by Russ Watts
“Michael Armitage,” Michael extended a hand.
“Nicole, Nicole Saint-Clair.”
“Did we–?”
“Oh yeah, though you were almost unconscious by the third time.”
The lieutenant got behind the wheel, next to the unseen passenger. The ensign took the window seat next to Michael in the back.
Michael curled his hands into fists and worked his wedding ring in a circle as the SUV pulled out into the Honolulu traffic. Gretchen had always put her career first, though to be fair, Michael’s research had been his focus since they met.
“You weren’t wearing that wedding ring last night.” Nicole’s bright tone had an artificial twang to it.
“It’s complicated.” Michael resisted the urge to sit on his hand.
“Separated? Divorced?”
“Gretchen is away with work a lot.”
“You’re married and your wife’s name is Gretchen.” Nicole’s jaw went tight and she turned to stare out the window.
“Gretchen Armitage is a lieutenant in the US Navy,” the woman driving said.
“Oh God…” Nicole reddened. “I have never done anything like that before.”
“Quite the coincidence.” The male passenger in the front seat wore a suit and sunglasses. From behind him, where Michael sat, he looked close to retirement. Though, that didn’t mean much in government circles. The guy sounded educated, calm, and in control. Someone who was used to being listened to without ever having to raise his voice.
“It’s embarrassing,” Nicole muttered.
“Get over it,” the man in the suit replied. “Coincidences are nothing more than mistakes with fortunate outcomes.”
“I think I have had that fortune cookie before,” Michael said.
“In this instance, Doctor Armitage, we required two experts in specialist fields. The fortunate coincidence for us was that two of them were in the same hotel room this morning. Doctor Kurt Ramaldi was my first choice.”
“Ramaldi? Seriously?”
“He has produced some of the most well-received papers in his field of the last five years.”
“Ramaldi’s work is all theoretical. None of his conclusions hold up in a natural environment. He works entirely in computer modelling.”
“His presentation at the conference was interesting, or did you miss that one too?” Nicole asked and went back to staring at the passing traffic.
Michael gave a disgusted snort. “Ramaldi applies perfect parameters to his experiments and then has the audacity to say it proves exactly what he wants it to prove.”
“You do not believe that computer modelling has any place in biological research?” the man in the front seat asked.
“Sure it does, just not Ramaldi’s computer modelling.”
“He’s right,” Nicole spoke up. “Ramaldi’s work looks good, but his data is flawed.”
“The often vaunted, but never sought, second opinion,” the passenger said with a nod. “I am sure between the two of you we can have a resolution in no time.”
The SUV rolled to a halt at the gate of the US Navy and Air Force joint base, Pearl Harbor-Hickam. After a quick flash of identification from the driver and a cursory eyeball of the civilians in the back, they were waved through.
Michael’s stomach tied in knots, anything involving the US military made him nervous. He didn’t really subscribe to the whole patriotic salute-the-flag attitude of some of his fellow Americans. On the bright side, there might be some much-needed research funding to come out of this consultancy.
The vehicle drove across the campus, past houses and low office buildings. Men and women in uniform were everywhere and Michael kept double-checking to make sure that Gretchen wasn’t one of them. After passing through another security gate, this one bringing them to the dockside area of the base, the SUV stopped.
Michael and Nicole waited until the driver opened the back door and then climbed out.
“This way, sir, ma’am,” their escort said, indicating a cinderblock and steel building. The passenger in the suit joined them on the baking concrete. He was Caucasian, his hair close-cropped, his demeanor as government-issued as his suit.
The sailor on guard outside opened the door as they approached. Inside, the atmosphere was air-conditioned and smelled of careful cleaning.
Entering a conference room, Michael and Nicole took the seats offered around a long table. The ensign went to arrange coffee and breakfast for the visitors. The man in the suit went and closed the blinds on the other side and then stood, staring at the grey slats. The lieutenant closed the door and stayed outside.
“I’m sure you are aware of the limited knowledge we have of the world’s oceans,” the man in the suit said to the blocked window. “It is quite true that we know more about outer space than we do about the water that makes up seventy percent of the planet.”
“Seventy-one percent,” Michael said absently. “Ninety-six percent of that water is in the seas and oceans. The rest is lakes, rivers, snow, polar ice, and bottled water.”
The man nodded. “I am preaching to the choir.” They sat in silence for an awkward moment. “Before we go any further, there is paperwork to sign. Standard non-disclosure agreements.” Two slim manila folders were slid across the table to the scientists. Mr. Suit gave them a moment to flick through the multi-page documents.
“Suffice to say, the essence of the dense legalese is that if you communicate anything you witness during your time assisting the US government in this matter, to any person, for any reason, without due authorization, the remaining days of your life will be more unpleasant than you can possibly imagine.”
“We don’t even know what this is about,” Nicole said. “You’re threatening us and we don’t even know why.”
“You are not being threatened, Doctor Saint-Clair, simply informed.”
“We can walk away at any time?” Nicole asked.
“Possibly.” The man in the suit turned and regarded them both.
“If this is some kind of consultancy work, how much are we getting paid?” Michael asked.
“Enough to clear your debts and fund your research for at least five years, Doctor Armitage.”
“Are we going to end up having to appear before a Congressional sub-committee of inquiry?” Michael asked.
Mr. Suit almost smiled. “I can assure you, Doctor Armitage, that will never happen.”
The door opened and the ensign entered, bearing a tray of steaming coffees and covered plates of bacon, eggs, and hash browns.
Michael sipped his coffee gratefully, feeling the life flow into his limbs as the pressure eased behind his eyes. The food eased the roiling of his belly, and he and Nicole ate in silence for a few minutes.
When they were done, Mr. Suit laid a pen between the two folders on the table. “Initial each page, then sign at the end.”
Michael and Nicole looked at each other and then signed.
The Trench is available from Amazon here.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
Acknowledgements