Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 2. Operation Deep Force

That morning after arriving at work, I found the news had preceded me. There on my desk was a handwritten note from my boss: Matt, see me when you arrive. It was curt: no pleasantries or anything. Just a short impersonal request. That usually meant he was pissed about something.

My walk down the long hallway to his office brought curious stares and murmured whispers from my coworkers. Everyone seemed to know but me. Wondering what I had done wrong my mind churned but found nothing to regret. It had to be the phone call but how could they have known so fast?

His door was open so I walked in.

Looking out the window, he spun in his chair to face me.

“Come in, Matt,” he said.

I loved Carlos. He was a jovial straight-laced businessman who treated his staff like family. Although he was brash, a few pounds overweight, and his thinning brown hair was over-dyed he would give us the shirt off his back if we asked.

Analyzing the tone in his voice, I relaxed realizing it was not his angry one. I sat down in the chair across the desk from him.

“What’s up, boss?”

He paused clearing his throat before speaking.

“I assume you got a call at some ungodly hour this morning as did I.”

“Yes sir, I did. Caller wouldn’t identify himself though.”

“You know why, don’t you?”

“No not really. I’ve talked to a lot of navy people and they all told me their names.”

He motioned to the hallway.

“Matt, you may have noticed a little more attention out there this morning. True?”

“Yes, I did. At first I checked my socks and then my shoes to make sure they all matched. Then I thought I might have had my shirt on inside out. I really had a guilt trip walking down here. Why is that?”

“The red phone rang ten minutes before you walked in. That’s why.”

“Your new secure phone line?”

“Yes exactly. First time it’s made a sound since it was installed. People rushed out into the hall to see what was happening. Thought it was a fire alarm. Turns out it has quite a distinctive ring, like a chain saw on cocaine.”

That mental image tickled me. I couldn’t stop chuckling but I continued, “Was the call for me?”

“No. For me. But about you,” he snickered. Even he was caught up in his metaphor.

Leaning forward in my chair I asked, “May I ask what was said?”

He paused in thought for a moment then sighed loudly and opened a small notebook from his desk.

“Matt, I’ve noticed a change in you since your honeymoon. Not a bad one but more of an interesting one. It’s affecting your performance.”

Sweat formed on my forehead and I felt my face redden with heat. Not one to accept criticism gracefully I could feel the hairs on my neck prickle.

Before I spoke, I sighed trying to control my temper.

“Yes sir, what have I done now?”

“Matt, you’ve been with us what… six years now?”

“That’s about right.”

“You came to us as a tenderfoot straight from the Navy. Back then, I wondered several times if we should keep you on. You plodded along following orders as well as you could but not much more.”

I nodded grimacing ready for the next shoe to drop.

“Matt, calm down. I’m just getting started here,” he said glinting a smile.

“Yes sir.” More relaxed, feigning a grin, I armed my defenses. Carlos was a man of few words who usually saved them for reprimands.

“Now since your marriage last year you’ve given us nothing but stellar performances. You’ve just suddenly gotten smarter. Why is that? Have you been taking online courses? Attending college somewhere? If so I need to know for your promotion file”

“No, just wising up I guess, but Lindy’s gonna love your compliment. Knowing her she’ll swear she did it herself,” I said chuckling so forcefully my breath rolled a pencil across his desk. I was glad the tone of the meeting had changed; I was ready to walk out.

Smiling, he carefully moved the pencil back into place.

“The bravery and persistence you exhibited during the Fogner case brought nothing but praise from everyone you worked with in the Navy. Everyone! Even the Orange County Sheriff’s Office couldn’t say enough good things about your expertise in solving that heinous crime. Of course the DHS said you were worth every penny of their two-million dollar contract.”

“Thank you for sharing that, Carlos, but what does all this have to do with the chain-saw phone call?” As usual, my impatience got the best of me. Sometimes my words just came out unfiltered and I hated it.

“In due time, Matt,” he said holding up a hand. “Now as I was saying you’re rising in the company and bringing us more business with your work so I want to reward you for that. As of today I’m promoting you to Technical Vice President of MBORC a prestigious title with lots of responsibilities.”

He reached into a drawer then handed me a short stack of business cards reading Matthew M. Cross, Technical VP, Mid-Bay Ocean Research Corporation, Moss Landing, CA 95039.

“How’s that for a promotion?”

Blushing with humility I answered, “Well thank you, sir. I’m overly honored. And, yes, I’ll accept your offer.” Even though I had just accepted I knew there was more. He just hadn’t reached that part yet.

“Of course, you’ll get a fifty percent pay raise but I don’t really expect that you’ll need it.”

“Oh? How’s that, sir?”

“Matt you’ve just broken into the black ops community. Congratulations on that. There’s tons of unaccountable Government money there.”

“Really? I don’t understand.”

He glanced at his notebook.

“That scrambled call was from a Vice Admiral Sam Greenfield. I’d never heard of him.”

Shaking my head I agreed, “Me neither.”

“Anyway he called from a U.S. Government agency: a black ops group. They can’t identify themselves because they don’t exist. In fact, in his group he doesn’t exist. I’m not even sure his real name’s Greenfield.”

“I’ve been around that once before. During my SeaCrawler dives at Point Mugu I remember a location deep in the Pacific they called Poseidon’s Palace. We were told it didn’t exist. Must have been a black-ops thing. You think?”

“Well, Matt, you know that we deal with all kinds of government agencies and corporations in our marine salvage and recovery work. I’ve always assumed many were black ops agencies operating under commercial cover. That’s the way the undersea world is: you don’t know anything’s down there until you bump into it and they don’t want to be bumped into.”

“Never thought of it that way, but you’re right.”

Fidgeting the rolling pencil, he continued, “I’m not going to lie to you, Matt, they need your help with an incident… a big incident. He called me to okay your involvement with them. Faxed me a classified request for proposal too.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said okay. Then he told me if I would create a salvage contract for them he’d sign and accept it.”

“Salvage? That’s just a glorified trash collector job. Why would they need me for that?”

“It’s a cover contract, Matt. Understand?”

His body language intimidated me. He sat up straight in his chair and glared into my eyes.

“Any more details?” I asked, not sure if I liked being a bargaining pawn.

“The contract’s for 6.5 million dollars. They’re hand delivering it today. They need you now, Matt.”

I gulped loudly wondering what I was getting into.

“They’ve just performed an in-depth background security check on you which you passed with flying colors.”

“I have noticed some back-suited men visiting my neighborhood over the past week. Is that what they were doing?”

“Yes, probably.”

“Without my permission?” I asked. I sat with my arms folded feeling as if I had been betrayed. I hated when things involved me behind my back.

“Yes, Matt, that’s the way they do it. Surprise visits so you can’t warn anyone.”

“Well that’s just bullshit, Carlos!” Feeling that my privacy had been invaded I stood and paced in front of Carlos’ desk.

His eyes widened at my anger.

“Now calm down, Matt. Sit,” he said. “As our new Tech VP you’ll need that security clearance. Almost every manmade object deeper than a thousand feet is classified one way or another. Unless it’s a wreck and then it could still be classified.”

At his insistence, I sat back in the chair still smoldering.

“Well I had a clearance in the Fogner case. Lived in secrecy for weeks aboard the Trident Tine. What happened to that?”

“That was a low-level Secret clearance, Matt. Remember you’re moving into the big time now with the black ops missions. Greenfield told me you’re required to have a TSCW clearance for this mission.”

“What’s TSCW?”

“It means a Top Secret Code Word clearance specific to this mission.”

“Did he say what the code word or mission was?”

“Only that the mission is called Operation Deep Force nothing more. My clearance doesn’t extend into the black world yet so he couldn’t tell me what the code word is or what you’ll be doing.”

I rubbed my eyes thinking it was too early. I must be dreaming. It was all beyond my comprehension so early in the morning.

“Oh, and he said the contracting company is called the Poseidon Corporation. Still interested?”

Stunned, my mind tried to absorb the information it heard. Usually bigger money meant a greater risk and mystery and there was that word again: Poseidon. The word slammed my thoughts back to my Navy days at Point Mugu dodging Poseidon’s Palace in the ocean depths talking around it rather than about it as if it didn’t exist. Could it possibly be the same entity? It had been over ten years since I last heard that name and it still sent chills up my spine.

Before I could answer, the towering eucalyptus trees out his office window began to blow wildly in a whirlwind like pompoms in a cheerleader’s hand. Gradually a low rumble vibrated the room softly at first and then more violently as the landing gear and fuselage of a VTOL aircraft appeared through the window descending drifting down to the open field outside.

“That will be our contract,” he said calmly. Turning to watch its props wind down he frowned.

“They sent another tilt-rotor craft just like the one that brought you back from the Trident Tine. Gotta repair that damn ball field again.”

I had moved to the window and was standing beside him when I noticed a familiar sight. Carlos was right. It was an Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft like the one from before. Then I realized the tail number was the same: N0099. On further examination, I saw a familiar face staring out from the cockpit. It was Lt. Bill Harper the Navy pilot from that trip.

Recognizing him I exclaimed, “My God that’s Harper! It is the same plane and pilot as before. From the Tine. Wonder if he’s still flying out from there.”

Carlos stood and walked out into the hallway.

“Let’s go find out. Follow me,” he said.

Having to double step to keep up I wound several paces behind him through the halls toward the entrance. Ignoring the chain-saw catcalls that came from the offices we passed I knew my friends and coworkers were just razzing me. It was a ritual at MBORC to ruffle the feathers of anyone newly placed in the spotlight so it came as no surprise. I had done the same for most of them when they won or successfully completed contracts. This was my second time in the spotlight and it was growing on me.