“Door closed on its own,” Mullen said. “Come up now,” Somers ordered. They brought him up fast.
The camera was removed, and the exposed film was taken out. It was developed that same evening. The results were disturbingly clear.
The film showed everything. The burning candles, the seated figures, their synchronized movements, their blinking. The turning heads and the self-closing door were all there.
Somers watched the film in complete silence. Then he said firmly, “This has to go to Washington.” The film was sent out on December 7.
Along with it went the three divers’ reports and Somers’ written conclusion. They also included dive diagrams and copies of the dive logs. Everything was sealed in an official packet and handed to a courier.
They waited a full week for a response. During that time, nothing changed at the station. Lock No. 4 remained shut down for extended repairs.
The strange circles on the water kept appearing every night. Same place. Same hours. No more divers were sent down.
By Somers’ order, all work was suspended until instructions came from above. Vance, Carter, and Mullen stayed in the staff quarters with nothing to do. They played chess, read, or sat quietly.
They did not talk among themselves about what they had seen below. But each man thought about it in his own way. Vance wrote down every detail in a notebook.
He recorded everything he could remember. He knew memory wears away details and replaces them with interpretation. He wanted the facts while they were still fresh.
He wrote in the evenings under a small desk lamp. He filled 23 pages in tight handwriting. Carter wrote nothing.
But sometimes at night he would wake up and stare at the dark ceiling for a long time. Mullen slept well, but he stopped smiling. Before this, he had joked easily and often.
Now he had become quiet and intensely focused. The long-awaited response from Washington came on December 14. It was a short telegram saying a commission would arrive on the 16th.
The station was ordered to provide full access and be ready for additional dives. The commission arrived exactly on schedule. There were three of them.
Two wore military uniforms without insignia. One was a civilian. He was an older gray-haired man in glasses.
They introduced themselves without giving names, only titles. Representatives of technical command, and a consultant on special matters. They held their meeting in Somers’ office.
They watched the film twice in silence. Then the gray-haired consultant in glasses began asking questions. There were many of them, and all were detailed.
He asked about water temperature, visibility, and sound. He asked about the candlelight, the movement of the figures, and the condition of the bodies. The divers answered one by one: clearly, factually, without drama.
The consultant listened closely and occasionally made notes. When they were done, he set down his pencil. “We need more detailed footage,” he said.
“This time with stronger lighting and proper sound recording.” “Sound recording underwater?” Somers asked, surprised. “Yes. We have the equipment. We’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“And how do you explain what’s happening?” the engineer asked. The consultant looked at him over his glasses. “At this point, I don’t. That’s why we need better documentation.”
The next day they brought the equipment. It included an underwater motion-picture camera with its own light source and a hydrophone for recording sound. They also brought additional high-powered floodlights.
Everything was packed in watertight housings and mounted on a frame. Vance was chosen for the dive, as the most experienced. His assignment was to document the entire interior of the structure for 20 minutes with continuous sound recording.
On December 18 at 10:00 a.m., the launch headed back out to the site. The weather had turned bad. A cold north wind was blowing. The water was gray and choppy, and the launch rocked in the short waves.
Vance got into the heavy suit slowly and carefully. He personally checked every bolt. The camera was secured to his chest, and the hydrophone was attached at his waist.
An additional floodlight was mounted directly on his helmet. Wires ran from it to heavy battery packs on his back. “Ready?” one of the military men asked.
“Ready,” Vance said, and stepped over the side. The water took him the same way as before: thick and slow. He descended into darkness, counting the seconds calmly.
He switched on the floodlight at six feet. It was powerful and bright white. Visibility improved at once to about six feet…
