“Borger,” barked Langford’s voice, “I need you up here right away.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now!”
“Uh, yes, sir,” he repeated. “I’ll be right there.”
Borger scrambled to hang up the phone then closed the window on the computer to save his work. He grabbed his half-empty can of Jolt and finished it off before finally looking down and straightening his shirt.
He turned to leave. As an afterthought, Borger reached back and grabbed his laptop, quickly unplugging its cables and tucking it under his arm.
Will Borger was what Admiral Langford liked to refer to as his secret weapon. He worked in the Department of Naval Investigations with Clay and Caesare and was arguably the smartest geek in the Pentagon. Even after Langford’s promotion, he kept a few “key” personnel reporting directly to him and Borger was one of them.
Although Borger was technically a contractor, it never made a difference to Langford. Which was why, even being forty pounds overweight, Borger was now running for the Admiral’s office.
When he arrived, Langford’s secretary was waiting for him and opened the door. Upon seeing him, Langford waved Borger in and motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“Good, hold on. I’ve got Borger here too. Let me put you on speaker.”
Langford pushed a button on his phone set and replaced the receiver back on its cradle. “You there?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Clay.
“Did you get on board the Forel?”
“Briefly, but you were right. Someone got the word down fast. We received a first class escort off the boat, but apparently we can’t leave yet as our plane requires some emergency maintenance. I presume that was your doing.”
“It was,” grumbled Langford. “We needed to buy you some time there, so our pilot found something important that needed fixing. Where are you now?”
“We’re at a hotel. They dropped us off with instructions to leave as soon as possible.”
Langford nodded. “They want us out, but they’re certainly not going to risk ruffling feathers. Did you get anything from the sub?”
“We did.” Clay looked at Caesare, who was reviewing the video on the camera. “It’s got a pretty advanced computer system on it, along with what looks to be some strange audio equipment. The video is hi-def but trying to send it over the sat phone is going to take a while. It might be easier to find a hotspot somewhere if we want to forego security.”
Langford looked up and across his desk at Borger, who shrugged. “Doubtful anyone would be watching for it.”
“Okay, send it,” Langford followed. “I want to find out what we’re looking at before you and Caesare are airborne. Any idea what this is?”
“No, sir. Not yet.” Clay glanced at the video over Caesare’s shoulder. “How much longer can we keep our plane grounded?”
Langford frowned and shook his head. “Not long. They’re pushing hard. We probably have about twelve hours before they get rude about it. The Brazilians have clearly decided there’s something on that sub they can benefit from, and I’m assuming it has to do with the equipment you found.”
“Agreed,” replied Clay. “Will, we’ll send the files over for you to take a look at. In the meantime, Steve and I will try to find out more.”
“Alright. Keep me posted.” With that, he ended the call.
Langford sat staring at the phone. This was feeling damn peculiar. That sub obviously had something the Brazilian government wanted badly. But what was it? Normally he wouldn’t have been all that concerned. Countries were always coming up with new prototype ideas but most never made it even close to production. In this case, there were two facts about the Forel that bothered him. One was its mysterious rise from the dead. The other was that, even with their best sonobuoys, this particular sub had been damn hard to find.
Their hotel was located on the colonial side of the city and was one of the oldest in Belem. With its traditional blue tiles, it looked more like a historic building than a hotel. And judging from a few patches of peeling paint and old furniture, it seemed that their complimentary bottle of water in the Humvee had been the peak of their special treatment.
Costa had dropped them off with another round of apologies. It was obvious he had no idea why Clay and Caesare were being evicted. Even though he was following orders, one trait that most citizens of South American countries all shared, even the soldiers, was a healthy skepticism of their governments.
When he dropped them off, Costa mentioned that his cousin worked at the hotel’s reception desk should they need anything. And if she was like most people in a country with a struggling economy, she was no doubt just as helpful.
Shortly after hanging up with Langford, the men made their way downstairs to find Costa’s cousin, Mariana. They spotted her across the tiled lobby, standing behind the long, faded reception counter and typing on a computer probably half her age.
Caesare approached and gave her his award-winning smile. “Olá, Mariana.” She smiled back warmly.
“Olá,” she replied in a light Portuguese accent. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Caesare leaned casually on the counter. “Enrique said you might be able to help us with something.” With that, he withdrew a hundred dollar bill and placed it in front of her.
Mariana stared at him for a moment as her expression turned dubious. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Clay peeked around from behind his friend and laughed, watching Caesare realize the girl had misunderstood his request. Caesare shook his head, embarrassed. “No, no.” He turned and shot Clay a sarcastic frown, only to find him still grinning.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m wondering if you know someone who can rent us some scuba equipment.”
Mariana smiled again, relieved. “Oh, yes, you would like to go on a boat? I have someone pick you up in the morning.”
“Actually, we don’t need a boat, just the tanks. And we were hoping to go out tonight.”
“Tonight?”
Caesare whispered and motioned back to Clay. “What can I tell you…my friend’s a little weird.”
Mariana glanced at Clay and thought a moment. “Um, yes, I know someone. I will call him. He is to meet you here?”
“That’d be swell.”
Mariana picked up her phone, but Clay stepped forward before she could dial and laid another bill on the counter. “One other thing. We need an internet connection.”
“We have one here, senhor,”.
“Better yet,” Clay replied, lowering his voice, “is there another hotel and internet connection nearby? Perhaps one you know the password to?”
After transferring the files to Borger, Clay and Caesare returned to the hotel. Mariana was waiting in the lobby with a young man who looked a few years older than she.
“Misters,” she started, when spotting them, “this is my brother, Lucas. He is come with your scubas.”
Caesare smiled and shook the young man’s hand, as did Clay. Lucas nodded toward the door and led them out and around the side of the building. Another young man was waiting next to a darkly painted car, smoking a cigarette. As they approached, he tossed it to the ground and walked to the back of the car, opening the trunk.
They rounded the rear of the Chevy Malibu, which looked older than it probably was, and peered into the trunk. Inside were two scuba units, complete with buoyancy control devices or BSDs, regulators, and tanks. Clay and Caesare looked at each other, amused when they saw the words “Hilton Belem” painted on the side of each tank.
The large mesh bag next to the rest of the gear held snorkels, masks, fins, and two dive lights.
“Did you bring suits?”
“Yes,” nodded Lucas. He reached under one of the tanks and pulled out a fold of neoprene to show them. When Lucas straightened back up, he gave them a slight grin. “My sister says you’re swimming tonight?”
Caesare frowned sarcastically. “Why would you thi
nk that?”
Lucas’ grin turned into a smile as he reached up and quietly closed the trunk. “You must be here about the submarine, yes?”
Caesare retrieved his wallet and opened it. “You know about the submarine?”
“I know about many things.”
“I bet.” Caesare counted out the rest of the money before looking to Clay with raised eyebrows. “How much you got?”
Clay reached for his own wallet and motioned to the Chevy. “We need the car, too.”
With some extra direction from Lucas, they managed to find the old dirt road that put them just over a quarter mile past the Forel’s location. Caesare’s shorter, more muscular frame stretched his wetsuit to the limit and made Clay chuckle, never having seen a wetsuit without any creases in it. Yet, Clay’s was only slightly better, being more than two sizes too large.
After locating a footpath toward the beach, it took them nearly forty-five minutes to reach the water and start swimming south. Progress was slow to avoid making any unnecessary ripples or noises in the water. Once they reached the crumbling walls of the old channel, they floated inward, now barely moving their fins behind them.
Several vehicles were still parked along the dock, sitting idly in the darkness. The rest of the men they had seen earlier appeared to be gone, save for some soldiers guarding the bridge on the far side of the Forel.
Clay, slightly in front, put his hand up and signaled to stop. Together they floated motionlessly for a few minutes, listening. Nothing.
They continued forward, closing in on the top of the Forel’s giant vertical tailplane.
When they were within a hundred yards, Clay nodded to Caesare a few feet away and inserted his black regulator into his mouth. He gave a thumbs up before donning his mask and releasing some of the air out of his vest, causing him to sink gradually below the surface.
Once well below the surface, they both turned on their modified dive lights. The red colored T-shirt they had torn up and banded over the top of each light presented a subtle glow as they reached the hull.
What they found was puzzling. Small depressions in the metal ringed the rear of the hull, just above the propeller. The rings were successive and traveled consistently down the hull to the base of the lower stern plane, where they ended. Inside the holes appeared to be a thick, metal mesh painted the same color as the sub. The indentations were large but very subtle and probably impossible to spot unless within inches of the hull.
Clay made a rough measurement of the depressions with his fingers and pushed himself back to get a closer look at the prop. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.
After several minutes, Caesare joined him and shook his head from side to side, motioning that he hadn’t found anything else further up. Clay nodded and pointed back the way they came. Together, both men descended further and proceeded to head back out toward the sea.
At 6:31 a.m., when the bright orange sunrise broke over the horizon of the Atlantic Ocean, Clay, Caesare, and their Gulfstream jet were gone.
9
Alison was excited and propped herself on the edge of the giant tank and let her legs dangle into the warm water. She adjusted the thick weight belt around her waist for comfort before looking up over her shoulder.
Lee and Juan stood over her, each holding one side of the vest. When Alison nodded, they both lowered it so she could wrap her arms through the wide straps. Once in place, Alison moved her shoulders from side to side to make sure it was comfortable enough.
She nodded and then both men hoisted the scuba gear off the ground and held it lightly against her back, allowing her to wiggle her arms through the second set of straps. Lee and Juan had measured the dimensions of the scuba vest and designed their own vest to hug her below the BCD. It was a perfect fit.
Alison brought the Velcro sides of the BCD in tight and overlapped one on top of the other, creating a snug fit. She could feel the weight of the tanks pulling her back and leaned forward to compensate.
The yellow scuba shell on her back was a CCR, or “closed circuit rebreather.” Unlike the older, traditional scuba systems, modern rebreathers had some distinct advantages. Old scuba systems were “open circuit’” and disposed of the air the diver breathed out by blowing it out from the mouthpiece and into the water in the form of bubbles. It was a very inefficient process since exhaled air still retained a large percentage of valuable oxygen. That oxygen was then discarded, along with the carbon dioxide as bubbles, and the remaining air in the tank determined the amount of time a diver could remain underwater. Rebreathers, however, captured that exhaled air and removed the carbon dioxide, allowing the system to reuse the valuable oxygen instead of wasting it. This radically prolonged the diver’s time underwater. On top of that, the efficiency grew even more dramatic as the diver descended and the pressure grew. Just as importantly, rebreathers were virtually silent, which made the translation process easier.
Alison shifted slightly under the weight of the unit. She grabbed the full-face mask and held it briefly in place, testing the airflow.
She nodded and looked up to Lee. “I’ve got air.”
He knelt down next to her. “Remember, we’re only staying down for a few minutes this first time to test the unit and the wireless connection to the server.” He took her mask and turned it around, pointing to a small rubber circle at the bottom. “This is the microphone and camera, so you must be facing them when you speak or IMIS won’t be able to capture and translate correctly.” He motioned to her vest. “And I showed you where the speaker is, right here in the middle.”
“Right.” Alison tapped the round speaker on the vest.
Juan handed the special earplugs to Lee, who passed them to Alison. After she had inserted both, Lee brought the mask to his lips and spoke softly into its microphone. “Can you hear me?”
Alison nodded.
He couldn’t help but smile at her petite frame under all that equipment.
Alison looked at the water in front of her and smiled, spotting both Dirk and Sally with their heads above the surface, watching.
“Does everything feel okay?” Lee asked.
Alison nodded again. She pulled the mask up and over the top of her thick hair and fitted it in place.
She peered down through the water. “Can you hear me, Chris?”
Chris was below in their observation area, standing in front of the tank and next to a large server. “Yes,” he replied through his headset. “I read you loud and clear.”
“Okay. Here I go.” She gave Lee and Juan a thumbs up and abruptly pushed forward off the ledge.
The warm salt water enveloped her as she sank below the surface, pulled gently down by her weight belt. Dirk and Sally dipped back down below the surface and swam after her as she descended. They slowly circled her, watching intently as she calmly pressed the small button on her scuba vest and added a touch of air to increase her buoyancy. She kicked her fins slowly to keep herself in place.
Alison peered in at Sally through the glass mask. “Hello, Sally.” Inside her waterproof vest, the miniature computer recorded the sound from her mask and sent it back to IMIS over a wireless connection. Seconds later, she could hear her own greeting through the speaker as a familiar set of clicks.
Sally didn’t response immediately. Instead, she drifted in for a closer look at Alison and her vest. After getting within just inches, she excitedly shot past and around Alison in a tight circle. Hello Alison.
Alison heard her perfectly through the earplugs and grinned. She kicked forward and reached out, running a hand along Sally’s slick body. She then turned to Dirk.
“Hello, Dirk.”
Dirk was equally excited. Alison, you swim and talk.
“Yes. I can swim and talk with you now.” She looked down through the clear wall and waved to Chris. He smiled and waved back.
Dirk spoke again. You make metal for swim and talk.
Alison shrugged. “Lee and Juan made the metal for us to swim and talk.”
They make good, Dirk answered.
They sure did, she thought to herself. She looked up and around the tank, raising her arms and letting her body float in place. She could see the rough, wavy images of Lee and Juan above them, still standing at the edge and staring down into the water. She turned back to Dirk just in time to see him speak and rush below her. We play now.
Alison had just begun to reply when she suddenly felt Dirk’s nose underneath her, lifting and pushing her forward along with him.
“Whoa!” Alison gasped and tried to steady herself against the powerful surge of water. Dirk effortlessly began to circle the tank, but Alison leaned and rolled herself to one side and off his nose. “No, no, Dirk!” She almost chuckled. “I’m not a ball!”
Dirk made a strange sound, which Alison knew well, but never translated. He was laughing.
Very funny, she thought and kicked her legs hard, propelling herself toward Sally, who was watching quietly.
Dirk like play, Sally said, as Alison neared.
“Yes, he does.”
Alison, you like us.
This time Alison did chuckle. “Well, for a little while.” She began to say something else when she heard the familiar buzzer in her ear, signifying that something did not translate correctly. She turned to find Dirk closing his mouth, having just spoken. She realized the camera in her mask had not been facing him.
“Did you say something, Dirk?”
Yes, we like you swim and talk. Dirk floated forward again, this time more slowly, and held out one of his flippers. Alison reached down and gave it a playful tug before he kicked forward with his powerful tail and circled under her.
You come now, Sally said.
Alison knew that was a question. “Not yet, we must test the metal more.” The buzzer went off again in her ears. “We use metal more,” she rephrased.
How more long use metal.
Leap - 02 Page 4
