From one of the helicopters, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a navy dress uniform, glittering with color bars and brass stepped down on to the sand. He was shadowed by two Marines, wearing the Marine Blue Charlie/Delta dress uniform and carrying assault rifles. Awkwardly, the trio traversed the sand toward the burger stand. Sam and Tom collected their personal effects from the table and shoved them into their half-turned down wetsuits. Both men stood up as the party approached their table. Half a french-fry fell from the open mouth of one of the utterly aghast girls the men were lunching with.
The dress marine stopped at their table. “Which one of you is Sam Reilly?”
“That would be me, sir,” Sam replied.
“You’d better come with us. The president would like to speak with you immediately.” The dress officer glanced at Tom. “You, too, Mr. Bower.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sam became suddenly conscious of the dripping wetsuit, pulled down to his waist. He turned to the dress-officer. “Do we have time to get changed?”
“No,” came the officer’s curt reply. “Someone will offer you a change of clothes once we’re airborne.”
Sam glanced at the five Sikorsky VH-3D Sea King helicopters. They had probably chewed up several thousand dollars’ worth of aviation fuel already, just in the time they’d circled. “Understood.” He then turned to Kathy and MC. “Thanks for the surf. Hope you enjoy the rest of the day. I’m afraid duty calls.”
MC cocked an incredulous eyebrow and gave a sharp smile. “Of course. Another salvage job?”
Sam shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. You have a nice day. It was a pleasure watching you two carve up the surf while we mere amateurs simply tried our best not to get killed in the process.”
She smiled at the compliment. “Take care.”
The dress-officer said to Tom, “Someone will be along shortly for your boards and vehicle.”
“Okay, thanks,” Tom said, handing his keys to the extended palm of one of the Marines. “It’s the ’56 Jeep.”
“We know, sir,” replied the Marine, taking the keys.
“I’m sorry for the interruption ladies.” The dress-officer said.
“No problem, sir,” Kathy replied. She then turned to Sam and Tom. “Ocean scientists, huh?”
Tom and Sam smiled and shrugged, “Thanks for lunch!” Tom said being hustled away by Sam to catch the trio ahead of them. “Duty calls.”
The Marines broke free and double-timed it to the bird on the left, climbing in ahead of the door guard in full dress, who flipped up the stairs and climbed in, sliding the door closed. The Marine at the open door of the other chopper saluted the admiral as he took the back stairs ahead of Sam and Tom. Over his shoulder, the admiral said, “There’s a cabin on your left, boys, get yourselves cleaned up and I’ll see you in the main section in five minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sam stepped up into the helicopter. “Any idea where we’re heading?”
The president of the United States answered from inside with his renowned calm and authoritative voice, “Pearl Harbor. We have a lot to discuss.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
After getting changed out of their wetsuits in the tiny lavatory cabin, Sam and Tom entered the main passenger area of the helicopter wearing jeans and white t-shirts. The whole room was fitted out with the same tan leather and plush pile carpet as Air Force One. They both immediately noticed how stunningly quiet and free from vibration the helicopter was.
As they looked toward the back, tired-looking aides and staffers, in civilian clothing, cradled laptops and tablets, talking quietly among themselves. Most of them looked like they hadn’t had a chance to change their clothes in the last thirty-six hours. In the rear sat Margaret Walsh, the secretary of defense, General Louis C. Painter, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, and the president of the United States.
Sam and Tom sat down, facing the secretary of defense and the admiral. A waiter came and placed glasses of cold water with ice in small wells in the fuselage-side armrest of the recliners, and offered both men coffee. They both asked for black, and the waiter disappeared. The admiral smiled awkwardly as the three men sat in silence, waiting for the secretary to look up from whatever it was she was typing. Sam and Tom looked out their windows at the other helicopters flying in formation with them. After a minute, the secretary snapped her laptop closed and took off her glasses, letting them hang on the cord around her neck. “Listen. I’ll get right to it. We need your help.”
Sam nodded. He wouldn’t have been summoned by the president if they hadn’t. His mind raced to their original reason for approaching Tom’s father for information. Had the secretary of defense somehow intervened?
Sam opened his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “We’re here to help, anything we can do, ma’am.”
The secretary nodded. “I’ll let the president inform you of the problem. What he’s about to say, only three other people on Earth are fully aware of, so it is with serious gravity that we’re taking you both into our confidence. As such, nothing you are told is to ever be repeated.”
“Understood, ma’am,” Sam and Tom replied in unison.
The president said, “As you already know, a British Boeing 747 Dreamlifter crashed under unusual circumstances nine weeks ago. After that, the Buckholtz, a large container ship ran aground at Neuwerk Island. Both of these seemingly random events were orchestrated for the most serious purpose of stealing some of the most advanced stealth and chameleon technology ever produced.”
Sam nodded. He’d already gathered that. What he didn’t know was why American technology was being built offshore, and what the president wanted him to do about it, so he remained silent.
“What you probably don’t know is that since then, the Chinese aircraft carrier, the Feng Jian was sunk by what they are insisting was an American nuclear attack submarine.”
Sam studied the president through narrowed eyes. “What circumstances, Mr. President?”
“The Feng Jian pursued what appeared to be one of our nuclear attack submarines into a region of the South China Sea known as the Labyrinth because of its dangerous submerged reefs and atolls. When the submarine reached a dead end, it appeared to hover out of the water, and race across a coral reef. Just when they thought for certain it was nothing more than a holographic projection, the strange vessel launched a torpedo. The Feng Jian couldn’t maneuver within the narrow channel and was struck, causing it to sink into the shallow waters.”
Sam asked, “So what fired the torpedo?”
“We don’t know. It wasn’t one of ours, but it might have been based on our technology.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “What makes you think that?”
The president sighed heavily. “The Feng Jian’s radar crew reported they were unable to see any sign of the submarine, thus suspecting it to be nothing more than a projection.”
“But what did they see?” Sam persisted.
The secretary of defense clicked on an image on her laptop and then turned it around to show Sam and Tom.
“This,” she said.
Sam swallowed. It was a perfect replica of the strange sphere they had seen on the FDR recording of the Dreamlifter’s cargo hold.
“It was one of ours?” Sam asked.
The president scowled. “It might have been. Or someone else certainly wanted it to look that way.”