said as he watched the captain use his grease pen to trace a course to the target area.
“Gary, get to sonar and get me a precise fix. Also, get off an extremely low-frequency message to Nimitz and explain the tactical situation. Tell command we will attempt to investigate.”
“What about the frigate and cruisers?” Devers asked.
“Tell them to stand by and not to sink until we return.”
Devers chuckled and then left control. Thorne took the mic and then faced the men in control who were watching with concern. “Sonar, size estimate of target?”
“Undetermined at this time, Captain. Best guess is possible heavy cruiser displacement.”
“Civilian traffic?” he asked.
“Nothing but the Ruskies—excuse me, Russians, sir, just to the north.”
“Mr. Cartwright, let’s bring her about. Take her down to two hundred, all ahead flank.”
“Aye, Captain. Steering three-two-seven degrees, all ahead flank. Give me two hundred feet in depth.”
The USS Houston turned her massive, blackened, sound-baffling bulk toward the unknown target eighty miles away that was braving one of the worst storms in North Atlantic history. The Houston’s crew felt the sharp angle of the bow dip low in the sea, and the increased reactor noise tripled as the huge warship started to speed her way into the unknown.
EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
For what seemed like the first time in years, the director of America’s securest and blackest operational group in federal service toured the expansive facility situated 1.5 miles beneath the sands of Nellis Air Force Base just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Dr. Niles Compton had come a long way from the days when he had been recruited from MIT and Harvard by a man who, if the country had known existed, would be one of the most beloved and celebrated Americans in the history of the country. For fifteen years since taking over for that very man, Dr. Niles Compton had tried to live up to former senator and onetime general Garrison Lee. After years of trying, it had been Garrison Lee’s longtime assistant and close confidante, Alice Hamilton, who set him straight—“Be you, Niles,” she once told him. “Garrison recruited you for your talent, not because he needed talents like his own.” Niles smiled in remembering her talk. “Garrison was a military man, but he always believed this group needed civilian control and oversight, and civilian freedom to maneuver, not a man bound by military correctness and order. He needs you, Niles.”
As Compton limped through the curved plastic-lined hallways of the underground complex, the men and women of the Group nodded and greeted him. They still had not become used to seeing this man out of his offices on level seven. Lately, to the surprise of the six hundred–plus men and women on the Group’s roster, the director was found at all hours visiting and greeting his people in their laboratories, engineering departments, and the many classrooms, where the continuing education of all members of the Group was a major priority.
The Group had come to be more comfortable around the brilliant man from MIT—even the black eye patch covering his damaged and now useless right eye or the limp he now suffered with because of the attacks from deep space during the Overlord operation were now a commonplace sight among the halls and vaults of the Group. Most—behind his back, of course—now compared his infirmities to those suffered by Compton’s mentor, Senator Garrison Lee, right down to the eye patch and scarring on the right side of his face and his limp.
Compton strolled into the immense cafeteria at 3:30 A.M. and went directly to the kitchen and the men and women doing the day’s baking. He sat with them and had coffee and talked about their routine. After he left, the bakers and cooks exchanged looks of disbelief that the director had sat and spoken with them.
Niles sat at a corner table as one of the night bakers brought him a fresh cup of coffee. Niles thanked her and then contentedly looked around him. Five people, from the looks of them all engineers, were speaking in soft tones as they ate an early breakfast. These people looked over, and they nodded at the director. Niles noticed Master Chief Jenks at the head of that table acting like he was holding court. He stood and, with his white lab coat floating behind his ample bulk, made his way to the table where Niles sat.
“Mr. Director, mind if I have a seat?” the gruff lifetime navy man asked.
Niles eased a chair out with his foot and nodded.
Harold R. Jenks, master chief petty officer, and one of the more brilliant mechanical engineers Niles Compton had ever met, seemed to be settling into his duties well at the Group. He had completely reorganized the Group’s engineering departments into far more effective subgroups. He accomplished this by convincing Assistant Director Virginia Pollock to allow her Nuclear Sciences Division to accept men and women from his department and integrate his mechanical engineers into hers. The move was paying off nicely as the cooperation between the two competing sciences settled into a comfortable and affable routine.
“Master Chief, up late with your people, I see.”
Jenks looked at the four men and women as they stood with their breakfast trays and moved off. “Nah, busy moving quantum theory out of engineering and placing it where it belongs, with those eggheads in nuclear sciences. It makes Ginny happy, I guess.”
“I imagine Virginia is indeed happy. She’s getting thirty-two new bodies.” Niles smiled. “You seem to be accepting of your personnel losses with dignified grace.”
Jenks finally sat. “Dignified grace? Yeah, have you ever really sat down and tried to argue with that woman? Surrender was the better part of valor, I assure you. My people were acceptable casualties in an ongoing war Dr. Virginia Pollock always seems to be winning.”
“Surrender with honor is one of my favorite sayings around here when arguing with either Virginia or Alice. Welcome to the surrender club, Master Chief.” Niles smiled and sipped his coffee.
Jenks looked around. At three thirty in the morning, there was now no one in the cafeteria. Niles watched the stubborn man, frightening to all, squirm, adjust his lab coat, and then squirm again. Once more he looked behind the serving line at the front and the open kitchens beyond. Niles sat patiently waiting. He folded his fingers on the tabletop and smiled once more with a raised and scarred brow over the eye patch.
“Maybe just start at the beginning, Master Chief.”
“I guess surrender is what I want to talk about.”
Niles just sat and continued smiling, waiting patiently. Last year at this time, he would have grown frustrated and unhappy with someone wasting valuable time in sitting and stuttering in meaningless conversation. Now Compton relished these moments. After the loss of so many personnel the past few years, he had learned a valuable lesson—the job was never more important than his people.
“Oh, hell, Sparky.” He saw Niles didn’t even flinch at the nickname he had heard Jenks was using behind his back. But he remained silent. “Sorry, Niles. I didn’t mean that. In my short time here, I have learned one immutable fact of life; I have seen why you command so much respect around here. To lead with honor and by example is the quality more leaders need in today’s messed-up world.” He looked away guiltily. “Myself included.”
“Master Chief, this particular biscuit doesn’t need the buttering as much as you think.” Niles sipped his coffee and then fixed Jenks with his good left eye. “Is this about Virginia?”
The color in Jenks’s face dropped out so fast that it looked to Niles as if the lights had suddenly been turned off.
“You know?” Jenks asked, incredulous that the director knew the small details of life at the complex. “Ginny said she’s told no one.”
Niles laughed. “
And she has told no one. Do you think anyone in this group can ever get anything past the security department? Since Will Mendenhall and Jason Ryan have been filling in for Jack and Carl, they have become rather good at dealing with secrets, even those involving relationships between active Group members.” Niles exhaled. “Pardon the pun here, but I tend to turn a blind eye toward these rules about fraternization. My people lead lives most in this country could never fathom. They are lonely people involved in work they cannot discuss even with their closest relatives. Sometimes I suspect they need each other. You and Virginia are no different.”
“Then you don’t have a problem with me and … Slim?”
“Go get some sleep, Master Chief.”
“Yes, sir.” Jenks started to stand and then stopped and faced Niles. “I don’t say this as often as I should, Mr. Director, but in the short time I have known you, well, hell, you’re a good man.”
“Thank you,” was all Compton said as Jenks huffed and then tossed a dead cigar into the side of his mouth, cleared his throat, and then abruptly left.
Niles watched him go and shook his head. Regardless of his lack of tact, he liked the master chief as much as he liked anyone. You would never get a hesitant answer from him, that was for sure.
Niles decided he had had enough and pushed his coffee cup away and was starting to leave for his quarters when he saw the new deputy director of Computer Sciences, Xavier Morales, wheel himself into the cafeteria. Niles pursed his lips and then slowly sank back into his seat. Xavier saw Niles and sped over in his old-fashioned wheelchair, which the boy clearly refused to part with even though Master Chief Jenks and Virginia offered him a model that would have shocked most of the known world in its sophistication. But then, that’s one of the reasons Xavier had become so likable so fast. He was truly grounded in computer sciences, and that was all he ever concentrated on. Without really knowing it, Niles had placed all his confidence in the young genius far faster than he had intended.
“Europa said you were here and not in your quarters,” Xavier said as he wheeled up, accidentally bumping the table and spilling what remained of Compton’s coffee. “Sorry.”
Niles only smiled as he used a napkin to clean up the spill. “Doesn’t anyone get any sleep around here anymore? I have Master Chief Jenks and Virginia acting like star-crossed lovers in a soap opera and a computer genius who has never been caught sleeping in his room.” Compton placed the cup farther away and tossed the wet napkin into the saucer. “Now, before I order you to your quarters for some sleep, what’s up?”
Xavier removed a large boxlike device from his lap and placed it on the table. “It’s finished.”
Niles’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, the Europa link laptop,” Niles said as he sat up to look at the stainless steel box. He opened it, and his lips made an O as he looked over the new system.
“Of course, junior here doesn’t have 99.99 percent of Europa’s computing power, but this link can outthink anything in commercial or private use as far as memory. A field team no longer has to link directly with Europa’s mainframe to get answers. Odds are this little baby can answer anything they need. The only thing the user cannot do is tie into the mainframe. It is secure and Group-member-voice activated. If anyone tries to use this closed-looped system by voice command or even keypad use, the system will blow up in their faces.” Xavier patted the laptop, which was about ten inches thicker than a normal system.
“Good job,” Niles said. “This will lessen the need for direct contact with Europa by field teams.”
Xavier liked to see a pleased director. He smiled and then looked around the empty cafeteria.
“Uh, the real reason I stopped in is not for telling you something you probably already knew about Europa Jr. here.” He closed the top and then moved the system away. “Europa received one of those burst transmissions at 0220 hours. The transmissions are clouded in code for your eyes only.”
“Thank you, Xavier.”
Morales lingered and was tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
“Something else?”
Xavier didn’t know how to continue without invoking the director’s wrath.
“The transmissions are coded for a reason, Doctor. I am not a spy and would never circumvent policy in regard to sending illegal communications.”
“I would never even think that,” Xavier started to say in protest.
Niles held up his hand to stop the computer man from continuing.
“Xavier, maybe it’s time I brought you in on this since you’re good enough to see a pattern in these classified transmissions. My assistant director doesn’t even know, and I would like to keep it that way. Understand?”
“You want to keep Dr. Pollock out of the loop?”
“For now, yes. In case I … well … die or something, Europa has been programmed to deliver all this information to Virginia, only if it becomes necessary.”
“Sounds mysterious,” Xavier said politely with raised brows.
“It sounds treasonous is what you mean.”
Xavier only smiled, knowing that the outward appearance of impropriety was a mask used by Compton.
“Is the new laptop link capable of red-one communications?”
“Of course. She wouldn’t be much good if we couldn’t get new orders out to field teams.”
“Of course,” Niles said as he pulled the large box over to him and then used his voice to activate the ghost of Europa’s mainframe. “Europa, Compton 22361. Initiate contact with Farmer John, please. Clearance code, Lion in the Dale.”
“Contact cleared and initiated,” came the Marilyn Monroe voice pattern from the laptop.
Xavier winced and looked around as Europa’s voice echoed off the empty cafeteria walls. He reached out and lowered the volume. “Sorry.”
“Hey, at least it works,” Niles said with a smile.
As they watched, a series of lines appeared, and then the picture on the screen went to snow and then cleared, and then a series of bright flashes started flowing through.
“This is by far a communications standard I am not aware of,” Morales said as he watched the strange series of flashes.
“It’s communicating with a not-well-known satellite system. Instead of code names and voice security, some friends designed this system to make use of light patterns to initiate contact. Secure beyond belief.”
“I thought that was only a theory.”
“Well, it was a theory until the Overlord mission, then it became apparent that cooperation between mirror agencies in other governments, in this case only one other, dictated we have a form of communication that professional politicians have no clue exists.” Niles smiled. “Politicians come and go, but real-world problems will always remain. Excuse me. This may get a little touchy.” The light patterns on the screen started to rotate and then steadied, and as both men watched, a face appeared on the screen.
“Did I catch you sleeping, old boy?” came the accented voice from the man on the screen. He was balding like Niles and wore a tweed suit with a large and very bright bow tie. His half-moon glasses were perched jauntily on his nose.
“Hello, James. No, not sleeping.”
“Niles, old man, do you have someone there with you?”
Niles saw concern etch the face of the most brilliant intelligence officer Compton had ever heard of. They had known each other since being introduced by their mutual friend Garrison Lee back in 2001. With Durnsford, himself, and their little green alien friend, Matchstick Tilly, they had devised the Overlord plan years in advance. The two men trusted each other far more than their governments would care to hear about.
Niles cleared his throat. “Yes, I am afraid our little game has been discovered.”
“Don’t tell me, that little wheelchair-bound boy you got off the street? I should have known, and you should have, too, old man. Our dossier on Dr. Xavier Morales is far more extensive than even I was led to believe.”
“Thus, there are now three of us.”
Xavier started to say something, but a quickly placed guided missile of warning stopped him. There would be no discussion between Durnsford and Xavier Morales.
“It’s close to be morning teatime over there, so what concerns you enough to delay that?”
“Niles, old boy, you won’t believe this, but our little suspicion about our friends in Eastern Europe has now been confirmed. We here at MI6 have received word of our man being placed on some form of alert for movement into the North Atlantic—what for remains to be answered. Is there any word on your end of anything out of the normal happening there?”
Niles pursed his lips and thought a moment. “From my security brief this morning, all I know is that NATO is currently conducting Operation Reforger IV in that area, but that’s it.”
“Yes, we have the same data. Why would our hidden group put their best man on alert for the North Atlantic? It can’t be to observe a war game that has been scheduled for three years. It has to be something else.”
“I agree. I’ll start checking on this end.”
“Good show. Now, if we do find a reason for this man of theirs to show himself for the first time since the Ukraine, it has to be for something that scares them or would lead to their hidden agenda.”
“What do you propose?” Niles asked as Xavier became more confused as the two powerful men spoke.
“Since we have verified that it is indeed our suspected man leading the mission there, we will need someone to verify his identity.”
“There is only one man who can do that on a purely visual basis, and he’s on another assignment at the moment.”
“Niles, old chap, we need that murderous man identified. Can you divert your asset in case we discover the reasoning behind this sudden Russian interest in the North Atlantic? I just don’t like the smell of it.”
“I’ll see what can be done without blowing more than just his cover on an ongoing operation in the Middle East.”
Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller Page 5