Cries from the Deep

By Anthony Hulse

Journalist, Holly Webb is inadvertently drawn into a world of corruption and murder after being approached by marine biologist, Fay McAllister. The student claims that a professor friend of hers was murdered, after he threatened to disclose the discovery of a blue marine creature. Could LFAS, (Low Frequency Active Sonar) operated by governments and energy companies worldwide be responsible for the increase in marine mammal beaching? Holly discovers the presence of a powerful organisation of wealthy investors, who understand the threat to their monopoly if the public demand the cessation of underwater operations. If a new species of humanoid were discovered, then mankind would no doubt intensify their protests. La Fraternité, a security company, consisting of ex-French Legionnaires is employed to ensure that Holly and Fay do not approach the media with their story. Jan Lubinski is assigned to tail the girls and to do anything he can to dissuade them,including murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291709551

Book preview

Cries from the Deep

Cries from the Deep

Anthony Hulse

Copyright

Copyright@Anthony Hulse 2015

978-1-291-70955-1

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the author, except for the quotations in a review.

Foreword

During the Cold War, the US Navy set up a series of substantial arrays of microphones throughout the world’s oceans. The LFAS, (Low Frequency Active Sonar) was originally adopted as a ways of listening for Soviet submarine movement, but at the cessation of the Cold War, the chain of sonar listening posts, SOSUS, were utilised by various government agencies to record marine life, volcanic activity, and iceberg movement. These listening stations sit on the seabed, where sound can travel for several kilometres.

US NOAA, (National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration) is such an agency within the US Department of Commerce, which primarily focuses on the conditions of the oceans and the atmosphere. In addition to numerous civilian employees, NOAA is supported by over three-hundred uniformed service members.

Throughout the years, six mysterious sounds picked up by the sensors have officially been considered unexplained. Upsweep, an unidentified sound was detected on NOAA’s equatorial autonomous hydrophone arrays on August 1991. This consisted of an extensive sequence of narrow-band, upsweeping sounds, lasting several seconds. The source level was high enough to be recorded throughout the Pacific. Whilst the noise seemed to be stronger during the Spring, over a duration of time it appeared to weaken. The source was located somewhere deep in the South Pacific Ocean, approximately 2,500 miles due west of the southern tip of South America.

Originally thought by scientists to be caused by the presence of Fin Whales, this theory was dismissed in 1996, after it was argued there was not enough variation in the tone for it to be biological. It was suggested that some unusual acoustic phenomenon linked to volcanic activity or gas interacting, may have created a resonance pattern. 

Slow Down, another unidentified sound was first recorded in May 19th, 1997, 15° S, 115° W. Like Upsweep, Slow Down can still be heard several times each year. Slow Down was detected approximately 2,000 miles west of Peru, but its actual origin was believed to be much further south and possibly originates in the Antarctic. In essence, the basic sound pattern is not dissimilar to that of objects rubbing together in an enormous friction occurrence, such as icebergs calving, or unexpected glacial movement.

The next unexplained sound picked up by sonar in March 5th, 1997 was the Train; so named because it resemble the sound of a speeding express. This sound is believed to have originated in Antarctica’s Ross Sea. The sound is explained by scientists as most likely to have been caused by the movement of ocean currents.

The Whistle was detected on July 7th, 1997 and only picked up by one single hydrophone, located approximately 1,700 miles west of Costa Rica. Again, the exact origin is unknown, and no explanations were forthcoming.  

Julia, we know so little about. It was recorded on March 1st, 1999 by every sensor on the Equatorial Pacific Ocean autonomous hydrophone array, somewhere in the vicinity of 1,500 miles west of Peru’s southern coast. No explanation was ever offered as to its source.

However, the detection of Bloop, a mysterious, powerful sound recorded in 1997 in the remote South Pacific Ocean, west of the tip of South America excited the scientists. According to them, the source appears to come from an animal far, far larger than the greatest Blue Whale, or from one far more proficient at making sounds per body size.

With little data to work on, the NOAA scientists were initially unable to explain the source. The oceans of our planet constitute to around seventy percent of the Earth’s surface, and less than two percent has been explored. In fact, we know more about the moon than the deep oceans of our own world.  

What is special about the Bloop is that it was of sufficient amplitude to be heard on multiple underwater sensors and at a range of 5,000 Kilometres. After determining that the Bloop was definitely not a man made source, subsequent tests by scientists suggest the sound may have consisted of several individual signatures, which suggested multiple entities.

The media and the public were largely ignored, and no logical explanation was ever offered, however a team of NOAA scientists prolonged their tests and were secretly excited that they may eventually uncover a new species.

Around that time there were multiple reports of whales and dolphins inexplicably beaching themselves on Washington State’s coastline. That these disasters coincided with the extensive use of Low Frequency Active Sonar was quickly picked up by worldwide conservation groups.

NOAA scientists, now under extreme pressure from the environmentalists carried out secret necropsy examinations of the dead mammals. Both the US Navy and NOAA denied LFAS caused the increased beaching of the mammals.

NMML, National Marine Mammal Laboratories, over the years carried out their own tests on the dead mammals, using CT scans, (Computerised Tomography.) The results showed that the mammals displayed hemorrhagic trauma, no doubt caused by LFAS. They concluded the sonic pressure disoriented the whales, porpoises, and dolphins, which caused them to beach.

NMML reminded the US Navy of their obligation to the welfare of marine mammals, and quoted the Marine Mammal Protection act. Even with pressure from various environmental groups, including Greenpeace, the mammals seemed a secondary concern to the US Navy.

On August 11th, 2010, NOAA gave permission for the US Navy to continue their training, which included mid and high frequency sonar and the use of explosives, thus ignoring the devastating impact on marine life. They attempted to justify their actions by claiming sonar exposure is merely a matter of annoyance to whale and dolphins.

In truth, the harm ranged from significant disturbance of feeding, breeding, migrating, and communication problems, which would subsequently lead to mass beaching. Endangered species were vulnerable, including the remaining three hundred North Atlantic Right Whales. Suggestions were made to adopt adequate monitoring of the mammals, to place safety zones around the sonar devices, and to also power down in extreme ocean conditions of specific acoustic risk. The US Navy however refused to implement any of these suggestions and instead proposed inadequate and ineffectual half-measures, which were understandably dismissed by the federal courts.  

he National Resources Defence Council has for years been fighting to protect marine animals from sonar testing. Suggesting their new safety measures to a US Supreme Court, included refraining from using sonar within twelve miles of the Californian coast, desisting the use of sonar if a mammal is spotted within 2,200 yards of a vessel, using a lower decibel frequency during surface ducting conditions, and delay exercises when sighting mammals. Only two out of said proposals were overturned.

In today’s evolving and industrial environment, there are many risks to aquatic species.  Oil spills, industrial chemicals, along with the threat of climate change have now been joined by noise pollution from military and commercial vessels worldwide. The incessant pounding of heavy underwater machinery and blasts of seismic activity have intruded on the once silent world of marine life.

Are these unknown sounds from the deep, distress calls, or is there a more unthinkable, but enchanting explanation? Perhaps, to those in the knowledge, the secret has already been revealed.

Chapter One

Pittenweem, Fife, Scotland. September 2012.

The sun set when wee Ross Drummond cycled leisurely along the uneven coastal path. The twelve-year-old boy liked to rise early and cycle the short distance to the newsagents for his parents, in the knowledge that a steaming bowl of porridge will be waiting for him when he arrives home.

A brisk breeze, blowing from the Firth of Forth carried with it a strong stench of fish, and an abundance of squawking seagulls glided erratically in its wake. Loud voices caused Ross to stop, and the boy abandoned his bicycle. He ambled towards the cliff and looked down in amazement at the beach, far below.

Numerous, large black shapes lay on the golden sands, like shipwrecked vessels that had encountered unfathomable storms; only they were not ships. Three or four people moved between the beached whales, dowsing the stricken creatures with water from their buckets.

Ross excitedly scampered down the steps, carved into the cliff face. The rescuers ignored the presence of Ross, their urgency apparent. One man nervously spoke into his mobile phone, pleading for the authorities to make haste. Ross felt sadness as he walked between the incapacitated mammals, some of who were six metres long. He recognised them as pilot whales, due to his hours of endlessly reading his marine creature books. He counted twenty-seven in all; including three calves.

Within one hour, rescuers from the British Divers Marine Life Rescue, (BDMLR), medics, emergency crews, and police officials worked laboriously to save the whales. Spectators, who volunteered to aid the emergency crews were prevented from doing so by the police and were ushered behind a cordoned off area. They were told the reason for their offer had been rejected due to health and safety reasons.

The whales were hosed down, sprayed regularly with water, and covered in sheets and blankets. The high tide was not due until around four-thirty that afternoon, so to keep the mammals hydrated was vital. To move the whales out to sea at this time was impossible.  It was now obvious that some of the whales had already perished; the flocks of seagulls hovering overhead testament to that fact. 

One isolated calf lay amongst the rocks. Ross, unnoticed by the rescuers, paced towards the creature, noticing it was still alive. He turned, and was about to shout for help, when he heard a strange squeaking sound coming from behind the sand dunes. He approached cautiously, stopping suddenly when viewing the specimen covered in seaweed. The youngster gasped, picked up a stick, and edged closer. He prodded the creature, and stepped back when detecting slight movement. He then leant down and began removing the seaweed.

One of the rescuers now looked towards the dunes and saw a young boy take photographs with his mobile phone. The bearded man paced briskly towards Ross.

Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, son?

The man halted suddenly and gazed in bewilderment at the dying specimen. After regaining his composure, he snatched away Ross’s mobile phone.

Hey! protested Ross.

You’re not supposed to be here, son, said the man, deleting the photographs.

W-what is it? asked the bemused boy.

It’s a dolphin… Now run along. Not a word of this or I’ll be forced to contact your family.

Ross smirked. That’s not a dolphin.

Greg! shouted the bearded man.

A colleague promptly joined him. The older man ushered Greg away from the sand dunes. Remove this kid from the beach and fetch a canvas shelter. Call Tina and tell her we need a team out here, urgent.

What is it?

The man ushered Greg out of earshot of the boy. You’ll find out soon enough… Nobody, and I mean nobody is allowed this side of the dunes. Cordon it off as soon as possible.

A security man  escorted Ross from the beach. The youngster looked back at the bearded man, nervously smoking a cigarette. The boy seemed unsure of what he had witnessed amongst the dunes that morning, but a dolphin, it was not.

******

The pretty woman with the long, wavy, blonde hair bustled her way to the front of the spectators, oblivious to the odd protest. Holly Webb, at the age of thirty had worked as a journalist all of her life. Her recent appointment as investigative journalist at the Daily Satellite in London, she deemed just another step towards fulfilling her ambition. Unashamedly, the north Londoner had manipulated her advancement in the world of media by using what attributes she possessed; her attractiveness. She had flirted incessantly with her employers, although so far, she had refrained from sleeping with them. The woman with the wide green eyes and pixie like nose was not as innocent as she seemed. She had so far resisted the many offers of courtship, deeming a relationship would interfere with her lofty ambitions.   

Christopher Anjoy, four years older than his colleague, had been appointed her photographer. The bespectacled, unshaven man with the long, shoulder length hair apologised profusely as he followed Holly to the front of the hoard.

The couple had been assigned to Edinburgh to interview Peter Langton, an ex gangland mobster, who had recently been released from prison. The editor of the Daily Satellite, Philip Mallory contacted Holly, insisting they travel immediately to Fife to cover the beached whales. He stressed that no other of their journalists were present in Scotland, and that the story seemed certain to attract worldwide media attention.

Holly displayed her ID and winked at the policeman behind the cordon. Daily Satellite. I take it we’re allowed through?

The policeman reluctantly allowed the pair access to the beach. It was now just after four in the afternoon and the tide fast approached. Scores of people were now present, some of them in the cold sea, attempting to release the whales with the aid of inflatable pontoons. Volunteers supplied the fatigued rescuers with refreshments; some of who had been there since early morning.

Holly pointed to the operations, prompting Anjoy to photograph the heroic exploits. They could not help but to notice that several of the whales were ignored, and assumed they were past saving. Holly held her handkerchief over her nose; such was the awful stench. Some of the rescuers were appointed to scare away the scavenging seagulls, which swooped down in the hope of pecking at the whale blubber.

Holly approached one young man, sitting on a rock, a cup of tea in his hands. Hello. I’m Holly Webb with the Daily Satellite.

The unshaven man with the cropped hair did not seem impressed by the admission or the charm of the journalist. Angus Galloway.

You’re a volunteer?

I work for the BDMLR.

Holly shrugged her shoulders and raised an eyebrow.

British Divers Marine Life Rescue, sighed Galloway.

Who are all of these people? quizzed Holly.

My colleagues, vets from the Scottish Agricultural College, coastguards, government officials, and Uncle Tom Cobley and all.

Government officials? queried Holly.

Galloway swallowed a mouthful of his hot tea and pointed along the beach, towards a cordoned off area. A canvas shelter had been erected, and several people wearing green, hooded overalls, face masks, and disposable gloves were visible.

What are they doing?

Galloway shrugged. Who knows? Maybe they’re conducting post mortems.

Holly sat on a rock next to Galloway and lit up a cigarette. Do you mind?

Actually, I do.

Holly returned the cigarette to its packet. She turned on her miniature recorder and addressed the man from BDMLR. Why has this happened? I mean, what could possibly cause such catastrophe?

Galloway looked towards the sea to see his colleagues coaxing the stricken creatures into the waves. Such sadness registered on his troubled face. Och, whales, when injured, sick, or are old, may be too weak to resist strong currents, which inadvertently steers them towards the shore. The distressed call of the whale will then be heard by the pod, which will ultimately attract them towards the beach… Then there are scientists who claim changes in the earth’s magnetic field just prior to earthquakes, interferes with mammal’s ability to navigate… Do you want to hear more pathetic excuses?

Holly noticed the concern on the man’s face. You’re not convinced, are you? What is it, Angus?

Galloway’s eyes searched the beach. Off the record, I’ll tell you what I think.

Holly switched off her recorder and allowed Anjoy to wander off, taking numerous photographs of the carnage. The cold wind bit into her face and she pulled the hood up of her cagoule. Okay, fire away.

Galloway motioned with his eyes towards the government officials. They’ll carry out their necropsy and come up with their usual findings. The cause of the beaching of the whales is inconclusive. No matter who carries out these necropsies, the results are always the same. When the inconclusive results are passed on to BDMLR, we are content to brush this disaster off as a natural occurrence.

Angus, I’m not sure I understand.

The Scotsman looked towards a bearded man, clad in green overalls, who apparently looked towards them. I’ve said enough. I’ve work to do.

Wait, insisted Holly. I don’t pretend to know what you’re talking about, but if you feel like speaking to someone, here’s my card. We’re staying at the Caledonian Hotel in Leven.

Galloway jogged towards the sea and assisted his colleagues. Holly cast her sad eyes over the carnage on the beach, until they settled on the bearded man. Her instinct told her something about this unfortunate incident was unethical. Her aptitude at uncovering scandalous scoops was folklore within the media world, and although ignorant of what exactly she was about to unearth, she sensed excitement.    

Chapter Two

On the afternoon of the whale beaching, little Ross Drummond loped along the school corridor, attempting to keep pace with his teacher, Miss Dougal, who clutched a rolled-up painting. The young boy smiled proudly, milking the attention from the other schoolchildren, who watched with curiosity. Yes, Ross was the centre of attention, his renowned story telling at last offering him notoriety within the school.

Miss Dougal knocked on the door of the headmaster, Mr McFall, before entering. The presence of stale cigarette smoke caused the schoolteacher to open a window.

Mr McFall peered over his spectacles and invited his visitors to sit opposite. The silver haired man sipped a mouthful of his sweet tea before opening up. Ross, isn’t it?

Yes, sir.

Mmm, it seems you’ve adopted a reputation of being a storyteller, young Ross, or to put it bluntly, a big fibber… I take it you have read the story about the boy who cried wolf?

Ross stared out of the window, obviously not heeding the words of his headmaster.

Pay attention, boy! Miss Dougal tells me you’ve been telling fibs amongst your fellow classmates. Spreading absurd and untruthful poppycock.

No, answered Ross. I did see it.

Mr McFall sighed. Tell me again, young man what exactly you claimed to have seen.

Ross grinned, his eyes widening in excitement. I saw a mermaid on the beach this morning.

The older man looked into the eyes of Miss Dougal, who shrugged her shoulders. You saw a mermaid… Ross, I understand  you are young and have a vivid imagination. Not a bad trait to have, I might add. Perhaps we’re in the presence of a future great author. In essence, your incredible lies can land you in a great deal of trouble.

But, sir… I’m not lying.

The headmaster raised his voice. Enough! You’re twelve years old, Ross, and ought to have matured enough to realise such things as fairies and mermaids do not exist. To seek attention…is that your motive? If so, then I suggest instead of renown, you will be ridiculed.

Miss Dougal joined in. Ross, you’re an intelligent child and excel in your work. To exaggerate what you saw on the beach is…

No! I did see it.

Silence! shouted Mr McFall. Before I dismiss you, I wish to clarify a few things first… Under no circumstances are you to repeat your boastful, deceitful lies in this school. Miss Dougal maintains you show academic promise in your studies. Do not allow this childish slander to interfere with your promising education. Do I make myself clear?

Yes, sir, whispered the boy. 

I didn’t hear you.

Yes, sir.

That’s better. Now wait outside while I speak to Miss Dougal.

The headmaster waited until the pupil had left the room before striding towards his window. He looked across the green carpet of golden leaves towards the coast, the dark, foreboding clouds suggesting a storm was imminent. Alice, I feel we need take no further action. Any further disruption however and I’ll have no choice but to contact his parents.

Mr McFall turned and faced his colleague, noticing she seemed troubled. What is it?

Miss Dougal unrolled the painting and stretched it out on the table. Some imagination for a child, eh?

Mr McFall joined her, adjusting his spectacles to view the painting. The sketch depicted a seaweed-covered creature lying amongst rocks, its strange carcass tinted blue. The face appeared hairless, the eyes, black and lustreless. Instead of a nose, two nostrils were visible, and no chin or ears were evident. The creature’s had webbed hands, and instead of legs was a huge fish tail.

Very imaginative, commented the headmaster. Ross, as I believe it is an avid admirer of marine life. Is this so?

Miss Dougal nodded. Yes, but…

Then that would explain it. This image, he must have come across numerous times in his fantasy books.

Miss Dougal reluctantly interrupted. Ross says after he found this creature on the beach, a man ushered him away, and then deleted his photographs from his mobile phone.

Mr McFall frowned. This child is a fantasist. No, you’re not contemplating Ross is telling the truth, I hope. Pull yourself together, Alice. The boy is a modern day ‘Billy Liar’.

Miss Dougal once more studied the painting. Some imagination, eh?

I take it this business is now concluded, uttered Mr McFall. Destroy the painting and let’s get on with the everyday running of the school. A good day to you, Alice.

******

Holly and Anjoy opted for a table