Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 7. The ‘Building’

Two minutes had passed when we exited the long dimly lit tunnel and stepped into a large busy room. Brightly lighted by rows of overhead fluorescents it was obviously below ground level because there had been no ‘up’ stairwell. The room was large about the size of the Quonset hut above us by my estimation. It resembled a fallout basement constructed of white-washed cinder block walls and at the far end was another stairwell apparently to the upper level of the ‘building.’

My eyes had to adapt before I realized the walls were plastered with Fukushima Disaster posters: one showed a glowing trefoil radioactivity symbol centered over a map of Fukushima while another stated in large letters: JAPAN — IT’S OUR PROBLEM NOW then on yet another a green glowing cow spoke in a surrounding bubble text: “Got Radiation?” I had to stop reading before I laughed inappropriately.

On the broad wall at the end of the room was a giant map of the Pacific Ocean between Japan and the U.S. showing winding flat-colored balloon-shaped regions approaching our western shores. The posters and the lack of windows gave me an uncomfortable feeling but I had never been claustrophobic before. It must have been the cold penetrating silence of the room. I estimated twenty uniformed and street-clothed workers sitting quietly under the posters scanning data screens at computer workstations not noticing our entry.

As I followed him through the room passing desk after desk of what appeared to be data analysts, staring at rapidly scrolling data, several of them looked up, acknowledged the Admiral, and then returned to their data. Approaching the stairs, he motioned me upward so I followed the steps leading to the top floor.

At the top of the stairwell, a closed door awaited me. A large sign: Z ACCESS ONLY PAST THIS POINT blocked my progress.

“You know what to do now, Mr. Cross. There’s Ivy.”

Like a deer caught in oncoming headlights, I froze and looked back at him. He pointed to the glowing lens on the right side of the door.

“There. Look into her eye and make her swoon.”

Attempting humor, I looked into the lens and said, “Hello Ivy. You make my heart go pitty-pat.”

After her mechanical laughter (and mine) died down she said, “I highly doubt that Matt Cross your heart rate has not changed since you topped the stairs.”

The eye began to pulse faster now about once per second. It took only three cycles for me to grasp its meaning and reach my hand to my carotid artery expecting the fourth to match. It did bringing a question to mind.

“How does she do that, Admiral?” I asked.

Still standing behind me on the stoop he answered, “Simple distal pulse oximetry just like the one for your fingertip but with a telescope,” he answered. “She’s monitoring all personnel in the building for stress or physical duress… and most importantly life signs.”

Sighing impatiently, he motioned to the eye.

“Go on ask her for entry, Matt, you’re cleared. Let’s go.”

She was still PFM to me but I tried anyway.

“Ivy, please open the door.”

“As you wish, Matt Cross, but I can only unlock the door; you’ll need to open it yourself,” she said matter-of-factly.

Greenfield chuckled.

“There you go, Matt. The virtual assistant with an attitude.”

“Is she always that sarcastic?” I asked.

“No sometimes she’s worse,” he snickered. “Push the damn door.”

The new world I had entered was becoming stranger by the minute as the door swung back revealing a copper-walled room with no windows, racks and racks of large computer mainframes and ten uniformed operators each manning three video screens. They all turned toward us as the door opened and draped their monitors with black cloth-looking covers. Behind them on the longer wall was a huge map of the Pacific Ocean like the one downstairs but this map had a myriad of colored thin lines crisscrossing the ocean between The U.S. and Asia. At its top, a legend blazed Transpacific Submarine Cable Network.

“At ease, men,” Greenfield chopped. “This is Matt Cross our new DSV diver on the SSU team. Cleared for Z. Ex-Navy but as good as any we have on active duty. Tomorrow he will descend to the station and attempt to solve our problem.”

Smiling and nodding, they lightly applauded.

As he spoke, an ensign approached from a nearby console and handed me what appeared to be an ID badge.

“Here, Mr. Cross, you’ll be needing this,” he said. “Fresh off the Ivy press.”

“Thank you, Ensign… Bailer,” I replied reading his nametag. I glanced at the badge and noticed it was a photo of me taken only minutes before in the electrical room; it showed me wearing the same shirt I was wearing at my introduction to Ivy.

“Much better than a driver’s license photo,” I said. “I’m beginning to like this Ivy gal. She’s efficient and quite a good photographer too.”

Smiling, the Admiral nodded to me.

“She can be an effective agent as well. Even to the point of saving your life in dangerous situations.”

I smiled back at him wondering what he meant.

“How so,” I asked.

“Oh you’ll find out for yourself. But before we start your briefing we need the other half of Operation Deep Force: your new partner Briscoe.”

“Mica Briscoe?” I asked him. My heart raced at the thought of seeing him alive again. Last time I saw the Chief he had been diagnosed with a stomach tumor from eating a highly radioactive donut and I never heard the outcome.

“He’s alive?”

“Yes very much so, Mr. Cross. Headquarters recommended him to us with the highest credentials. He was once a SeaCrawler diver and instructor at this base. Close ties to the project. So we brought him in and indoctrinated him into Umbra a few days ago after waiting several weeks for his recovery from stomach surgery. They did successfully remove the tumor but we all had trouble believing his story about the radioactive donut.”

“Well that really happened, but where is he?” I asked scanning the room for his face.

“On his way up. He’s walking through the A room right now,” an ensign answered. “Ivy shows him at the bottom of the stairway starting up.”

Greenfield smiling, looked at me and commented, “Biometric tracking. She does that too. You’ll get used to it.”

Behind us, the door opened with a loud buzz followed by Ivy’s soft voice from overhead speakers.

“Mica Briscoe entering. Access authorized.”

As he entered the room I noticed the same video-screen-covering activity that followed our entry and wondered why all the secrecy for already cleared individuals. I later learned that the compartmented Umbra clearance had many facets and our clearances although Z did not cover them all.

His voice rang out through the room as he approached.

“Hey, Marker, it’s about time you showed up, you slacker.” Grinning he rushed up ignored my extended hand and hugged me; something I didn’t expect but didn’t mind either. He was my lifelong mentor my surrogate father and most importantly the only other person in my life besides my wife who I considered family.

“Hey Chief,” I smiled to him, “Damn you look good. How do you feel?” I wasn’t lying either. He looked much healthier than the last time I saw him ailing from that tumor.

“Well, Marker, I feel great even though my wife and I are supposed to be relaxing by Big Bear Lake with you and Lindy right now sipping on fancy cocktails.”

I looked down wanting to die. I had promised him that I would treat them to a weeklong vacation in Big Bear. Sadly, I realized that I had just been too preoccupied to make the reservations before the Admiral snagged me into his intricate web of brewing mysteries.

“Well, Chief, look on the bright side,” I said. “At least we’ll be able to work together on this operation and be an awesome team as usual. Right? What could be better?”

Straight-faced he looked at me and answered, “A week in Big Bear sipping on fancy cocktails.” The sly smile that punctuated his comment told me that he was as eager as I was to join forces again.

Looming behind us, the Admiral put a hand on our shoulders and interrupted.

“Gentlemen, I hate to break up this reunion but if I could have a moment of your time I’d like you to join me at the reading table. I need to brief you on your mission and be off back to Florida. I’ve got a plane waiting.”

He led us to a small four-seat table in a corner of the room by a large document vault. As the Chief and I sat, I looked around and noticed that several wall-mounted cameras surrounded us with signs below them warning DO NOT WRITE — MEMORIZE.

“Give me a moment to pull some documents,” he said walking to the vault. Covering with his left hand, he twisted with his right a combination lock various ways then pulled a handle freeing a massive door. His finger traveled over stacks of files until he found for what he searched. Quickly he pulled a folder and sat with us at the table laying it out before us. Then reading from it, he began the briefing.