“What are ‘colitas’ anyway?” the close-cropped lieutenant commander asked as a new song by the Eagles poured out of the speakers of his driver’s car.
“Would you like me to turn it down, sir?” the ensign asked.
“No. I’m genuinely curious. I thought it might be some sort of Mexican food, but when I inquired at a local restaurant, they said that it wasn’t. If you know, tell me.That’s an order, ensign. What are ‘colitas?’” The lieutenant commander studied his driver’s face in the rearview mirror.
“Well… sir,” he swallowed. “I’ve heard that ‘the warm smell of colitas’ is a reference to the warm smell of fresh marijuana buds, sir. Not that I condone any such thing, it’s just that…”
“Enough, ensign! You’ve done as I ordered.”
“We’re here, sir,” the ensign said as the car was waved through the front gate. “Welcome to Naval Air Station Alameda, sir.”
“Take me straight to Admiral Gravely.”
“Yes, sir. He’s on the USS Jouett, in port from San Diego.” The ensign had to shout because of the thunderous exhaust of jet aircraft.
“Lieutenant Commander Crowley here to see Rear Admiral Gravely.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here,” said the captain manning the entrance to the Admiral’s quarters. After a few hushed words into a wall telephone, he escorted the lieutenant commander through the Admiral’s door, then retreated and shut it. Crowley looked around at all the photographs and honors featuring the man behind the desk. A smile shone below his mustache as he invited him to sit.
“Lieutenant Commander Crowley, welcome aboard! I’ve asked you to come because of your expertise and your security clearance.”
Crowley was intrigued, but felt a shudder of alarm. “Is there a problem with one of your missiles?”
“No, lieutenant commander. You are going to serve as a technician on a project that is beyond top secret. You will not divulge what you are about to learn to anyone, including your commanding officer. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Let’s start with this chart of the western seaboard.” He pulled down a wall-mounted chart and pointed to a spot marked off the coast from San Diego. “For decades we’ve been monitoring vehicles that outperform our aircraft and then dive into the sea here” he tapped the spot on the map, “and then seemingly disappear.” Three high-resolution photographs wiped the bemused expression from Crowley’s face.
“What does this…”
“The vehicles triggered our onboard thermonuclear sensors so we think they’re…”
“…powered by nuclear fusion.”
“Yes. And the same low-level signature is coming from underneath San Francisco Bay. We found an ancient tunnel and want you to help us to locate the source.”
“Ancient?”
“The entrance, once buried under a shell mound that was moved when the Posey Tube was built, is estimated to be 15,000 years old.”
“Where does it lead?”
“A team sent twenty years ago vanished without a trace. They reemerged last week without aging, believing mere hours had elapsed. You’ll find out why.”
Literature in Small Doses 