Mason looked down the cliff from the terrace of Crater Lake Lodge. Shaking the ice in his glass as he finished his Tanqueray and tonic, he looked down at Wizard island, the now cold cinder cone of this long-time volcano. Beyond the island further out in the lake, he could see that the Old Man was floating in the northwest corner. “They’re looking at Russia today,” he thought. If the floating beacon was closer to him, in the south of the rim, it would have been Venezuela. The Old Man was the name given to the petrified floating log that drifted aimlessly around the cold, clear waters of Crater Lake. The thinking was that the log was trapped in an ice avalanche 15,000 years ago and over time minerals slowly replaced the cells that made up the log. That actually is true of petrified logs. Why no one wondered why there was only one log in all of Crater Lake that became petrified was a question that surprisingly no one had asked. In this particular case, the log was the focal point of an intensely sensitive survey apparatus. He glanced at his watch, his boat to Wizard Island left in an hour and a half. The walk down to the dock at the lakeshore took 45 minutes. That gave him time for one more Tanqueray. He’d missed the little comforts of civilization for the last 3 months. For ease, he could have taken the hidden freight elevator down to the sub-level, but he always enjoyed the walk.
The Director had asked him last minute to come to the base for something urgent. With the old man pointed at Russia, he wondered what the Russians knew that he didn’t.
The Crater Lake base of operations was cleverly built as a national park in the ‘30s. FDR never trusted his allies in World War 2 and knew someday the US would need the ultimate secure location. The Works Progress Administration ostensibly was in place to put depression-era men back to work. Crater Lake put thousands of men back to work as they built the tourist lodge on the rim of the crater and then built thousands of square feet of submerged reinforced concrete bunkers deep in the crater. There had been considerable upgrades since the WPA finished their work.
Mason had just finished cleaning up a mess in China. A multinational had gotten themselves in trouble with China by… that was a story for another time.
The Director ran the crater with a skeleton crew, meant to keep the installation off the radar and away from the prying eyes of politicians that could bring attention to the complex. Administrations come and go, some can be trusted to respect the longevity and need for secrets and some can’t be trusted to keep their mouth shut.
As the boat pulled up to Wizards’ Island, Mason activated the small brass badge that identified him as one of the Director’s invitees. This badge also notified the park ranger driving the boat that his count for the return trip would be one less person. Mason strolled off the boat with his backpack on and a fleece sweatshirt. The outfit was as much for the chill at the bottom of the crater as to keep up the appearance of a hiker. Mason made his way north around the trees on the island following a well-worn trail that encircled the island. As he made his way across a lava field, he noted the two parallel trees he was looking for. The Gateway they liked to call it. As he approached he checked his badge for the blinking green light that signaled all clear. As he neared the grove of trees, 3 feet out he could just barely make out the shimmer between the two lead trees. The cloaking field. As he passed through the field Mason effectively disappeared from the island. In the middle of the path in front of him where dust was before sat a square hatch that slid open with a ladder headed down into the darkness. Mason stepped onto the ladder and started climbing his way down. Sure the elevator from the lodge was easier, quicker, more direct, and the normal means to enter the base, but he always liked climbing in this entrance. It gave you a real OSS/Cold War vibe.
“Damned tourists” the Director laughed pointing at Mason’s colorful hiking sweater. “Hey it’s breezy here in California” Mason laughed back.
“Good hike?” the Director asked. I haven’t been topside myself in close to two weeks. Probably could use some sun. I know you were brought in out of the wilderness this morning and probably need to connect. You have quarters set up with a Connection. You have 15 minutes to get settled then I’ll meet you in the map room. The map room was what the Director liked to call his version of a C & C, his own Command and Control center. Mason ducked into his quarters, the usual WPA concrete walls but nicely trimmed out in brass and teak. The Director did like to make special requests. He pulled out his secure device and reached out to the Connection taking a few seconds to sync. He scanned the messages, both from the organization and personal. There was a message from his nephews he looked forward to checking later. And one odd one from an email address he didn’t recognize with an attachment. What caught his eye was a term in the subject line that referred to the code word for a project years ago he was part of that still occupied his mind. The Director was waiting but he was curious.
Mason stepped into the two-story C&C. For all its size it felt like the bridge of a nuclear attack submarine. Efficient, close quarters, and full of tech but not as cramped. The circular room was quite spacious centered around the huge holographic map table in the center of the room flanked by desks staffed by the Directors people each controlling or monitoring an aspect of the organization’s work. The open second floor ringed the open room with more desks encircling and facing the map like the gallery of an orchestra seating at the theater. These desks were staffed by organizations analysts. Each with a headset on pouring over screens of videos, data, records, and reports. Mason always thought that all they needed was white starched shirts, black pencil ties and they could be part of the sets used for the Saturn missions.
“There he is,” said the Director, closing one of the video screens on the holographic projector. Mason saw a video of spinning lights and a video that looked like it was shot from the cockpit of an air force jet over water. But he could have been wrong.
The Director nodded towards the agent next to him, his number 2 in the base, Dirk, who with a few clicks brought up a map of North America. Scrolling over the area that included Labrador and Newfoundland in the south, Hudson Bay in the west, and Greenland in the east. “Looks like we’re going fishing,” said mason. “More like Whaling,” said Dirk as he clicked away at his desk. “We’re talking about Greenland here,” said, Dirk. “If you’re keeping up with the news, and or the tweets, the US is floating the idea to buy it”. Everyone groaned at the latest tweet from the frontman. “Well sure,” said Mason, “it sounds dumb, but access to the Northwest passages that may, unfortunately, may be ice-free soon, lots of minerals reserves, fishing rights, access to oil. It’s not a bad idea, just clumsy.” “Right,” said the Director, “the press, and the public are having a field day with one more story. That’s why “He” works, no one takes it seriously.” “It’s not the first time we’ve tried to buy the island,” said, Mason. “Truman talked about it too. All the resources and land we could put bases on that put the military halfway to Moscow during the cold war. But Denmark wouldn’t sell.” The Director smiled, Mason was a history buff like him. The more complicated the better. He knew Mason was going to like this one.
The Director began, “let me lay out a little story for you. Truman takes over the legacy from our benefactor FDR after his death. Truman was gifted many secrets by FDR, most famous of which is of course the Manhattan project. Others were assets like this base, the Lifeboats, two of which are in Honolulu and Long Beach, and other assets. Truman wanted to buy the island, Denmark says no, and now the frontman is making the same offer. And it’s going well for us. Everyone assumes it’s either a distraction or a “real estate “ deal. Both are likely true. I don’t know if He knows why Truman wanted it or more importantly why Denmark wouldn’t sell. What does Denmark want with a sparsely populated, island with a harsh climate 1,800 miles from their shore? Military bases like Hawaii for the US? Denmark would never be able to muster the military to staff the island let alone keep it during a conflict. Nope, Denmark knew something else.
Writing my way out of this 