“Subsequently, the TIA compiled data from other stations in other time periods, among which were the following reports. In July of 1783, the British man-of-war Avenger picked up the sole survivor of another British man-of-war, the Covenant. The shipwreck victim died soon after being rescued„but not before claiming the Covenant had been sunk by a ‘sea monster’ capable of great speed which spat fire at the ship. He described it as being larger than a whale, with a fin very like a shark’s. Clearly, it could have been the sail of a nuclear submarine.
“In August of 1652, during Britain’s war with the Dutch over the First Navigation Act, the Dutch ship Amsterdam was blown out of the water and completely obliterated while in a naval engagement with the British ship, Albatross. The Albatross was destroyed in a flash burn, going up like a tinderbox. The survivors who managed to get away in boats all died of what was reported to be scurvy, although the symptoms were far more indicative of radiation sickness. Nearby ships reported the explosion of the Amsterdam as being ‘cataclysmic,’ surmising she was loaded to her gunwales with powder. However, the powder magazine’s explosion would not have accounted for the flash burn of the Albatross. An atomic torpedo would.
“Numerous sightings of a maritime phenomenon variously described as ‘an enormous thing,’ a ‘long, spindle-shaped object,’ and an ‘aquatic mammal of unknown origin’ were reported in the 19th century, beginning in the year 1866, when the steamer Governor Higginson of the Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company encountered a ‘moving mass’ five miles off the coast of Australia. On the 23rd of July of that same year, a similar sighting was reported in the Pacific Ocean by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam Navigation Company. At the time, it was noted that these two sightings were separated by a period of three days and a distance of over seven hundred nautical leagues. About two weeks later, the Helvetia, of the Compagnie-Nationale and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship Company, both sighted a ‘monster’ in the Atlantic between the United States and Europe, estimating its length at over five hundred feet, which would either have made it a whale of unprecedented size, a sea monster of some sort, or a submarine. Several of these sightings also reported the ‘creature’ was capable of astonishing speed, others reported that it submerged immediately.
“Finally, the most telling piece of evidence was uncovered on Jan Mayan Island, when a TIA surveillance team, clocked back to the site of the Soviet sub’s disappearance, found an abandoned Spatial Anomaly Displacement Detector. Needless to say, they did not have SADD’s in the 20th century. Temporal Intelligence fed all available data into their computers and, given the available evidence, they have recreated a scenario of the most likely possibility for what occurred in the Arctic on or about October 28, 1993…”
The Arctic Wind howled through the rocks of the barren, ice-encrusted island, making it next to impossible for the men to remain standing upright. They crouched behind an outcropping, huddled close together in their temperature-controlled suits, looking like slick sea lions as the spray glistened on polymer fabric, making droplets on the visors of their formfitting helmets. One man bent low over the Spatial Anomaly Displacement Detector, adjusting the directional and depth scan and watching the screen intently, his eyes locked onto the soft, green-glowing grid coordinate lines that crisscrossed the monitor. A low, deep, resonant voice spoke over the headset inside his helmet.
“Anything yet?”
“Not yet. She’s down there. It’s just a matter of time. You can’t hide something that displaces 28,000 tons from this instrument. All we need to do is-”
A softly glowing red outline in the shape of a submarine suddenly appeared upon the grid screen.
“Got her! Look at that! Isn’t she a beauty?”
“You can admire her at your leisure later,” the voice came back over his headset. “Right now, I’d appreciate having the transition coordinates. I would prefer a more hospitable environment.”
“Coming right up… Captain,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder and grinning behind his faceplate. “Stand by. We’re going down and under!”
There were fourteen men seated in the wardroom of the submarine. They were all young, ranging in age from twenty-two to thirty-five, and dressed in dark-blue, short-sleeved jumpsuits. The temperature inside the submarine was a comfortable, constant 70 degrees and the fluorescent lights were white, for day cycle. At the end of the watch, they would go to red interior light to simulate nighttime. Several of the men were eating snacks; others were drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Valentin Mikhailov watched Aleksander Muraviov’s face intently as the latter frowned down at the pieces of the chessboard, pursing his lips thoughtfully. At twenty-nine, Mikhailov was senior to the younger Muraviov by seven years. He smiled, slightly. Muraviov was going to lose again. Still, he got better every time. He had the makings of an expert player and Mikhailov knew it would not be very long before he would be giving him good matches. He picked up his package of American cigarettes, unfiltered Camels, and lit one up, drawing the smoke in deeply and exhaling it through his nostrils.
“Davaye, davaye, Sasha,” he said, addressing Muraviov by the affectionate diminutive of his first name, “ni kopaisiya.” (Come on, come on, Sasha, don’t dawdle.)
“Zatknise, Mikhailov. Uspakoisya. Ya dumaiyu.” (Shut up, Mikhailov. Calm down. I’m thinking.)
“Sleduistchi budiet mat.” (Next move will be mate.)
“Yob tebyeh, Valentin.” (Fuck you, Valentin.) Muraviov compressed his lips into a tight grimace and shook his head. “Aah, nyet smisla.” (Aah, what’s the use?) He knocked over his king.
“Istcho raz?” said Mikhailov. (One more time?)
Muraviov grinned and began to set up the pieces for a new game. Suddenly, he looked over Mikhailov’s shoulder and his eyes grew wide. “Chiyort vazmi!”
Two men dressed head-to-toe in weird-looking, shiny suits materialized in the wardroom out of thin air. In the split-second instant of shocked hesitation by the members of the submarine’s crew, both of them twisted something in their hands and gently lobbed two slender tubes onto the floor. There was a hissing noise. Mikhailov shot out of his chair, but didn’t even take two steps before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed. It took only a matter of seconds. All fourteen men were unconscious. At that same moment, the exact scene was replayed when one man materialized in the submarine’s control room, another in the engine room and one in the crew’s quarters. The invisible gas spread rapidly throughout the sub. There was never any chance of giving an alarm. The five men moved rapidly through the boat, already familiar with its layout. They released more gas, just to be safe, making certain that each member of the submarine’s crew was incapacitated. In less than five minutes, they controlled the boat.