Dive to Oblivion

7

The C-5A transport plane carrying Thomas Moore landed at Andrews Air Force base a little after five in the morning. Feeling tired and disoriented after his almost nonstop flight around half the earth, he decided to make a quick stop at his condo to freshen up before continuing on to the office.

A shuttle van conveyed him onto the Capital Beltway, over the Potomac River via the Woodrow Wilson Memorial Bridge, and into the heart of historic Alexandria, Virginia. It was a chilly, cloudless morning, and the first colors of dawn were on the eastern horizon as he climbed out of the van and ambled down the narrow brick walkway leading to his home. He ignored the collection of community papers that were scattered before the door, and after disarming the security system, reached into his pocket for the key. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t there, and only after searching the rest of his pockets and his wallet’s secret compartment, did he conclude that he had most likely lost it in the plane’s restroom.

It was Laurie who came up with the idea of hiding an extra key outside. Fortunately, he found it hidden beneath one of the loose porch bricks, still wrapped in aluminum foil and plastic wrap. It was a bit rusted, and Thomas mumbled a quick, silent prayer of thanks to his wife as he put it into the lock and felt the cylinder turn over.

What little he had in the way of luggage, he tossed onto the couch as he headed straight into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Because he hadn’t cleaned the coffeemaker after its last use, he was forced to do so now. He emptied the used filter and stale coffee grounds into the garbage, and discovered from the horrible smell when he lifted up the garbage can lid that he had also forgotten to empty the trash. He had to remove a thick stack of dirty plates from the sink to be able to position the coffeepot under the faucet. He filled it up to the six-cup line, and after emptying it into the brewer’s receptacle, went to get the coffee, which he found in the nearly empty refrigerator, alongside a box holding a moldy, half eaten anchovy pizza. To add to his distress, a search of the drawer where he kept the filters resulted in only an empty plastic wrapper, and he had to resort to removing the used filter from the trash to complete the final preparation.

While the coffee was brewing, he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. Because his extra uniforms were still at the local dry cleaner, he had to slip back into the same set of wrinkled khakis that had accompanied him on his long flight from Japan.

Never known for his organizational skills when it came to everyday household matters, he really missed Laurie at times like these. Even while holding down a full-time position as a teacher, she still managed to keep the place spotless, the refrigerator stocked, and his closet filled with clean clothes.

These were things that he had always taken for granted, until she was abruptly taken from him, and he realized how very much he had depended upon her.

The inviting scent of fresh coffee called him back to the kitchen. Though he would have loved nothing better than to get a couple hours of sleep, he knew that once he hit the mattress, he’d never get up in time to make it to the office today. Once more, caffeine would have to see him through yet another long day, until he’d have the time for a real rest. He filled his white, ceramic Naval Institute mug up to the rim, flicked on the radio, and sat down at the kitchen table. The black, Colombian coffee was strong, and as he contentedly sipped it, he listened to the morning news. There was the usual depressing economic news, and a report of a series of fatal shootings only two blocks from the White House.

Yet the story that really got his attention was the brief mention that an American ballistic missile submarine, the USS Lewis and Clark, was overdue in contacting command, and that a search for this boat was currently being initiated off the eastern coast of Florida.

Suddenly, thoughts of his own fatigue were far from his mind, as he struggled to figure out the true significance of this shocking news report. The one thing that was most evident, was that whoever released this story was deliberately misleading the American people. Because the Lewis and Clark was not missing at all, but was currently being towed to Okinawa by the USS Hewitt.

Yet why spread such disinformation to the public?

Could it be that the Navy actually couldn’t explain how the Lewis and Clark ended up in the Pacific, and that they had to release this report as a red herring?

All but forgetting his coffee, Thomas Moore knew that there was only one place where he could get the answers to these disturbing questions.

He hurried to the adjoining garage, stopping only to reset the condo’s security alarm. His only automobile was a 1969 Corvette convertible, which he hoped to restore to mint condition one day. Hurriedly, he yanked off the canvas car cover, and regardless of the fact that the top was down, jumped inside. A remote-control switch allowed him to open the garage, and he found the key waiting for him in the ignition.

He carefully pressed the accelerator to the floor three times, shifted the gear into neutral, and then turned the key, causing the engine to start with a throaty roar. Without waiting for it to warm up, he shifted into reverse, and backed out onto the cobblestone street.

The sun had already risen, yet Moore found the air to be crisp and cool, especially with the top down as it was. Sorry that he hadn’t taken the time to put on a jacket, he guided his vehicle down St. Asaph Street. Rush hour had yet to begin on the picturesque roadways of Alexandria, and he sped through the town’s historic section, where two-hundred-year old town houses were surrounded by majestic oak and elm trees, that once shaded the likes of George Washington and Robert E. Lee. The leaves of these ancient trees were just beginning to be at their peak of fall color, and Moore wished that he had more time to enjoy them.

Autumn had been Laurie’s favorite time of the year. She actually charted when the local trees would be their most colorful, and made certain that they’d ride their bicycles to Mt. Vernon at this time.

Thomas Moore missed the carefree fall excursions, which had kept him in shape and had given him a better appreciation of nature.

The traffic began to pick up as he crossed the Potomac and turned north onto the Anacostia freeway.

Across the river, a plane could be seen taking off from National Airport, while in the distance, he could just make out the towering, white spire of the Washington monument.

Ten minutes later, he was passing through the guarded gates of the Washington Navy Yard. One of the oldest naval bases in the country, the yard was home to a variety of commands including the Naval Investigative Service. The NIS had several missions including general law enforcement, security, and counterintelligence. Having been assigned to this post for two years now, Moore knew just where to find a parking space located nearest his office.

“Good morning. Commander Moore,” welcomed Gus Tomlin, the bright-eyed, black guard at the security desk.

“We sure haven’t seen you around here in a while. How’s the “Vette running?”

“Smooth as silk, Gus,” replied Thomas with a distracted smile.

“Is the old man in yet?”

“He sure is. I think he spent the night, because his car was out there when I arrived for duty two hours ago. He left word for you to meet him in data processing as soon as you arrived.”

“Thanks, Gus,” said Moore, his thoughts already refocusing on the many questions he had for his superior officer.

An elevator conveyed him down into the subbasement level. Before the door to the lift would open, he had to access his security code I.D. number into a keypad located beside the floor selector. Once this was accomplished, an electronic chime rang out overhead, and the door slid open with a low hiss.

A linoleum-tiled hallway led him into a cavernous room, completely filled with mainframe computers and scurrying workers, most of whom were in uniform.

It was most unusual to see so much activity this early in the morning, and Moore sensed that a crisis atmosphere prevailed here as he spotted a familiar, silver-haired figure perched above a bank of glowing monitor screens.

Rear Admiral Daniel Proctor was the current commander of the NIS. A thirty-year Navy veteran, the distinguished, easygoing flag officer was a popular father figure to the men and women who served under him. Not afraid to pitch in and work right alongside his troops, Proctor anxiously peered over the shoulder of a seated chief, to read the contents of her monitor screen. As usual, he wore a green woolen sweater with leather elbow patches — a British SAS colonel had given it to him — and he held an unlit briar pipe at his side. Displaying the sixth sense that most successful intelligence officers possessed, he looked up and spotted Moore while the unannounced new com was still a good twenty yards distant.

“Well, just look what the wind blew in,” he said with an outstretched hand.

“How’s our favorite globe-trotter doing?”

Moore answered while accepting his superior’s firm handshake.

“I’m holding up pretty good considering that yesterday at this time, I was floating in the Pacific, halfway around the world from here.” “So I understand,” said Proctor as he guided Moore over to a vacant console.

“You did a hell of a fine job on the Iwo Jima, Thomas. Undercover drug busts are never fun, and I want to tell you in person that it was a job well done.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, so much has happened to me since leaving the Iwo Jima, that I almost forgot about my assignment there. Admiral, about the Lewis and Clark.”

Proctor alertly cut Moore off before he could continue any further.

“I’d rather not discuss this subject out here, Thomas. Let’s grab the conference room.”

It was obvious that his mention of the sub had hit a raw nerve, and Moore readily followed Proctor into an adjoining room. Again the veteran showed uncanny intuition as he spoke out while seating himself at the head of the room’s rectangular table.

“I bet you heard this morning’s newscast.”

“You’re damn right I did,” replied Moore impatiently.

“Admiral, what the hell’s going on out there in the Pacific?”

Proctor looked the young investigator directly in the eye and replied.

“I know that you’re going to find this hard to believe, Thomas, but I can’t really say myself. Right now, all I know for certain is that we’ve currently got a nuclear-powered, ballistic-missile submarine on its way to Okinawa, after disappearing in the Bahamas, only two days ago!”

“Surely this has to be a disinformation ploy of some sort,” countered Moore.

“Or maybe OP-02 concocted this whole thing just to put us to the test.”

Proctor solemnly shook his head.

“You have it right from me that OP-02 is just as perplexed by this entire incident as any of us are. And the only disinformation that’s being deliberately released is that story about Lewis and Clark being overdue off the coast of Florida. And from what I understand, the decision to make this cock-‘n-bull story public came right from the White House.”

“But why lie to the American people?” retorted Moore.

“Sooner or later, the stories are bound to get out, and then what are we going to do?”

“Come off it, Thomas. We can’t just sit back and tell the world that we’ve got a nuclear-powered submarine that’s unexplainably traveled halfway around the world overnight, and has proceeded to lose every member of its crew except one along the way. We’d have a panic on our hands that could create disastrous consequences.”

“I guess you’re right,” reflected Moore.

“You’re damn right I am. And until we can figure out what happened out there, all of us can only pray that we can keep the lid on this thing.”

Inwardly, Moore had been hoping that Command was going to have some sort of rational answer for him. But now he realized the truth in his CO’s response, and that Rear Admiral Proctor was relying on him for the answers.

“In my entire thirty years of service, this one takes the cake for weirdness, Thomas. Because whatever happened to the Lewis and Clark, that wasn’t the only strange thing that came down that day. At about the same time that the sub was reported overdue, an American Airlines 747 flying from San Francisco to Tokyo arrived in Japan four hours early, and that was into a headwind!”

“Could these incidents be related?” asked Moore, clearly disturbed by the strange direction in which the investigation was now heading.

“Before I attempt to answer that, Thomas, let me share with you yet another enigma, that we learned about only this morning. Shortly before that 747 touched down at Narita, the world’s largest radio telescope, at Arecibo, Puerto Rico, monitored what seemed to be a powerful burst of undecipherable radio activity originating from somewhere in the Bahamas.

This electromagnetic disturbance lasted less than thirty seconds, and was directed into deep space, towards the distant star cluster Cygnus X-l, where the nearest black hole to earth supposedly lies.”

Moore was now completely confused.

“I’m sorry if I sound dense, but what does all of this mean?”

Proctor sat forward, his tone firm.

“Apologies on your part aren’t necessary, Thomas. This thing has stumped all of us, and only the computer has offered a semi rational explanation so far. Do you know much about black holes in space?”

“I’m afraid my knowledge of the cosmos is limited to basic celestial navigation,” answered Moore.

“Well, no matter, because all you need to know is that a black hole is a sort of cosmic bottomless pit which appears to swallow up any unfortunate object that comes along, distorting the space-time continuum along the way. The only substantial theory that the computer has to offer so far, is that a black hole somehow struck the earth, in the general area of the Bahamas, and in the process, altered the Lewis and Clark’s electromagnetic composition, subsequently pulling it through the core of the earth, and depositing it in the Pacific. The 747’s early arrival was one of the aftereffects of this bizarre stellar collision, though there’s still no explanation of what happened to the submarine’s crew.”

“That’s a wild one, Admiral,” observed Moore.

“And I expect any minute now that you’ll be telling me that it’s a UFO that could be responsible, or even the Bermuda Triangle for that matter.”

“I understand your skepticism, Thomas. And I’ve got to admit that the Black Hole theory is even a little too much for me to swallow. And in an effort to bring this whole thing back to earth, I’ve been working all morning on my very own hypothesis, that I believe is substantially more plausible. If you’ll just bear with me, I’d like to show you a portion of a presentation that I’m preparing for a National Security Council meeting to be held later this afternoon.”

Proctor utilized a remote-control switch to dim the lights and lower a white screen on the wall facing them. From a wall-mounted slide projector, the screen filled with a picture of a sleek, oceangoing ship, with a streamlined prow and a single funnel located amidships. It was Proctor who provided the commentary.

“This ship is the Soviet oceanographic vessel, Academician Petrovsky. It was originally launched in 1990, to provide the fleet with acoustic and hydrographic information. To accomplish this task, it’s been outfitted with a first-class suite of sensors, and even has an interior moon pool capable of launching a variety of small manned mini subs and ROV’s. Four and a half weeks ago, it left its home port on the Baltic sea, and after brief stops in Scandinavia and the U.K.” set sail for New York, where it picked up a team of United Nations observers for its current mission as primary support ship for the Mir underwater habitat program.”

Proctor readdressed the remote control switch, and the screen filled with an artist’s rendering of the Mir habitat.

“I’m certain that you’ve read all the press accounts of the habitat program, Thomas. You’re also aware that it was placed in its current location, off the northeastern coast of Andros island regardless of our most strenuous objections. As far as the U.S. Navy was concerned, it was just too close to our Tongue of the Ocean underwater test facility, where Lewis and Clark was bound to when we originally lost contact with her.”

The next slide showed a tall, square-shouldered Soviet naval officer, with a distinctive patch covering his left eye. Again it was Proctor who identified him.

“This is Admiral Igor Valerian, CO of the Academician Petrovsky. At sixty-seven years of age. Valerian is a decorated veteran of World War II. He’s also an outspoken hard liner with strong Party ties.

Of course, my suspicions were immediately aroused when I learned that the Soviets had made Valerian the ship’s commanding officer. Having skippered everything from a helicopter cruiser to a nuclear submarine, a mere oceanographic vessel seemed a bit out of his league.”

The next picture on the screen showed a whitehaired old man. He was dressed in the clothes of a civilian, and was captured from a distance chopping wood.

“This is a rare shot of Dr. Andrei Petrov, the famed Soviet physicist, who five years ago was fired from his position at the Kirov Polytechnic Institute, and forcefully sent into exile in the Ural foothills.

Petrov is known as a brilliant theoretician, in the vein of Albert Einstein. Like Einstein’s, his main body of work concerned the basic properties of matter.

Most of Petrov’s early experiments revolved around the relation of electromagnetism to gravity.

And he was said to be working on a device that could influence the basic composition of matter through magnetic resonance. In other words, make material objects invisible.”

“Hold on a minute, Admiral,” interrupted Moore.

“This is starting to sound like science fiction once again.”

Proctor was anticipating such a remark and quickly responded to it.

“Don’t forget that less than forty years ago, the mere idea of putting a man on the moon, or having him live on the sea floor would have been greeted with equal skepticism. So just hang in there, Thomas, and try to keep an open mind — because, as you’re about to learn, the U.S. Navy has conducted its own experiments in the so-called field of antimatter, that began over five decades ago.”

The next slide showed Albert Einstein seated in his study, with two uniformed U.S. Navy officers close beside him. Proctor cleared his throat and continued.

“In 1940 Einstein and Rudolph Ladenberg first proposed using strong electromagnetic fields to counter mines and torpedoes. The Navy officially put Einstein to work on May 31, 1943. He was employed as a scientific consultant for the Bureau of Ordnance and the Navy office of Scientific Research and Development.

“Given the exclusive use of a destroyer to conduct his initial experiments on, Einstein was attempting to utilize pulsating energy fields to produce electromagnetic camouflage. Yet the famed scientist was to get much more than he bargained for.”

The slide of Einstein was replaced by one showing a single. World War II era destroyer, and Proctor went on: “This is the USS Eldridge. While at port in the Philadelphia naval yard, Einstein and his team installed a series of pulsating and non pulsating magnetic generators aboard the ship. Much like modern day degaussers, which we use to neutralize a ship’s magnetic signature, these generators were pulsed at specific resonant frequencies to create a powerful magnetic field around the Eldridge. And much to everyone’s surprise, the destroyer seemed momentarily to vanish in a light green mist. A later experiment with a more powerful magnetic field produced even more drastic results. And it was rumored, though never officially verified, that the Eldridge disappeared from its berth in Philadelphia, and was instantaneously transferred to Norfolk, where a sister device had been positioned.”

“I’ve heard of the so-called Philadelphia Experiment, Admiral,” revealed Moore.

“But I always considered it the product of someone’s overactive imagination. Are you saying that the Eldridge was actually rendered invisible, and then tele ported to Norfolk?”

“That I am, Thomas,” returned Proctor curtly.

“But what does this have to do with the Lewis and Clark?” asked Moore, his patience all but exhausted.

Proctor readdressed the remote control switch, and the screen once more filled with the photo of Dr. Andrei Petrov.

“I believe that the answer to your question lies with this man, Thomas. Since Einstein’s death, he’s become the world’s foremost expert in the fields of electromagnetism and gravity. Much like Einstein, he feared that his revolutionary work would be misused by mankind, and he dared to speak out to warn the public. The Soviet government responded by forcing Petrov and his wife into exile.

“They have been living in forced seclusion for over five years now, with extremely restricted contact with the outside world. That was, until yesterday, when we learned that Andrei Petrov had been flown by helicopter to Kirov. There, a Soviet transport plane was waiting to fly him to Havana, where he was subsequently transferred via helicopter, to the deck of the Academician Petrovsky.”

This surprising revelation hit home, and Moore alertly sat forward, as Proctor added:

“So now not only do we have a hard-line Russian fleet admiral as the CO of one of their most capable oceanographic research vessels, but one of their most brilliant physicists as well, all aboard the same ship.

And to make matters even more interesting, is the fact that Petrov’s daughter, Ivana, is currently living in the Mir underwater habitat, on the upper slopes of the Andros Trench. I don’t have to remind you that this is almost precisely where the Lewis and Clark was supposed to be when we lost her, Thomas.

Which leads me to believe that the Russians are somehow responsible for this whole confusing tragedy.”

“Very interesting, Admiral,” remarked Moore.

“I’ve got to admit that it sure makes a hell of a lot more sense than that black-hole theory, even though I still find the idea of an antimatter device a bit hard to swallow. How do you propose that we continue with the investigation from this point?”

Most relieved that his hypothesis was not immediately shrugged off by Moore, Daniel Proctor answered him with a question.

“Ever embark on a 688 class attack sub before, Thomas?”

“I haven’t had that pleasure. Admiral.”

Proctor grinned.

“Well, you’re going to presently, son, because I’m ordering you to Norfolk. There COMSUBLANT will be providing you with your very own Los Angeles class attack sub to recreate the Lewis and Clark’s voyage up to the point where we lost them. To allow you unlimited surveillance of the Andros Trench, your 688 will be picking up the deep submergence rescue vehicle, Avalon, in Port Canaveral. My gut tells me that the Soviets are using the U.N. underwater habitat program as a cover, and I’m relying on you to verify my suspicions.

“To keep you busy on the flight down to Norfolk, I’ve got a file that I’d like you to take a look at. This top-secret report documents the only official U.S. Navy mention of Einstein’s Philadelphia Experiment that I was able to put my hands on. It seems that when the Eldridge rematerialized in Norfolk, all hands below deck except one were inexplicably lost. An old friend in BUPERS was able to dig up a portion of the original medical report concerning this lone survivor.”

“My God, that’s just like what happened on the Lewis and Clark!” exclaimed the astounded junior investigator.

“You’ve got it,” replied his superior, whose tone turned somber.

“And by the way, Thomas, it’s been decided to inform the families of Lewis and Clark’s crew that the boat has been officially listed as missing at sea. We’ll continue to stick to our story that the vessel was lost off the coast of Florida, with a press release from CHINFO to hit the wires later this afternoon.”

Without waiting for a response to this. Proctor flicked off the slide projector and turned the room lights back on.

“Good luck with your sub ride,” he said as he pushed his chair back and stood.

“And for heaven’s sake, don’t go and disappear on me. This case is confusing enough as it is.”