Several years ago, Liam had seen a movie on the television at his local pub that told the story of the day when a giant comet hit the earth. Of course this was mere fiction, but he did know that such a thing could happen. Why, whenever that rare clear night presented itself, he never failed to sight dozens of shooting stars streaking through the heavens. He had once read that these were caused by meteorites. Usually formed from rock, these meteors became visible only when they fell through the earth’s atmosphere, where friction burnt them up.
It seemed logical to Liam that a large meteor could have been responsible for the intense flare-up. Yet that still didn’t account for the resounding explosion that followed it. To set his inquisitive mind at ease, he decided to ask Dr. Blackwater about it the next time he ran across the physician in town. The worldly doctor was ex46 tremely well read when it came to such matters, and would most likely be able to explain just what had caused the phenomenon.
Liam was all set to return his attention back to his lines when of all things it began to rain. This shower didn’t consist of droplets of water, but was made up of thousands of pieces of what appeared to be shredded metal. Only lady fortune kept the veteran fisherman from being struck by this debris, which clattered down upon the deck and bombarded the surrounding waters.
Once more Liam’s line of sight went to the heavens to find this shower’s source. Yet the only thing unusual that he could view was a huge billowing object that floated down from the sky with a feathery lightness.
This was certainly no meteorite, and Liam rushed to the pilot house to start up the engines. If luck was still with him, he’d be able to be there when this object came to rest in the sea. Then he’d make every effort to retrieve it. For he was absolutely certain that it alone held the secret to the great mystery that had befallen him this fated evening.
Chapter Three
It took Commander Brad Mackenzie twelve hours to get from the airfield on Kwajalein atoll to the U.S. Navy base at San Diego. The C5-A that had flown in the DSRV Avalon from Australia got him as far as Oahu.
Here a P-3 Orion ferried him the rest of the way eastward to the mainland. Mac had less than fifteen minutes ground time in Hawaii. He used much of this time to call his wife and reassure her that he was safe. Marsha knew better than to ask where he had been or where he was going. As a veteran navy wife, she didn’t even bother trying to find out the nature of his current duty.
All she knew for certain was that he was involved in a marine salvage operation of some type that involved classified technology.
The Lockheed P-3 Orion touched down at Miramar Naval Air Station a little after noon California time.
Mac slept during much of this flight, and upon their arrival at the terminal he had to be awakened by the plane’s copilot. He felt a bit groggy as he climbed down onto the tarmac. There he was immediately met by a bright-eyed lieutenant jg assigned to the base public affairs office. With a minimum of conversation, the young officer escorted Mac to an awaiting automobile.
It was about a twenty-minute drive to the main naval facility. The weather was excellent, and as they crossed through La Jolla and entered Pacific Beach, Mac got a chance to see how much San Diego had grown since he had last lived there. New homes and businesses had gone up on almost every corner. And with this development came tens of thousands of additional automobiles that jammed the thoroughfares in a perpetual gridlock and tainted the once-clear beach air with noxious fumes.
As they proceeded on to the docks, Mac admired his escort’s driving skills. Using a variety of side streets, he got Mac to the base with a minimum of stops. Under ordinary circumstances, Mac would have been very hesitant to take a lift with such a stranger. Yet the young public affairs officer quickly gained his confidence, and not once during the entire trip did he give Mac a real cause for alarm.
Once they passed through the main gate, they went straight to the pier area. It was in front of a sleek frigate that the automobile halted.
“This ship is the Knox Class frigate, USS Fanning,” explained the lieutenant jg as he led the way outside.
“Its commanding officer is Captain William Frawley. In fact, there’s Captain Frawley right now.”
The public affairs officer pointed to a tall black man dressed smartly in khakis and wearing a blue cap. The CO stood on the forward gangway addressing a group of seamen who were gathered on the pier before the bow mooring lines. Other sailors were visible on the deck of the ship, and Mac could tell from their frantic actions that they were getting ready to go to sea any moment now.
Mac’s escort left him at the forward gangway.
“Good luck. Sir. I hope that your mission is a successful one.”
Mac accepted his salute and turned to board the ship.
As he climbed onto the gangway, he was immediately intercepted by the vessel’s CO.
“Commander Mackenzie?” quizzed the black officer.
“That’s correct,” returned Mac, who noted an intense gleam in the CO’s eyes.
“Good, we’ve been waiting for you. I’m Captain Frawley.
Welcome aboard the USS Fanning.”
Mac accepted the officer’s firm handshake and followed him on board. They went straight to the bridge, where the CO initiated a flurry of orders. Mac stood in the corner behind the chart table and watched the Captain orchestrate their departure. From this vantage point, he could just see the ship’s 5-inch gun and cannisterstyle ASROC launcher mounted on the tapered bow.
The Farming’s single shaft, steam-powered propulsion system soon had them on the move. Still not certain of their mission, Mac bided his time until he would be briefed. He watched as Coronado Island passed to their port side. A dual-engine, propeller-driven Grumman E-2 Hawkeye was in the process of taking off from the air station, and Mac took in the airborne early-warning surveillance platform’s distinctive, saucer-shaped radome as it roared overhead.
The Point Loma sub base was visible to starboard.
During Mac’s tenure in San Diego, he had been working at the Naval Ocean System’s Command Laboratory, which adjoined the sub piers. He was no stranger to the variety of partially submerged vessels moored here.
He identified the single massive tender as being the USS Dixon. Moored alongside this support ship were four submarines. Mac could tell from their sizes that they were nuclear-powered attack subs belonging to several different classes. Since only their sails and the upper portion of their rounded hulls showed, the submarines looked far from intimidating. But Mac knew differently.
For largely hidden beneath the water’s surface was one of the deadliest warships that had ever put to sea.
The frigate he was currently on was primarily designed to track down such vessels. It did so with the assistance of a LAMPS 1 helicopter and a SQS-26 sonar array. As far as Mac was concerned, ships such as the Fanning were nothing but torpedo stoppers. If it ever came to a one-on-one engagement, his money would be with the submarine each and every time.
Mac was forced to reach out to the bulkhead to steady himself as the frigate rounded Point Loma and headed out into the open seas. Within a matter of minutes, the Fanning’s geared steam turbine was propelling them along at a speed of 25 knots. Their course was to the northwest, and as Mac was wondering just where their ultimate destination would be, the CO crossed the bridge and joined him beside the chart table.