Sam shifted in his seat. “So, there’s no explanation less exotic than an alien spaceship? Couldn’t it be something simple like a computer glitch or asteroid collision?”
“A technical problem showing something like this might affect one detector, not all three simultaneously, twice. Ben, you’re a math guy, what’s the chance of an asteroid collision at L2 and bolide impact on the Earth’s surface happening at the same time?”
“Basically, zero.”
“Agreed. Also, the amplitude of the original pulse would need a huge impactor. In fact, one several times larger than the Chicxulub event, which is probably the thing that wiped out the dinosaurs. We would have noticed something like that outside the LIGO labs, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, that would have left a mark,” Ben quipped.
Simmons looked at the other men and continued. “So, having ruled out a system glitch or a natural event that would explain the evidence, it leaves us with two possibilities. Someone found a clever way to spoof the detectors. Or, 3,500 tons of matter disappeared near the Moon and instantly reappeared here. If spoofing were a thing, we’d have seen evidence before the event, but it’s not impossible. So before we sounded the alarm of an alien invasion, we started searching hard around here.
“A few days after everyone falls out of their chairs at LIGO and Virgo, a Coast Guard cutter reports a derelict vessel with peculiar damage just north of the Keys. Close inspection shows that damage to be a shock wave impact with no explosive chemical traces, radioactivity, or meteor fragments. So, not from an explosion or a meteor near miss. But it is consistent with an object, with a mass greater than 3,500 tons, instantaneously displacing its volume in water nearby.”
“OK, Doctor.” Sam leaned back, folding his arms. “Let’s say I believe what you have just told me. Answer me this: why us? Why isn’t this place crawling with Marines or the sky dark with attack aircraft? Who thinks an aging Coast Guard patrol boat with a 25mm popgun is a better choice for meeting an alien threat than a carrier battle group or even a single destroyer?”
“Good question. You can’t sortie forces like that on a moment’s notice when we’re at DEFCON 5. Even if we could, we’d just draw attention to something we must keep quiet at all costs.
“From who?” Ben asked.
“From everyone. Imagine the panic that would result if it got out that the U.S. government was hunting actual ETs in the Florida Keys. The aliens wouldn’t need to clobber us—this country would probably self-destruct. Even if we didn’t, imagine how the Russians or Chinese would react if they thought we were cozying up to an extraterrestrial power.”
Sam was incredulous. “You mean governments would actually believe tin foil hat shit like that? That we would ally ourselves with aliens against them? Come on!”
“It’s risk management, Captain.” Simmons nodded. “News like this comes from the top, Leader-to-Leader. Otherwise, everyone assumes the worst, and the worst is too terrible to deal with rationally. I know it’s insane, but that’s the sordid world I inhabit.
“Once we find them, if they are still here, we can evaluate whether we want to send in a strike package or a delegation from the Department of State. And no, we don’t expect you to kick ET’s ass. It’s unlikely anything we could bring to the fight would be effective against a foe capable of large-scale teleportation, anyway. You guys have a low-key footprint. Your presence where we will search is not considered unusual. Also, by all accounts, your crew is very sharp.”
“What do you mean, ‘by all accounts?’” Sam asked.
“You are highly regarded by the authorities. When we contacted the Coast Guard and asked for high-quality patrol boat support, they stuck with you.”
Sam smiled ruefully. “Has it occurred to you we just might be the most expendable?”
Simmons feigned a distressed expression. “Good Heavens, I never thought of that!” After a chuckle from Sam and Ben, he continued, “Now, I may be wrong, but I don’t believe these guys are a threat. I think something happened, and they had to land to make repairs. The odds are good it has something to do with the magnetic storm that’s been lighting up the skies and circuit boards lately. I’m sure they would have preferred a more remote landing site. However, they needed access to materials not available in the Amazon jungle or the middle of Antarctica.”
“The burglaries?” Ben asked.
“Exactly. They couldn’t just walk into a Home Depot and charge stuff to an Interplanetary Mastercard. These activities suggest detailed knowledge of how the human world works. Their efforts and success at concealment lead me to believe they are a scientific research expedition rather than a military reconnaissance effort.”
“And the guys who chased us?” Ben asked. “They were not making any effort at stealth.”
Simmons’s smile faded. “Yeah, those guys aren’t with the aliens. They represent a more terrestrial threat, and their presence is real bad news.”
“Huh?” Sam said. “You’re telling me a potential alien invasion of the Earth is not the worst news? Who are we talking about here?”
“It’s my day job at the agency. In short, they’re the owners of the dope you interdicted. As you said, that amount of product would be worth a fortune. When that load dropped out of sight, the bad guys started searching hard. No mention of a large bust in the news media convinced them some rival organization must have snatched it. According to my sources, they’ve combed every harbor and marina within 500 miles searching for it. I’m sure they had people keeping watch on every law enforcement group—federal, state, and local—and they’re probably rolling up a big body count of their rivals gathering intel. Unfortunately, their watch at the Sheriff’s office must have spotted me—I’m proud to say that I’m well-known to them for good reason. They’ve put together we have the boat, and something unusual is happening if I’m poking around. That little set-to this morning was a ham-fisted try by their local B-Teamers to grab and squeeze me for information. Didn’t work out well for them.”
“Drug cartel?” Sam asked.
“More of a transnational criminal organization. They informally call themselves the ‘252 Syndicate,’ from February 25th, 1991, the date the Warsaw Pact fell. Founded by the worst the KGB, Stasi, Securitate, Sigurimi, and other Warsaw Pact secret police goon squads had and staffed with ex-agents and mercenaries with no wars to fight. They fund themselves through drug smuggling, yes, but also human and weapons trafficking, extortion, and anything else that produces large profit margins. This mob’s smart, well-equipped, and absolutely ruthless. That’s another reason we wanted you guys, the Coast Guard, I mean; the Navy doesn’t do law enforcement, and it may come to that before we finish.”
Both officers sat in silence, processing what they had just been told. Sam finally broke the silence. “So, you do have assets in the area, but I guess you have to presume that if they’re observed, they’ll draw in the 252 forces.”
“Yes, that’s about it. We can flail around on a hard-target ground search, but we’d lead the 252s right to our visitors. As you can imagine, the last thing we want is for them to assault an extraterrestrial power or, God forbid, get hold of any alien technology.”
“So,” Sam continued. “It’s our job to prowl offshore with the UAVs and appear conventional.”
“Yes, but we’ll probably need a close look at some locations with your RHIB.”
Sam leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “And if we run into these guys, we can expect a fight?”
“Not necessarily. They don’t want to start a war with the U.S. government. Bad for business, you know. However, if we corner them or get between them and something they want, they won’t hesitate to shoot it out with us.”
Sam sat back. “Is our operational commander aware of all this?”
“Select Coast Guard individuals are read-in, your Commandant, the Area Commander, and the Seventh District Commander and Response Chief.”
“Forgive me, Doctor,” Sam said. “I
’ll need to verify my chain of command is OK with things as they stand now. Since Captain Mercier is read-in, I’ll get on a secure line with her.”
“If you must, but remember, the alien angle is compartmented information, and you can’t discuss that on an ordinary secure telephone.”
“Understood.” Sam turned to Ben. “XO, can you call down to the District and arrange for a secure phone call with Captain Mercier, please?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben replied, rising and heading out the door.
After he had left, Sam continued to stare at Simmons. “You know, Doctor, you’re probably the most untrustworthy man I’ve ever had the displeasure of associating with. I really hate the fact that the safety of my crew and ship depends on you being truthful with me.”
“Only ‘probably the most untrustworthy’?” Simmons smiled. “The mind boggles. Yes, Captain, I am in the deceit business, but not to you. I don’t have to withhold anything from you anymore.” He scratched his head. “I still might have to dissemble a bit if your crew puts me on the spot, but you get the straight scoop.”
“We’ll see,” Sam looked up as Ben stepped back into the SCIF.
“I talked to the Captain, sir,” Ben sat down in front of the STE telephone. “She’ll be calling us here as soon as she gets down to her SCIF.”
“Good. Now, Doctor, would you mind giving us the room, please?” His expression conveyed: this is not a request.
Simmons stared at Sam in astonishment. “Very well.” He stood and walked out without another word.
After the door closed, Ben asked, “Sir?”
“I expect an ‘inside baseball’ talk with the Captain. I don’t want her holding back because our favorite spook is in the room.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben nodded.
“What do you think about this, really?”
“I don’t know, Skipper,” Ben shook his head. “I guess it’s possible he’s right about the aliens. But two blips on technology that’s still ‘bleeding edge’ seem like a thin reed to me, particularly with a lot of electronics going crazy in the magnetic storm. There’s the weird damage to the boat, but we only have his word that it came from a UFO. And the other stuff? It may just be lingering shakes from this morning’s adventure, but I think he’s a few puppies short of a pet shop.”
Sam chuckled. “Good one. I don’t disagree, but significant resources are committed here. It’s hard to believe all this is just to appease some whackadoo spook.”
“I guess the Captain will clear things up for us.” Ben nodded.
“Perhaps, but don’t count on it.”
After a few minutes, the secure phone rang, and Sam activated the speakerphone. “Sector Key West, Lieutenant Powell speaking.”
“Good morning, Sam, Jane Mercier here. What can I do for you this morning?”
“Yes, good morning, ma’am. You’re on speaker with just my XO and me in the room. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to verify you are up to speed on developments down here before I continue the operation.”
“OK, please go ahead.”
“Well, ma’am, Dr. Simmons has told us about something related to this mission he claims I can’t discuss over an STE. I’ll just refer to it as ‘X.’ Do you know what I’m referring to, ma’am?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Ma’am, I’m unsure how to put this. Is it for real?” After a few seconds of silence, Sam asked, “Captain, are you there?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m here. I’m trying to figure out the best way to answer your question. Let’s just say that several highly placed people believe it’s real enough and issued orders accordingly. You are at the tail end of that chain of orders. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” Mercier said. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, ma’am. It gets worse. A TCO has gotten involved, and they took a shot at grabbing Simmons and my XO this morning.”
“Shit! Are you all right, Ben?”
“No worries, ma’am,” Ben replied.
“They’re both fine, ma’am,” Sam interjected. “Simmons’s people negated the immediate threat, and we are safe for now.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“Well, ma’am, these guys don’t screw around, and there’s a genuine possibility of high-caliber use-of-force if we tangle with them. I’m sure there won’t be time to get a Statement of No Objection when that happens.”
“So, you’re asking me for a blanket SNO? You know I can’t give you that.”
“No, ma’am, I’m not asking for a blank check, but you need to understand I will do whatever I need to do to protect my crew. Given that, should I continue this operation?”
“Your orders stand, Sam. All the ‘But, sirs,’ have been said, believe me. I appreciate this is not what you wanted to hear, but I expect you and your crew to do your duty. In this case, that means you cooperate with Dr. Simmons to the maximum extent possible within the current rules of engagement until further notice. Clear enough?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry again to bother you, but I needed to be sure I understood what the expectations are for this. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Not a problem. I understand your concern, given the new players. Keep your crew and ship safe. If there’s nothing else, I’ll wish you good luck.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Goodbye.” After turning off the phone, he turned to Ben. “Your thoughts?”
Ben’s head swam at the implications of the conversation. “My God, Skipper! She thinks it’s bullshit too!”
“Mmm. And yet, we have our orders. Can you invite the good doctor back in, please?”
“Yes, sir.” Ben blinked and then stood up to retrieve their passenger.
After Ben returned with Simmons and they both sat down, Simmons gazed at Sam. “Well?”
“Standard rules of engagement apply. We need a Statement of No Objection for the use of force unless it’s self-defense. What that means, Doctor, is if your bad guys do not present an immediate and credible threat of lethal force, we need to get permission to shoot first. Is that understood?”
“You mean to say that given what I told you about these creeps, you will give them the first shot?” Simmons was aghast.
“No, what I’m saying is if they’re not offering an immediate threat, I will call it in. If they come after us or pull out a weapon of any kind, I’ll blow them right out of their socks.”
“That works for me.” Simmons nodded.
“I’m delighted to hear it. OK, XO, let’s thank our hosts and get going before I come to my senses.”
8
Workups
U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Kauai, Gulf of Mexico, 15 nautical miles northwest of Key West, Florida
1408 EST, 15 January
Sam had put the shakedown of the Puma system first on the list after they reached the weapons exercise area off Key West known as “Whiskey-174.” Sam had seen testing of the larger ScanEagle unmanned aircraft system on the large National Security Cutter he served on before he attended officer candidate school. The ScanEagle needed a catapult for launch and a catch wire system for recovery that occupied a significant part of the cutter’s flight deck. That experience had led to his doubt any UAV system could work on a unit as small as a patrol boat.
Thus, Sam continued to expect Deffler’s junior counterpart Morgan to set up some sort of launcher on Kauai’s foredeck. Morgan assembled the aircraft while Deffler ran through control checks on the GCS. Ben was on the foredeck, observing the setup and launch. Finally, Deffler announced, “Pre-flight checklist complete, request Green Deck for UAV launch.”
Sam looked at Bondurant, who had the OOD, and received a shrug in return. He made a mental note to work out a formal bridge procedure later. “Very well, Green Deck, launch when ready.”
Deffler spoke to Morgan through the headset. “Green Deck, Mike. Let me know when you’re ready for the count.”
Sam glanced down and watched Morgan pick up the UAV by its fus
elage just under the wing. At his ready report, Deffler activated the battery-powered engine into idle and began his countdown. “Launch in three, two, one, now!”
To Sam’s astonishment, at the count of two, Morgan drew his arm back like a javelin thrower and threw the aircraft into the air, releasing on “Now!” with the engine coming up to the loud buzz of full power. The aircraft arced downward slightly when it cleared the rail on Kauai, then started a slow climb over the water.
Sam shook his head in amazement while the small aircraft continued its ascent. The ScanEagle had cost millions of dollars in ship alterations and had mostly disabled the flight deck of the cutter when operating. The Puma took two crewmen for the launch, and Morgan had already picked up his gear and left the foredeck. Deffler started his planned flight pattern to check for any communications blind spots caused by the ship’s superstructure and interference from the radar.
For about an hour, Deffler “mapped” signal strength and quality in every direction and noted the dicey locations. Afterward, Deffler brought the aircraft back to put the cameras through their paces. Bondurant delighted in bringing Kauai up to a brisk 24 knots and putting her through a series of quick turns and reversals. Through it all, the Puma remained in a steady orbit, its camera doggedly locked on to the gyrating patrol boat.
The quality of the images sent from the aircraft impressed Sam. Even from 1000 feet of altitude, the resolution was sharp enough to read the quarter-inch lettering on the warning labels of the life raft canister. “Deffler, you need any more dedicated time? I would like to get going on the gun shoot before we lose the light.”
“All set, Captain. If you don’t object, I’d like to keep the bird up to do shot spotting.”
“Good, I’d like to see that too.” Sam nodded. “How much endurance do you have left?”
Deffler smiled. “Oh, a good four hours if we’re frugal, maybe three if we get fancy.”
Sam pondered what “get fancy” meant, but put it aside for the moment. “OK, OOD, let’s set Condition 1 for gunnery exercise, please.”
Engage at Dawn: First Contact Page 7