Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 4. Devil’s in the Details

Admiral Greenfield returned to a spic-and-span conference room while we sat waiting as if nothing had happened.

“Coffee’s coming,” I said.

He smiled and sat beside me, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a cell phone.

“Got to check my messages. Excuse me a moment.”

Five minutes later, having cleared his message queue he discussed his trip with us but avoided contract details waiting for the coffee to arrive. Soon Suzie entered with a coffee service, placed it on the table, and handed Carlos a manila folder.

“Here’s the proposal with the emergency RFP mods submitted earlier by Admiral Greenfield’s group.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Greenfield barked. “I have a five o’clock tee time back in Florida with my boss at SOCOM. He’ll want to know what happened here.”

Carlos pulled the contract from the folder. By our standards it was thin probably only ten or fifteen pages. I had seen thicker ones for salvaging civilian wrecks for much less cost.

“Well, Admiral,” he said, “it’s quite unusual to have such a short turnaround time on a request for proposal but I think I’ve adequately covered your needs and the mods your office submitted from Florida this morning. It should be to your liking.”

Sliding metal-rimmed reading glasses from his coat pocket, he took the contract and flipped to the last page.

“Eight million dollars!”

He recoiled then settled back in his seat paging to the Technical Objectives section.

“Hmm.” Then came another “Hmm.” Checking my watch, I noticed he continued for four minutes turning pages in between his almost irritating hums. Since I had never seen it but was told it was a dummy salvage contract, I was more than curious what all the humming was about.

“Well, it seems to be all here, Mr. Montoya, but why has the cost risen? It’s not what we originally discussed.”

“With all due respect, Admiral, the letters QRT in your RFP mods did that. Putting Mr. Cross on your quick response team will cost me lots of money; it means he will have to be replaced on his current contracts and then we will also lose his valuable expertise promoting new jobs.”

My suspicions were being confirmed about my bargaining pawn status and I wasn’t too pleased.

“How fast is the quick response?” I inquired afraid to hear the answer. “I mean when do I start?”

Carlos glanced at the Admiral and nodded then stared back at me.

“There is a dire emergency with an undersea government installation which needs your assistance now, Matt,” he said. “They need you to travel out on the Osprey today to an undisclosed location and begin working your deep-sea miracles now.”

Choking on the coffee I had just sipped I still managed to respond.

“Today? Now?” I asked, trying to remain rational. Rather than throwing a tantrum, as I wanted to do I bit my tongue and decided to talk it out.

“Now, Carlos, Admiral Greenfield, I admit that I’m a driven man but this is ridiculous. I mean I need to tell my wife. I don’t have clothes for a trip, not even a toothbrush. I—”

Greenfield held up his hand halting my objections.

“That is all taken care of, Mr. Cross,” he said. “You will be given everything you need for up to a month’s existence in our facility where you will live, work, and attempt to solve our crisis all at a thousand meters below the surface. As for your other concern, Mr. Cross, I’ll personally call your wife on my flight back to Florida.”

I was livid at not having been told beforehand that this was in the works but I had a feeling Greenfield was as surprised as I was at the new urgency. Besides calming my anger, the details of the task sounded interesting to me. I couldn’t help it. What self-respecting deep-sea oceanographer would turn down an offer to live in an undersea habitat for a month? I had visions of a deep-sea space station and I would be an aquanaut living there: surely the height of my career.

“What’s this facility called? Maybe I’ve heard of it,” I asked.

The Admiral cleared his throat and sipped coffee.

“I highly doubt it but the onboard crew calls it Discovery One in honor of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 spacecraft; its code name is Sea Station Umbra. Heard of that?”

I thought back racking my brain for any association to the name but there was nothing.

“No sir, can’t say that I do,” then I added, “but it sounds interesting.” I knew I’d hate myself in the morning for saying that but it just came out unfiltered as usual.

“What else can you tell me, Admiral?” I asked pressing further.

He looked at Carlos then slid the contract in front of him, took a pen from his breast pocket and signed it.

“We’ll discuss that on the plane, Mr. Cross, since Carlos doesn’t have the necessary clearance. I am duty bound though to tell you that only one-hundred individuals on this planet know of its existence and of those, only thirty six know why it’s there and what it does. You, Mr. Cross, will be number thirty seven.”

“I’ll assume everything that I’m hearing is Top Secret and handle it accordingly,” Carlos offered.

“That’d be a good assessment, Mr. Montoya. Going further into the description will require SCI codeword clearances. Matt now has those and will learn more of the mission later today.”

He poured himself another cup and pulled out a bank’s checkbook ledger from his case. His pen was soon upon a blank check; his hand writing a number with many zeroes.

Ignoring the number but noticing the embossed Poseidon Corporation letters on the check’s header I was taken back again into unwelcome thoughts.

Caught in the path of a downhill rolling boulder with my curiosity and ego urging it along I knew I was going to do this and enjoy it too. Lindy was right: I was hopelessly engrossed in my work always leaving her second in line but neither of us had foreseen the urgency of this new mission and my orders for immediate deployment. Sharing my ‘thrill of the chase’ as she called it, she had often displayed the same fervor in her television reporting assignments but we had never left each other without saying goodbye and kissing for good luck. This would be the first time. Could I survive the guilt much less the danger of the mission? I had to try.

Then my guilt crept deeper. Just last month, I had promised her that we would be vacationing in Big Bear with the Briscoes in June but that plan was now on hold. Maybe a Fourth of July holiday trip I thought, appeasing my derelict conscience but still seeking a concrete justification. It came seconds later.

“Here’s the binder, Carlos, four million dollars,” Greenfield said holding out a check. “The balance will be paid on your successful completion of the contract.”

With a noticeably trembling hand, Carlos took the check and called out the door.

“Suzie, come in here please.”

I suspected from his reaction it was the largest lump-sum payment he had ever received. He tried to act nonchalant at the amount but failed miserably: I could see his excitement from the sweat forming on his forehead and his jittery hands.

She appeared within seconds.

“What is it, Mr. Montoya?”

“Please place this in my safe. Top shelf.”

“Yes sir.”

She took the check, glanced at it, and mouthed “Wow!” on the way out. Seconds later, I overheard a commotion coming from her desk: quiet cheers with muted whoops.

Abruptly the Admiral called Harper on his cell phone dropped it into his briefcase and closed it taking it from the table.

Standing he said, “I assume that completes our transaction today, Mr. Montoya. With your consent I’ll be leaving now and taking Mr. Cross with me.”

It was time. Precursors leading up to this point had just been talk. Now I found myself a kidnapping victim for an eight-million-dollar ransom. Against my will, I forced myself to rise and join the Admiral in the conference room doorway.

“Let me see you out. Need to hit the head before you leave?” Carlos asked looking at both of us.

“Yes think I will,” Greenfield replied. “Those fighter maneuvers combat or not are hell on my bladder. Mr. Cross, your trip on the Osprey will be much shorter. Come if you’d like.”

I stayed behind to thank my boss for his confidence in my work. He wished me well and stood silently waiting for the Admiral to return. I couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in his eyes and broad smile that had fallen over his face since the contract was signed. For the first time in my six-year career at MBORC, I felt important and needed. I knew I would prove him right for promoting me to VP.

“Ready, Mr. Cross?”

“Yes, Admiral, but you can call me Matt.”

“Fine, Matt, and you can still call me Admiral.”

I laughed at his wit as we descended the steps from the entrance leaving Carlos waving alone in the doorway.