Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 1. O’Dark Thirty

It was four a.m. on a Monday morning June 13, 2016, when the bedside phone rang. I clicked on the lamp, squinted at the clock then picked up the phone. Seeing Unknown Caller I rejected the call. Four hours remained until work started and there was no need for anyone much less an overseas telemarketer to call me this early. Seconds later, it rang again.

Lindy my bride of barely six months roused from her sound sleep and growled:

“Answer it. Matt. It has to be an overseas call. Tell them to go away. We don’t want whatever it is they’re selling.”

Now normally she’s a doll of a woman; men swoon over her television news-anchor reports all day long but when she awakens it’s Katy bar the door. My best option was to appease her back to sleep. And, since the phone ID again listed Unknown Caller I decided it best to answer the call and give them a piece of my mind if they spoke English.

“Hello. What in the hell do you want? It’s four in the morning here in California,” I grumbled winking at my wife.

The usual automatic pause then several clicks followed before a voice spoke.

“And it’s seven in the morning here in Florida. Good morning, Mr. Cross.”

I had received calls at o’dark thirty before and they usually spelled trouble; the most recent came back in February when a Navy captain named Norton dragged me into a psychotic pi-day bomber’s world. Although it was dangerous as hell and I almost died twice my part in solving that crime saved California from nuclear annihilation and netted me over a million dollars in pay. Not again I thought. Surely, it can’t be as bad as the last time.

“Good morning, sir. To whom am I speaking?” I asked finally realizing it probably wasn’t a telemarketer: there was no accent.

“My name is not important, Mr. Cross. My mission for you is. Do you know of my friend U.S. Navy Captain Tim Broward?”

“Yes I do. sir. I was aboard the RV/X Trident Tine under his command several months ago. Nice fellow. I really like him. The Navy did well putting him there.”

“How was your experience with him?”

“I told him if I’d have been on his ship during my Navy tour, I’d probably still be in his Navy.”

“Yes, Mr. Cross, that’s what he said. He also told me that you’re the best underwater expert he’s ever seen in his long Navy career. Now I can understand your reluctance to re-up but we need your expertise again. This time in a similar capacity but with greater responsibility, more risk, and stranger circumstances.”

My first instinct was to say no but it sounded mysterious. It drew me in.

“I’ll need more information, sir.”

“Mr. Cross, unlike your last involvement with the government this is not a civil matter. I can tell you no more over an unsecure phone line. Do you have a scrambler line at work where we can talk?”

“Yes sir. Carlos, my boss, put one in one shortly after my last contract. He didn’t like being out of the loop so he added it for future work. You can call me there later today.”

“Well he was smart to do that. I have the number for MBORC. I’ll call you around noon your time. Will that work?”

“Yes. I look forward to your call, sir. Have a good morning.”

As the unknown caller clicked off Lindy opened an eye, looked at me, and mumbled:

“What is it now? Another one of your secret jaunts? How long are you going to be gone this time?”

It melted my heart when she asked but she was beginning to realize that I was obsessed with my work. She would always come second.

Looking into her gorgeous sleepy blue eyes pleading for an answer, I couldn’t say. But I suspected for quite a while. Scrambled calls usually meant covert activities and those led to prolonged periods away from home in unmentionable locations.

I kissed her forehead gently and said, “I–I just don’t know, honey. He didn’t say, but he’s supposed to call me back at noon today and tell me more. On the scrambled work phone.”

“Well who is he anyway? Jake from State Farm?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her waking sarcasm.

“No one I know but he knew of my previous work. I guess I’m getting a reputation around the Navy as a modern Jacques Clouseau.”

“Well goody for you, Inspector, but I think you mean Cousteau,” she scoffed. “Anyway is it going to pay us another million dollars? We haven’t even used up the last one yet. We’ve got a new car, a new house with a big screen TV, and new furniture. Do we really need more?” she asked with tears welling in her eyes.

“I just can’t stand to have you gone, honey. I miss you so much. I’d throw it all away in a minute to have you stay home with me.”

Sharing her emotion, I was up against a wall. Her words ripped at my heart. Fighting back tears myself I wondered if we really needed more money or was it just another of my self-indulgent ego trips? Of course had I told her that I saved southern California from nuclear devastation during my last ‘secret jaunt’ she might have understood. But I couldn’t talk about it; that covert operation was hush-hush from start to finish.

“It’s not just about the money, doll,” I answered. “I won’t accept a job unless I can help humanity: do something for our world no one else can do. Kinda like when I was in the Navy before I met you, I loved serving my country. I guess I still do.”

She leaned up and kissed me. “Well, Matt Cross, you’re a good man. I guess I’ll let you slide again. Just wake me up when it’s over.”

With that, she laid her head back on her pillow and resumed her soft snoring.