Dex
Fort Meade
Counter Terror Group HQ
Three months later, and he still thought about that moment on a daily basis.
The interval between the Dragonfish pilot saying he’d lost the buoy’s signal and the shattering fury of the explosion had been less than an eyeblink. The shockwave of heat and energy had forced the inland sea downward, vortexing the massive plug of water through the subterranean passage where the DSAR vessel had just entered.
Like a bullet rifling through a barrel, the submersible had been propelled out into the sea. The G-forces bordered on lethal and Dex had blacked out, remembering nothing until they revived him in the Cape Cod’s sick bay.
Measured against contemporary yields, the German device had not been large, but it had been more than up to the task of obliterating the secret Nazi base. And of course everyone present. Dex had no idea what had gone wrong and his only consolation was that his friends had never felt a thing.
The loss so stunned Admiral Whitehurst, he’d wanted to retire, but even the Pentagon found no one to blame this time. Either the top brass knew more than they were saying, or they were feeling particularly benevolent that day.
Yeah, right. Dex knew there were details of the incident that would never reach the public eye.
Which brought him to his own situation.
Having been a part of the entire classified operation, Dex represented a bit of a problem to everyone. To let him wander off the dock at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and stand behind the counter of Barnacle Bill’s Dive Shop in Annapolis, Maryland was probably not the best idea. Especially considering the extremely trenchant fact the Guild knew where he lived, knew his computer and voicemail passwords, and anything else of value or importance to them. There was no way to know if, or when, they might decide to “reconnect” in his life.
Thankfully, there was an alternative arrangement and a very palatable one.
Despite his honorable discharge from the Navy, Dex found himself re-upped with a bump to the rank of Commander as a CTG liaison under Admiral Whitehurst. His security clearances had been almost easy because of his DSRO service which had involved the most classified submarines in the world.
Easy was one of those relative words, however—especially in the twenty-first century.
The “arrangement” Whitehurst had given him wasn’t so bad, really. He’d taken a loyalty oath to remain silent on all aspects of the Greenland Shelf and U-5001 incidents, and that had been a blessing. The less he spoke of the entire chapter in his life, the better off he would be. But that wouldn’t happen until every conceivable agency had wrung every possible fact from the entire operation. The amount of time spent debriefing everyone involved in the events required months and a full-time staff. During that span, Dex had not received any permanent orders or station, but he knew that would change one of these days.
And he was thinking that today might be the day.
Parker Whitehurst was waiting for him in one of the countless E-Ring briefing rooms.
“Commander McCauley. Right on time. Good to see you.” It was a running joke. They saw each other almost constantly, but Dex always smiled anyway.
Whitehurst smiled back, indicated he take a seat. “Relax. This won’t take long.”
“Okay.” Dex tried to be comfortable in the soft swivel chair, but his anxiety wouldn’t let him. Something was in the fire and he was going to be invited to the cook-out. That could be very good news. Or not.
“The science-guys and the brass don’t have enough answers,” said Whitehurst. “All the information we’ve pulled together hasn’t satisfied anybody. Made it worst, actually. All it’s done is spin the theoretical guys off into deep space. They want more. We all want more.”
“Why’re you telling me this?”
Whitehurst paused, as he didn’t know what face to project, a grin or perhaps something more serious. He settled for a more neutral expression which suited his thin lips and ruddy complexion well enough. “We’re putting together a mission. To go back to the Shelf.”
Dex leaned forward, surprised. “What? Why? There’s nothing left. It’s all gone, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s kind of the burning question of the age, isn’t it?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Some of the geologists and physicists have theorized that the nuclear device may have only affected a portion of the area. A fairly small portion. Based on Bruckner’s eyewitness account, plus recent satellite imaging and magnetometrical readings, there might be plenty still there. Below. Deeper into the earth. Below the ice. Below the shelf. Who knows…?”
“You agree with them?”
Whitehurst steepled his hand in front of his face, assumed a thoughtful pose. He raised his bushy, silvering eyebrows. “I guess maybe I do. I volunteered you for the mission.”
Dex nodded. “Because of my clearances.”
“That’s one of the reasons. I figured two other ones might be Bruckner and Chipiarelli.”
Dex said nothing. He didn’t have to. Given a chance to do something—anything—that might give more sense, more meaning to the death of his friends, well, Dex would go for it. Some of the images from Bruckner’s diary would never leave him, and the chance to see things for himself would trump any other concerns. Besides that, the experience might help him with one final loose end.
“What’re you thinking, sailor?” Whitehurst had leaned back, more relaxed now that he knew Dex was onboard.
Dex looked at him. “I don’t know. Did you ever think we have a real talent for never seeing all the consequences of what we do? Until it’s too late.”
“Part of being human, I guess.”
Dex nodded. “That’s what bothers me the most about One Eleven.”
“Go on,” said the Admiral.
“Well, we both know it’s not just the Nazis we’re talking about here.”
Whitehurst said nothing, waited for him to continue.
“All the years and all the technology didn’t save them—whoever they were,” said Dex.
Whitehurst considered this. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter who they were. The important thing is—they’re not us. We’re different because we are still here, and as long as that’s the case, then we have a chance to get it right.”
Dex smiled. He thought about how his commanding officer might be on to something. And that made him think about that one final loose end.
The one that led to a grave marker in a small, forgotten cemetery, and to an old ammo box buried there.
Sooner or later, Dex was going to have to make a decision regarding the contents of that box and whatever profound changes it could ring upon his world.
Whatever he did, it was going to be very interesting.