Leviathan

Joaquin De Torres

Description

HELIOS Corporation, the nation's most powerful gas and energy conglomerate has done something technologically amazing to continue its strangle hold on the oil market. Its engineers have built a vessel that can reach the 1.8 trillion barrels of oil and unlimited natural gas reserves discovered at the base of the Marianas Trench, more than six miles below the surface of the Pacific Ocean.

The deep-sea mining submarine "Goliath" is a monstrous behemoth armed with rock-slicing blades, stone pulverizing drills, and an armor-plated, crush-resistant hull. With Goliath, mining the oil in this unreachable area of Earth will galvanize HELIOS as the sole owners of the nation's future energy supply.

But during one of the sub's experimental dives, something goes horribly wrong and now Goliath has disappeared in the trench.

Suddenly, the U.S. Pacific Fleet goes on full alert when the nuclear attack sub USS Texas goes missing while pursuing an unknown contact in the waters off Guam. Cargo ships, tankers and a billionaire's yacht are also reported missing. Floating debris and remains show that these vessels were not 'lost' but shredded by something of horrific size and strength – something man-made! Evidence shows that whatever it is, it's lurking somewhere in the crushing depths of the trench.

The Defense Department must now seek the help of Dr. Joe Salas, an anti-military protester and renowned oceanographer whose contempt for the Navy is legendary. He designs the heralded Dolphin submersibles capable of operating deeper and longer than any US Navy submarine in existence. Despite years of mutual contempt, CINCPACFLT, SUBPAC commanders and Salas' staff are forced to work together to find out how to find and stop this juggernaut which continues to grind the Pacific Ocean into a bloody graveyard.

Sujets

• Military
• War
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 10 novembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 4
• EAN13: 9781456616182
• Langue: English

Extrait

by
 
Joaquin De Torres
 
 
edited by
Dr. Joseph De Torres


Copyright 2013 Joaquin De Torres,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1618-2
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

 
 
For my brother,
 
 
Christopher Matthew De Torres .
 
 
You’ve come to my aid more times than I can count, and you’ve sacrificed more tears than anyone will ever appreciate.
 
You’ve shown your quality and your nobility by caring for our mother, and safeguarding the dignity and memories of the house she and our father built.
 
And I will never forget this.
 
Kin

 

 
“It is a curious situation that the sea, from which life first arose, should now be threatened by the activities of one form of that life. But the sea, though changed in a sinister way, will continue to exist: the threat is rather to life itself.”
 
Rachel Carson
 
 
“A person writing at night may put out the lamp, but the words he has written will remain. It is the same with the destiny we create for ourselves in this world.”
 
Shakyamuni
 
 

 
Image courtesy of
Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute
www.WHOI.edu
Prologue
 
“Guam. Population: 210,000. A territory of the United States since 1898 when the Spanish surrendered the island at the end of the Spanish-American War.
“A tiny speck of rock in the Pacific Ocean some 3,800 miles west of Hawaii; 1,600 miles southeast of Japan; and 1,500 miles east of the Philippines. And did I mention it’s just a speck? Thirty miles long by 12 miles wide at its widest point, it is the largest gem in a necklace of tropical, mountainous and volcanic islands known as the Mariana Islands Chain.
“The world calls the local people Guamanians, but they call themselves Chamorros. A rich, historical ethnic blend of multi-raced islanders consisting of the Guamanians, Filipinos, Palauans, and numerous blends of Polynesian and Asian ancestry. Basically, if you look like you could be an extra in a Bruce Lee movie, you’re probably from Guam.
“The weather is sunny and balmy all year round; the water within the surrounding reef is as warm as bathwater, shimmering blue-green and crystal clear. At least, that’s what the tourist website photos show. In fact, other than the business generated by its U.S. military bases, tourism is the island’s number one export. But unless your country touches the Pacific, you’re in the military or watch Discovery Channel, you probably have no idea that this island even exists.
“No one really famous or significant has ever come out of this tiny island. Well, I take that back. If memory and Wikipedia serves, one Kim Santos was crowned Miss World in 1980. A couple of years later, one Joe DeTorres became the first island-borne Chamorro ever elected to a Stateside public office as mayor of Pittsburg, California; a rustic, blue collar town some 50 miles east of San Francisco.
“Hmmm. What else? Oh wait! Did I mention SPAM ? Of all the island’s exotic delicacies, SPAM is the local’s favorite meat source; that is, if you can call SPAM meat! In Guam, it’s called “Chamorro steak” and, apparently, any dish made with beef, chicken or pork can be substituted with SPAM , and it will supposedly taste even better. What-EVER!
“Anyway, so why the hell is the Navy sending me all the way from Virginia to this God-forsaken rock in the first place?”
The young woman looked away as if annoyed by the thought of it. The flight from Virginia to Guam was 16 and a half hours. She checked her watch: Less than an hour to go. Knowing that the journey was almost at an end, she proceed to give her report.
“Because I have to find someone,” she huffed. “Someone important. I have to find a man—one man—whom the Navy desperately needs. Kind of ironic really because this man has been the bane of Navy public relations for the past six years.
“From his scientific journals, to his international interviews and video documentaries, this man and the Navy have been at war on several fronts. Mortal enemies—the classic story of the little guy against the government establishment; the hourly-wage worker versus the multimillion-dollar corporation; the Monk seal versus the Great White.
“Well, apparently this seal has some serious teeth of his own because when the dilemma arose, the tragedy that I’m not to speak about until I meet him, this guy was the first person everyone said they needed. His very enemies, the commanding officers of the Pacific Fleet and the Pacific Submarine Fleet; the Chief of Naval Operations and the Secretary of the Navy—all requested him by name. All these men despise the very man they so desperately need. In fact, there was no one else they wanted.” She smiled to herself. It’s funny how things work out .
“After that call, they contacted my CO, Admiral Kyoko Kaneshiro at WEPs, and that’s why I’m involved.
“The Navy needs this guy to help investigate either the scene of an accident, or the scene of a crime. Either way, the scary thing about it all is that this “scene” is more than six miles beneath the surface of the ocean; in a stretch of area that, I thought, made Guam famous in the first place: the Marianas Trench.”
She pressed the button of her handheld voice recorder, let out a long breath and began rummaging through her carry-on bag. She found the dossier folder that held all the information on the man in question, sandwiched between some of those magazine journals and four books he’d written. There was a crackle on the loudspeaker.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. We are on final approach to Antonio Won Pat Memorial airport and will be landing in 20 minutes. Local time is 4:43 P.M. Weather on the ground is 83 degrees with light winds. A beautiful day. We hope that you’ve enjoyed your flight these last 16 hours. I know it’s been a long journey, but I hope we’ve made you comfortable.
“Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, and that your tray and seat are in their upright and locked position. If you have any loose articles, please stow them in the overhead compartments or under your seat. And please keep all electronic equipment and cell phones off until we touchdown.
“On behalf of my cabin crew, I’d like to thank you for flying Delta Airlines. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”
The captain was right, it had been a long flight; her longest. But she got plenty of sleep and she was not fatigued at all. The evening was young. With the man’s work address in hand, she decided that once she got her rental car and checked in at the officer’s quarters on base, she would go and try to find him. It was Friday, and a guy like this was probably married to his job, so he’d still be at the office.
She settled back in her seat for the landing. Like she had a couple of times during the flight, she pondered why the Navy would send her--a weapons research officer--to an assignment that seemed clearly a case for a naval investigator, or at least a subsurface officer. And even more puzzling, why did WEPS give her no more than a five-minute, sanitized spiel about the situation then push her onto the plane? Standard operating procedures called for a full-blown, detailed situation report with defined goals and parameters.
“You’ll get all that when you get there, honey,” Admiral Kyoko Kaneshiro had said with a sympathetic smile. “Just make contact. Get his help. But you’ll have to earn his respect to do that.”
“Earn his respect, ma’am?”
“He will test you, toy with you and try to anger you,” the admiral stated as if she knew him personally. “He’s good at that. You might even have to pass some kind of character examination before he lets you in the door. Remember, he doesn’t trust anyone who wears this uniform.”
“So, what chance do I have?”
Kaneshiro flashed her warm confident smile at the young woman.”
“If you stand strong, don’t back down and earn his trust, you may get him to open up just enough.”
“I have some questions about the purported incident, Admiral.”
“There’s no time for that right now, honey. Your flight leaves in three hours and you need to pack.”
“Okay, ma’am, but about this person I’m supposed to find—”
“Read his books and articles on the plane. It’s not hard to know where he stands on issues, especially those against us. If you can just get him to help us, you will have done more than we could have ever imagined. The duty van is outside and will take you to your apartment, and then to Dulles. Go now, honey.”
The vision of her conversation evaporated as the engines whined loudly. She sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her blond hair just as the 747’s wheels touched the ground roughly and the engines roared in reverse. The entire plane rattled for a few moments then stilled itself as it rolled towards the terminal. After the aircraft halted, passengers immediately began standing and retrieving their belongings from the overhead compartments. She remained seated. She twisted her lips in a defiant scowl as she looked outside at the palm and coconut trees outlining the perimeter of the airport.
She let out a resigned sigh.
“What the fuck am I doing on Guam?”
Chapter 1 — First Encounter
 
USS Texas
Pacific Ocean
78 miles west of Saipan
Four days prior
 
“What’s its position now?”
“Dead ahead, Captain. Distance 525 meters. She looks like she’s descending.”
“What’s our depth and speed?”
“Eight hundred and fifty feet; 12 knots, Captain.”
Captain Sandra Lynn Frost, 36, famous for her meteoric rise through the officers ranks and one of a handful of women selected to command a hunter-killer submarine in the U.S. Navy, kept her eyes on the large flat screen. The screen, dubbed the “IMAX” by the crew