Thomas Moore missed the carefree fall excursions, which had kept him in shape and had given him a better appreciation of nature.
The traffic began to pick up as he crossed the Potomac and turned north onto the Anacostia freeway.
Across the river, a plane could be seen taking off from National Airport, while in the distance, he could just make out the towering, white spire of the Washington monument.
Ten minutes later, he was passing through the guarded gates of the Washington Navy Yard. One of the oldest naval bases in the country, the yard was home to a variety of commands including the Naval Investigative Service. The NIS had several missions including general law enforcement, security, and counterintelligence. Having been assigned to this post for two years now, Moore knew just where to find a parking space located nearest his office.
“Good morning. Commander Moore,” welcomed Gus Tomlin, the bright-eyed, black guard at the security desk.
“We sure haven’t seen you around here in a while. How’s the “Vette running?”
“Smooth as silk, Gus,” replied Thomas with a distracted smile.
“Is the old man in yet?”
“He sure is. I think he spent the night, because his car was out there when I arrived for duty two hours ago. He left word for you to meet him in data processing as soon as you arrived.”
“Thanks, Gus,” said Moore, his thoughts already refocusing on the many questions he had for his superior officer.
An elevator conveyed him down into the subbasement level. Before the door to the lift would open, he had to access his security code I.D. number into a keypad located beside the floor selector. Once this was accomplished, an electronic chime rang out overhead, and the door slid open with a low hiss.
A linoleum-tiled hallway led him into a cavernous room, completely filled with mainframe computers and scurrying workers, most of whom were in uniform.
It was most unusual to see so much activity this early in the morning, and Moore sensed that a crisis atmosphere prevailed here as he spotted a familiar, silver-haired figure perched above a bank of glowing monitor screens.
Rear Admiral Daniel Proctor was the current commander of the NIS. A thirty-year Navy veteran, the distinguished, easygoing flag officer was a popular father figure to the men and women who served under him. Not afraid to pitch in and work right alongside his troops, Proctor anxiously peered over the shoulder of a seated chief, to read the contents of her monitor screen. As usual, he wore a green woolen sweater with leather elbow patches — a British SAS colonel had given it to him — and he held an unlit briar pipe at his side. Displaying the sixth sense that most successful intelligence officers possessed, he looked up and spotted Moore while the unannounced new com was still a good twenty yards distant.
“Well, just look what the wind blew in,” he said with an outstretched hand.
“How’s our favorite globe-trotter doing?”
Moore answered while accepting his superior’s firm handshake.
“I’m holding up pretty good considering that yesterday at this time, I was floating in the Pacific, halfway around the world from here.” “So I understand,” said Proctor as he guided Moore over to a vacant console.
“You did a hell of a fine job on the Iwo Jima, Thomas. Undercover drug busts are never fun, and I want to tell you in person that it was a job well done.”
“Thank you, sir. You know, so much has happened to me since leaving the Iwo Jima, that I almost forgot about my assignment there. Admiral, about the Lewis and Clark.”
Proctor alertly cut Moore off before he could continue any further.
“I’d rather not discuss this subject out here, Thomas. Let’s grab the conference room.”
It was obvious that his mention of the sub had hit a raw nerve, and Moore readily followed Proctor into an adjoining room. Again the veteran showed uncanny intuition as he spoke out while seating himself at the head of the room’s rectangular table.
“I bet you heard this morning’s newscast.”
“You’re damn right I did,” replied Moore impatiently.
“Admiral, what the hell’s going on out there in the Pacific?”
Proctor looked the young investigator directly in the eye and replied.
“I know that you’re going to find this hard to believe, Thomas, but I can’t really say myself. Right now, all I know for certain is that we’ve currently got a nuclear-powered, ballistic-missile submarine on its way to Okinawa, after disappearing in the Bahamas, only two days ago!”
“Surely this has to be a disinformation ploy of some sort,” countered Moore.
“Or maybe OP-02 concocted this whole thing just to put us to the test.”
Proctor solemnly shook his head.
“You have it right from me that OP-02 is just as perplexed by this entire incident as any of us are. And the only disinformation that’s being deliberately released is that story about Lewis and Clark being overdue off the coast of Florida. And from what I understand, the decision to make this cock-‘n-bull story public came right from the White House.”
“But why lie to the American people?” retorted Moore.
“Sooner or later, the stories are bound to get out, and then what are we going to do?”
“Come off it, Thomas. We can’t just sit back and tell the world that we’ve got a nuclear-powered submarine that’s unexplainably traveled halfway around the world overnight, and has proceeded to lose every member of its crew except one along the way. We’d have a panic on our hands that could create disastrous consequences.”
“I guess you’re right,” reflected Moore.
“You’re damn right I am. And until we can figure out what happened out there, all of us can only pray that we can keep the lid on this thing.”
Inwardly, Moore had been hoping that Command was going to have some sort of rational answer for him. But now he realized the truth in his CO’s response, and that Rear Admiral Proctor was relying on him for the answers.
“In my entire thirty years of service, this one takes the cake for weirdness, Thomas. Because whatever happened to the Lewis and Clark, that wasn’t the only strange thing that came down that day. At about the same time that the sub was reported overdue, an American Airlines 747 flying from San Francisco to Tokyo arrived in Japan four hours early, and that was into a headwind!”
“Could these incidents be related?” asked Moore, clearly disturbed by the strange direction in which the investigation was now heading.
“Before I attempt to answer that, Thomas, let me share with you yet another enigma, that we learned about only this morning. Shortly before that 747 touched down at Narita, the world’s largest radio telescope, at Arecibo, Puerto Rico, monitored what seemed to be a powerful burst of undecipherable radio activity originating from somewhere in the Bahamas.
This electromagnetic disturbance lasted less than thirty seconds, and was directed into deep space, towards the distant star cluster Cygnus X-l, where the nearest black hole to earth supposedly lies.”
Moore was now completely confused.
“I’m sorry if I sound dense, but what does all of this mean?”
Proctor sat forward, his tone firm.
“Apologies on your part aren’t necessary, Thomas. This thing has stumped all of us, and only the computer has offered a semi rational explanation so far. Do you know much about black holes in space?”
“I’m afraid my knowledge of the cosmos is limited to basic celestial navigation,” answered Moore.
“Well, no matter, because all you need to know is that a black hole is a sort of cosmic bottomless pit which appears to swallow up any unfortunate object that comes along, distorting the space-time continuum along the way. The only substantial theory that the computer has to offer so far, is that a black hole somehow struck the earth, in the general area of the Bahamas, and in the process, altered the Lewis and Clark’s electromagnetic composition, subsequently pulling it through the core of the earth, and depositing it in the Pacific. The 747’s early arrival was one of the aftereffects of this bizarre stellar collision, though there’s still no explanation of what happened to the submarine’s crew.”