He waited while Ed climbed up, then nodded towards Judy.
“Miss Brisson, why don’t you try just aft here? Sorry things are cramped; it isn’t designed for visitors. We’d go inside, but it’s easier to explain it here, where it all happened.”
Ed nodded his agreement. Nice breeze. Good security, too.
“Nice to meet you, Commander. You said acting captain?” he queried as he made himself as comfortable as circumstances allowed, then glanced down into the bridge, where the Commander was situated.
“Yes, I’m the Exec. I didn’t inform our local friends over there,” Steele gestured towards the police launch, “but Captain Stuart was blinded by the flash from the cruiser. He was using his binoculars at the time, which seems to have amplified the effect of the flash of light.”
While the Commander was talking, Judy wandered around the top of the sail; she had put her glasses back on again, and she did not appear to be listening to him as she looked intently at the metal structure. Finally she bent down, examining the surface, then stared over the side, towards the water.
“Commander Steele, how long has this plating been like this?” she questioned, indicating a small section of the edging just behind the bridge on the port side, which was cut away, forming a very shallow ‘u’ shape.
He levered himself over the back edge onto the sail and moved to the spot, then ran his hand over the slight depression. “I don’t remember – this is strange.”
“Where was the Captain standing when the flash hit him?” Ed asked, as he realised the significance of the find.
“Where I was just now, I believe.”
“And was anyone else up here at the time?”
“Yes, Ensign Spackman was here, and our Senior Petty Officer.” He turned to his subordinate. “Exactly where were you standing when the flash occurred, Ensign?”
Spackman hesitated, glancing nervously over at the civilians.
“You can speak freely; these are federal government investigators with full security clearance. Higher than yours or mine, probably,” he added with a smile.
“I was standing here, by the Captain, sir,” he admitted hastily, his face slightly reddened with embarrassment.
“I don’t get it sir,” Judy turned to Ed. “If the Captain were looking at the Getaway, I don’t understand how he could have been blinded.”
Ed looked at her blankly.
“The flash came from almost dead ahead, and the beam took out the side edge of the sail just behind the bridge here, and a part of the top of the rear edge of the diving plane,” Judy explained, indicating the port plane half way down the sail.
“What!” Commander Steele leaned over the side and looked at the damage in alarm.
“Considering the geometry,” Judy continued, unconcerned at the effect of her comments on the commanding officer. “The beam would have to have come from about forty five degrees above the horizontal to hit both points.” She pointed upwards and drew her hand back to the damage on the edge. “Which means it didn’t come from the direction of the cruiser,” at this point she gestured from dead ahead, back across the top of the sail, “otherwise it would have cut through the Captain like a hot knife through warm butter, and missed the superstructure entirely.”
“Very graphic,” said a voice from the hatchway, “but I think I understand now what happened to P.O. Lewark.”
Judy looked around, startled by the voice that seemed to have come from nowhere.
Captain Peter Stuart climbed up, his brown hair becoming visible as he emerged, continuing his explanation as he settled into the rear of the bridge.
“I wasn’t looking at the cruiser; it was too far ahead to be seen. And I had been alerted to look for something airborne, so I searched the sky. I was looking at a dark object somewhere above where the cruiser was supposed to be. I had noticed a slight flash of light and was trying to determine the source.” He pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, covering his rather bloodshot brown eyes. “Oh it’s all right,” he explained as Commander Steele and Ensign Spackman looked at him anxiously. “You all look a little over-exposed, but our resident ‘medicine man’ seems to think my eyesight will soon be back to normal.”
Commander Steele twisted around, grabbing the Captain’s right hand, and congratulated him enthusiastically on his good fortune.
Captain Stuart returned the handshake briefly, then turned around to face Judy, brushing off his officer’s concern abruptly.
“You must be Judy Brisson,” he reached up and shook her hand. Then he turned to Ed. “Major Baynes.” His use of the old Air Force title indicated a prior knowledge of the NUIT chief, and the tone of his voice showed his respect. He tilted his head forward almost imperceptibly, and turned back to Judy. “Simple trigonometry, something we’re all trained in to provide an attack capability even if the computer is down, provides the rest. Knowing the distance the Getaway was from the ‘sub.’ and assuming the object was the same distance away and slightly to starboard, your estimate of forty five degrees would place ‘the object’ at about six miles up.”
There was a pause while everyone digested this information. During it, Judy climbed partially down the outside of the sail and walked out on the diving plane. She looked up; her voice carried easily in the calm air.
“I’d like to have the location of this damage and that small groove up there determined exactly, so we can give a more precise estimate. Also, the heading that the Getaway had been on when it was being tracked by your sonar. Then I can correlate that with the angle of the hole through the cruiser. But for now, I’d place it anywhere from about six miles up to about nine, knowing that it shot at the Chicago soon after it shot at the Getaway,” she called up as she walked back to the ladder. “That’s assuming it didn’t move significantly between shots.”
“How far could it move in a few seconds?” the Captain questioned rhetorically as Judy climbed down to the bottom of the sail and walked out over the deck of the Los Angeles Class submarine. No one ventured a guess, but several pairs of eyes watched her movements with increasing unease.
Brisson bent down and ran her hand lightly over the steel plating of the submarine. She looked up.
“Captain Stuart, when you are moving at speed on the surface, how much water is there down around this point?”
The Captain did not answer immediately, but instead climbed over the edge of the sail and down the rungs to join her, followed quickly by the others. He pressed tentatively on the strangely roughened portion of steel that Judy had discovered. Captain Stuart whistled softly as the surface flexed slightly.
“There’s a bow wave which forms and maintains about a foot of water at this point.” He moved his hand away, and then reluctantly reached out and repeated the experiment, as if he were hoping that this time the surface would be as solid as it was specified to be. Despite his gentle probing, a collective gasp went up as his fingers suddenly broke through.
Commander Steele reached out and forced the foil-thin steel down, releasing his Captain’s fingers and widening the hole considerably in the process.
“This was done from a distance of how many miles?” He glanced from Brisson’s wet-suited form to Baynes’ grim visage in horror.
“Just be thankful for that significant layer of water.” Ed raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
“And the fact that you were not considered worth a second shot.” Judy spoke these words in her usual flat tone, as she reached out and broke off a strip of ‘submarine skin’ for further analysis. “I think they were already leaving, and may have been at a much higher altitude, already.”
Spackman cleared his throat nervously.
“I- I guess the P.O. really did give his life for the boat, then.”
Baynes looked at him sharply.
Joe glanced questioningly at his captain, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Chief Petty Officer Lewark was acting as lookout on the port side. He--”
Judy swallowed as sh
e recalled her earlier words about the Captain.
“We have his lower torso and legs…” Commander Steele whispered intensely.
No one said anything for a while.
“If you are right about the altitude,” Captain Stuart broke the silence, speaking with a quiet intensity that carried more effectively than a shout. “At such a distance, the size of the image in the binoculars would indicate that the ‘object’ was much bigger than any existing aircraft, more like a half mile across.”
No one spoke again for what seemed like an age, then Ed cleared his voice to get their attention.
“I must inform you all that, as of this instant, this incident is subject to top secret classification,” Baynes announced gravely. “You must not discuss it with anyone outside of this crew.” He paused and smiled wryly at Joe Spackman. “I’d tell you not to talk about it amongst your crew mates if I thought it would do any good. Just make sure that no one outside of the Chicago ever hears so much as a whisper about it.”
“Major,” Captain Stuart addressed Ed Baynes by his old title once more, unconsciously emphasizing the importance of his impending question. “My standing orders require that I submit a further report to H.Q. on this, especially as it is a matter of national security. We will also have to document the damage, return to port, and undergo repairs, in any case – we would sink like a stone if we tried to submerge with this kind of damage. I’ll have to indicate the cause of this, this … ‘wound’ to the Chicago, and the death of our Senior Petty Officer. What will you authorise me to say?”
“I’d list the P.O.’s death as radiation-related. That’s always easy to be believed, and of course true, in a way, although the assumption will be that you are referring to ionising radiation, not laser, or intense, collimated coherent visible light radiation. Another bonus is that no one will want to see the body. As for the Chicago…” Ed paused and thought the problem through again quickly. “It’s more a matter of what is worth saying.” Baynes continued with a dry chuckle, though his face showed no levity.
“Any specific facts or conclusions you provide should be tempered by the knowledge that, ‘non-conventional’ threats, shall we say, such as this would appear to be, have never been taken very seriously. If you can recommend an upgraded level of continuous monitoring of all observation systems, such as military radar, some more evidence may turn up to make this seem less incredible.”
“I take your point,” the Captain said thoughtfully. “It’s true, too. I wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t happened to me!” Peter Stuart admitted frankly, much to the amusement of his Executive Officer.
That’s why I can’t get mad at everybody else; I said the same thing five years ago. Ed sighed.
“Thanks for your help, Captain, Commander. You too, Ensign.” Ed raised himself a little stiffly from his crouch by the hole in the deck plating of the Chicago, saluted the others and turned crisply to Judy. “Let’s go make that call to Fraser, shall we, Brisson?”
She nodded, and they walked along the deck towards the dingy.
“I can have the Chicago contact the Coast Guard and have that helicopter back here within half an hour, sir,” Judy began as they neared the dingy. “That way we won’t have to waste a couple of hours travelling with the police back to port, and I will have time to get the precise position of these three impact points recorded. I can also check out the hull of the Getaway with more precise instrumentation – I know the crew of the sub will have what I need – to confirm the nature of the hole at all points.”
“Good idea, I can’t abide wasting time,” Baynes agreed readily, stopping on the metal plating about halfway between the sail and the still-waiting sailor. “Let’s do just that – get the Navy to contact Fraser on their system, shall we?”
Judy nodded, looking very relieved by this alternative.
Ed turned back. He knew full well that it was not so much the time that it would take but the presence of one Sergeant Friesch that made the prospect of the journey so unpalatable to her. And I don’t blame her; I can’t stand that jerk either.
Chapter Five
The power to hide power is game-changing – Penchetan
Richard awoke in a cold sweat, muscles tensed and legs tangled up in the flannel sheets. The dream stayed vivid in his mind and, although it was only a few minutes after five in the morning, he decided to get up and prepare for the day ahead.
A little before six, he had showered, eaten a cold breakfast of cereal and juice, and written a note to his aunt (as she had not yet made an appearance) explaining that he had decided to explore the town a little on his way to school. As he left the house, the sense of anticipation that had been building in his mind since his arrival grew stronger, and the breeze from the sea seemed to blow away the cobwebs from his brain, making him feel more awake than he could ever have imagined himself being.
He closed the door quietly, after checking that the key Enid had given him was in his jeans pocket, and walked down the little boardwalk, keeping to the edges to avoid making the creaking noises that had alerted his aunt to his presence on his arrival in Redcliff, just two days earlier. There was a dark band of cloud in the east that made it impossible to tell if the sun had risen above the watery horizon. Overhead, the pale blue sky was sprinkled with occasional little white fluffy clouds, tinted pink on their undersides; the road was still damp from a rain shower that had passed over the town during the night. The glistening houses and cottages at the side of the road seemed surreal, almost more than three-dimensional, like the kind of ‘3-D’ effect which movies viewed with the old red and green tinted glasses produce.
The dull appearance of the predawn that Richard remembered so well from Boston winters was nowhere in evidence.
Mixed beech and maple trees, and others that Richard did not recognize, swayed gently, waving their leaves about haphazardly. Here and there a few branches were sporting fall colours of yellow-green, yellow, and even red. He pulled his jacket a little closer and stuffed his hands into his pockets as the coolness of the damp air started to chill him. A squirrel ran across the road a few yards ahead of him, stopping to look up at him in an agitated manner every time his shoes came down on loose gravel. Richard watched it jump into the undergrowth at the side of the road and disappear. A few sparrows flew past as he continued down the gentle curves of Daniel Street.
Richard had intended to go down to the harbour to watch the fishing boats, but as he wandered down the road his attention was caught once more by the unusual castle-like building on the slope to the left of the road. From his vantage point he was about level with the top of the structure, and could see parts of the battlements on the far side.
The sun, choosing this moment to dispel any uncertainty about its location relative to the planet, and to Maine in particular, found a crack in the heavy cloud and peeped through, painting the stepped rocks at the top of the structure an incredibly deep red colour. Richard continued down the hill, his eyes never leaving the unique features that had fascinated him almost from the moment of his arrival in Redcliff. He stopped, looking up now from the road directly below it, and watched as the entire building was slowly bathed in red light. The black, featureless walls seemed to soak up the sunlight, giving not even a hint of a gleam of reflected light, and the realization that there were no windows in them developed gradually in his subconscious until he spoke out loud:
“No windows, no doors, no openings, not even any cracks - except in the battlements.... I wonder what it could be.” He leaned against the fence at the bottom of the property and just stared for a while. Then his gaze was drawn to the very ordinary gate, and from there, up the weed-infested gravel driveway to an old, faded garage with partially peeled paint and traces of moss on the roof. The doors of the garage were held together by an incredibly rusty padlock and chain that, over years of rainstorms, had stained the bare ground beneath a deep red-brown. The garage had a slight but noticeable lean to the south that completed its derelict appearance. Th
e grass around the black building was of variable height and sprinkled with dandelions and daisies, and the occasional thistle.
Gradually, the volume of whistling sounds from further down the hill increased until they distracted Richard at last, and he turned to watch as the mailman walked briskly and cheerfully towards him, his pack swinging at his side.
“Good morning!” The postal worker called brightly. “You must be the new lad at Mrs. Schroder’s.”
Richard smiled awkwardly. “Ah - yes, I’m Richard Fletcher.”
“Ah! More mail from now on at Mrs. Schroder’s… Mack Turner’s the name, mail’s my game!” He recited, waving a handful of letters around like a trophy. “There’s not much that goes on around here that I don’t hear about,” Mack said proudly. Shrew-like eyes in an incredibly weather-beaten face examined Richard in the near-horizontal rays of the early morning sunshine.
“Well, perhaps you can help me then,” began Richard, as the idea occurred to him. “Just what is this, this thing here?” And he pointed at the strange building.
“Well, that’s easy lad,” Mack began with confidence born of years of experience as he turned to face the structure. “That’s ah... well, there’s a family living there, their name’s on the tip of my, ah….” his voice trailed off uncertainly as he looked out to sea, seeking inspiration, but very obviously failing to find any.
“But there aren’t any doors or windows!”
“Don’t be silly, there’s lots of them, ah, I remember…” Turner looked worried, then finally he continued. “Oh yes, they’re on the other side! How could I forget! Just like the mailbox. A bit of a walk for me, but no, there isn’t any mail for them today, anyway,” he said, after a quick look in his bag. “They don’t get much mail really…” He said thoughtfully. He started on up the hill, and then turned around with a puzzled expression on his face.
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