“Audio for what?”
“Ah…” Borger clasped his hands. “That’s the million dollar question.”
Caesare smirked. “Something tells me you have a million dollar answer.”
“Why, yes, I do.” He paused, staring at them but saying nothing.
“And what is it?”
Borger grinned and held his hands up for dramatic effect. “Active Noise Control!”
Both Clay and Caesare sat motionlessly. Not because they didn’t understand; they did. Instead, they remained quiet, considering the possibilities.
Clay looked back at Borger’s screen and mumbled, almost to himself, “Noise cancellation.”
“Bingo!”
Borger leaned back in his chair. “Navies have been trying to perfect ANC in their subs for years, but so far it’s been unattainable. If you ask me, I think they’ve found a way to do it with the Forel: not just reduce their noise but eliminate it altogether.”
“Wow. Does Langford know about this yet?”
Borger shook his head again. “Not yet.”
Clay remained quiet, thinking. Borger’s assessment suddenly raised a number of other questions. Finally, he turned his wrist and checked his watch. “It’s time.”
13
To their surprise, Admiral Langford and Stan Griffith, the National Security Advisor, were already waiting in the conference room when Clay, Caesare, and Borger arrived. Langford broke off his conversation and motioned the three inside to the chairs on the other side of the wide table. The new Secretary of State, Douglas Bartman entered and closed the door just moments behind them.
“Gentlemen,” Langford began, “I’d like you to meet John Clay, Steve Caesare, and Will Borger. They came with me from Investigations.” Silent nods were exchanged while Langford continued. “Clay and Caesare were onsite to examine the Forel. Mr. Borger is our computer expert, trying to figure out exactly what we’re looking at here. Clay, want to start us off?”
“Yes, sir,” Clay spoke up. He quickly recounted their trip to Belem and time aboard the Forel submarine, leading to their abrupt expulsion. He also described their dive beneath the sub in the middle of the night, including what they saw around its tail section.
“Okay, Will, you have the data they sent. Any idea what we’re looking at here?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Borger. “It looks like we may be looking at an operational Active Noise Control system.”
“What?”
“ANC, sir,” repeated Borger. “It’s only a guess without being able to put my hands on it, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it is.”
“I’ll be damned.”
Bartman looked back and forth between them. “What’s Active Noise Control?”
“Noise cancellation,” answered Langford. “A way to render a submarine silent underwater. No wonder the Forel was so damn hard to find.”
Borger continued. “From what Clay and Caesare described, there are sensor and actuator rings around the entire tail section, which mimics some of the test designs other countries have tried, including our own.”
“So it’s completely silent?” asked Bartman.
“Well, not completely, but very close.”
Bartman pondered the Admiral’s reply. “But we still don’t know what the Russians were after.”
“Correct, but we now know what Brazil’s government is after. And why we got kicked off the sub so fast. My guess is that this is a working prototype of the technology used in Russia’s new stealth submarines. And I think the Brazilian Navy may have just realized the same thing.” Langford turned to Borger. “Anything on our other project?”
“The image scans? No, sir. Not yet.”
“Sir,” Clay spoke up. “Have the Russian’s asked for their crew back yet?”
They all looked to Bartman, who shook his head. “No, no communication yet.”
“That’s peculiar.”
“Very,” agreed Langford.
“Sir,” Clay continued. “The initial report we received on the Forel was lacking a few details. For example, information on the actual capture itself. Was there a reason for that?”
Langford looked at Stan Griffith, who in turn exchanged a knowing expression with Bartman before speaking. “What would you like to know, Commander?”
It seemed the omission from the report was intentional. “Who exactly located the Forel?” Clay asked.
“The Brazilian Government. We don’t know who exactly.”
“They knew where it was?”
“Yes.”
Clay frowned, confused. “Brazil has five submarines, all much closer than we are. If they already knew where the Forel was, why did they need our help with the capture?”
“It was a favor,” Griffith sighed and continued looking at Clay. “The relationship between the United States and Brazil has been slowly eroding for some time. As a major emerging market, they have voiced their displeasure over a number of recent political and economic decisions of ours, which has put our relationship on delicate footing.” He shrugged. “It was a simple political favor, nothing more.”
“So we kept quiet to give Brazil credit over the Forel’s capture,” stated Caesare matter-of-factly.
“Something like that.”
“And to avoid souring our relationship with the Russians at the same time.”
Griffith reluctantly nodded.
“Except we didn’t know what was on it,” Clay picked up where Caesare left off. “The Admiral indicated that it was harder than usual to locate the Forel. Exactly how hard was it?”
“Four attempts.”
Clay and Caesare were both surprised. “Four attempts? Even after Brazil told us where to look?”
“That’s right.”
“So, it took four sonobuoys to find it?”
“That must be some damn effective noise cancellation,” Caesare mused.
Clay turned back to Griffith and Bartman, asking the question that everyone was now thinking. “So, if it took us four tries to find that sub, and our sonobuoys are better than the MADs that Brazil uses…do we actually know how Brazil knew about the Forel?”
After a long pause, Bartman shook his head. “We thought it better not to ask.”
The expression on Langford’s face told Clay that something in that discussion was a surprise, even to him. But the look was only momentary. “Okay,” Langford began, “so we have what appears to be a prototype of a new Russian technology. Their crew is obviously well-trained on it, and Russia still hasn’t made a sound.” He shot Bartman a subtle but dubious glance. “So either they’re afraid to say something, or they’ve already quietly spoken to the Brazilian government. And if that’s true, it means the Russian crew may be about to disappear on a first-class flight home.” He looked at the others. “Any other possibilities?”
Clay was chewing absent-mindedly on his lip when he looked up. “Well, there is one other possibility, sir. The simplest and most obvious.” He shrugged at Langford. “What if the Russians don’t even know it’s been captured?
14
After unlocking two deadbolts, Clay pushed open the door and stepped into the still darkness of his apartment. Flicking the light switch revealed a large, sparsely decorated living room that looked as though it hadn’t been used in months. It hadn’t.
In the bedroom, he parked his suitcase near the bed and dropped his bag onto the blue and grey striped comforter. He was looking forward to a good night’s sleep, and had a feeling he was going to need it.
Unfortunately, Clay’s sleep only lasted until 4:10 a.m. when his cell phone rang. He picked it up off the nearby nightstand and squinted at the bright screen.
He answered and sat up, groaning. “Will, do you ever sleep?”
Borger chuckled on the other end. “Probably more than you do. Sorry to wake you up, but it’s important.”
“What do you have?”
“I found something with my pixel scanning. I think it’s significant.” Borger switched the phon
e to his other hand and used his mouse to enlarge the picture on his screen. “It’s not what we were expecting.”
“Have you called Langford?”
“Yes. He should be online in a few minutes. He told me to get you and Steve on too.”
Seven minutes later, Clay sat hunched in a dining room chair, staring at his laptop screen. Langford and Caesare were doing the same on theirs. They were all looking at the display Borger was sharing from his own monitor. He enlarged a picture of the Atlantic Ocean so everyone could see it.
“I came back to my lab last night after our meeting,” Borger began. “Clay’s comment about the simplest answer got me thinking. What if what we were looking for was more obvious? We’ve been scanning data from thousands of miles of ocean looking for the signs of the Forel. It would have taken the sub weeks to get here. And knowing that the longer they were out, the higher the chances of somehow being discovered, probably means a direct route.” Borger zoomed out to a larger picture, highlighting the area he was scanning. “But what if we were approaching this from the wrong angle, or more specifically the wrong angle? Or more specifically, the wrong direction? The Forel was captured here.” A bright circle appeared off the northern coast of Brazil. “From there, pretty much anywhere south has a higher chance of being patrolled by the Brazilian Navy. So I decided to take a look to the north.”
Borger double-clicked his mouse. Again, the picture zoomed in, but this time closer to the northeastern coastline of South America. The next countries north of Brazil were the small countries of French Guiana, Suriname, and Guyana, lastly followed by the larger Venezuela at the top of his picture.
“I managed to commandeer more servers to run another search and went north instead. And this is what the program found.” He typed something on his keyboard and his map zoomed in even further, down to the individual wave level where a tiny red cloud appeared.
All three of the others stared at their own screens, studying the red image. “That’s it,” said Langford.
“Yes, sir,” answered Borger. “The Forel’s exhaust plume. Or at least the heat from it. But that’s not the best part. Look at where I found it.” He zoomed out yet again and the other three on the line fell silent.
“Guyana?”
“Guyana,” repeated Borger.
Caesare tilted his head curiously at the image. “What on earth was it doing in Guyana?”
“That’s where it gets weird.” Borger leaned forward again in his chair and resumed typing. “It’s not just that the Forel was submerged off the coast of that country. “It’s how long it was submerged for.”
“How long?”
“Two months!”
“Two months?!” cried Langford. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. Once I found it, I downloaded another two months of data and started going backward. The exact location varies a little, but not much. That Russian sub had been sitting there for exactly two months and four days.”
The conference line fell silent again as the three digested the information. Modern submarines could, of course, remain stationary for a long period of time. Although no one really ever did it for that long, outside of running drills.
“What the hell were they doing?”
Clay spoke up. “Will, can you tell in which direction they were pointed?”
“I certainly can!” Borger smiled. Clay was one sharp cookie. “Because subs need to approach the surface to discard their exhaust, I was able to identify the outline of the sub pretty easily. We can see that the sub’s direction was almost always pointed toward the city it was nearest to, which was Guyana’s only major city: Georgetown.”
Clay was interested in the direction the Forel was pointing for one reason. Aligning either the bow or stern with a target gave a submarine the smallest possible profile.
“So, it didn’t want to be seen by the city of Georgetown?”
“Not the city,” corrected Borger. “Something in the city.”
Borger continued typing and the picture on their screens scrolled slightly south, traveling through the wide mouth of the Demerara River where it met the Atlantic Ocean. Approximately two miles upriver sat an unmistakable shape.
“This is why I woke you all up,” said Borger.
The others were quiet yet again, this time studying the crystal clear image of a ship. It appeared to be anchored near the only bridge crossing the Demerara from Georgetown.
“It’s big,” Caesare offered. “Do we know whose it is?”
“The Chinese,” answered Langford solemnly.
“What do the Chinese have a ship in Guyana for?”
Langford’s voice was slow and deliberate as he continued studying the picture. “This came across my desk a few weeks ago. It wasn’t a priority. The word the CIA picked up was that it was there for minor repairs. They had been caught in a storm.”
Clay spoke up. “What kind of ship, Admiral?”
“A warship. A Corvette Class.”
“So is it just me,” Caesare said, “or is anyone else wondering what a Chinese warship is doing in the Atlantic?”
The Admiral said nothing, still staring into the eerie glow of his laptop screen.
“Will,” Clay changed the subject. “Any idea how long the Corvette has been there?”
“I only have three months of data. But it’s been there the whole time.”
“Can you zoom out again so we can see them both on the screen?”
Borger complied, zooming out until both vessels were visible as two large dots inside of the same shot.
Clay held up a piece of paper to his screen and angled it slightly. “Line of sight.”
“Ideal observation through a periscope,” Caesare added. “And pointing directly at it not only gives the Forel its smallest profile, but would also allow it to fire right up the mouth of that river. Potentially before that ship could even make it out.”
After a long pause, Admiral Langford cleared his throat. “I need to make some phone calls.”
15
Alison awoke and rolled toward the illuminated clock on her desk.
5:24 a.m.
She pressed her eyelids shut, hoping to drift off again, but eventually she gave up. It was no use. Her mind was already racing.
She lay in the darkness for several more minutes before sitting up on the edge of the firm couch. She used it often, especially when Dirk and Sally were there. With a sigh, Alison stood up and turned on the light, briefly blinding herself. She waited a moment before taking her hand away from her eyes and double-checked the time using her wristwatch.
Quietly opening the door, she walked down the dark hallway, feeling her way along the wall. She took the stairs down slowly and walked the length of the hallway until she spotted the wide door under a pale reflection from the moon outside. She opened it softly and stepped in.
The water in the huge tank was lapping softly. Near the surface of the tank, Alison could see the darkened shapes of Dirk and Sally, floating motionless as they slept.
Sleep was a very different experience for water-born mammals such as dolphins and whales. The ocean was teeming with danger, which made the practice of completely shutting down the brain during sleep, the way humans did, a dangerous prospect. Instead, the mammals slept by shutting down only half of their brain at a time. This allowed them to remain in a semi-conscious state for protection, yet still garner the eight hours of rest they needed.
Alison approached the tank, watching them sleep. Sally’s eyes suddenly opened. After a brief pause, she used a very soft sway of her tail to move down and forward. Sally stared through the glass at Alison but said nothing. Instead, she turned and looked at the microphone.
Alison took the hint and turned on the computer screen atop Lee’s desk. She then opened the window, which allowed her to turn down the volume of the speakers. When it was done, she leaned into the microphone and whispered, “Good morning, Sally.”
Sally moved in close to the microphone. Good morning Alison. Yo
u no sleep.
She shook her head at Sally’s question. She hadn’t been sleeping much at all lately. “Not much tonight.”
Why you no sleep.
“Too much work.” Interestingly, one of the several words IMIS seemed to have trouble translating was ‘work.' It appeared dolphins didn’t have a precise equivalent in their language. As a result, when Alison said “work,” the dolphins heard something more akin to their sound for “effort.” Nevertheless, Sally seemed to understand.
You work much Alison.
“I know I do.” She smiled at her own next thought. You know it’s a problem when it’s not just your mother saying you work too much, but the dolphins too.
Alison continued watching her float in place until Sally spoke again.
You no happy Alison.
“What?”
You no happy.
Alison frowned. “I am happy, Sally. I’m just tired.”
Sally emitted a very soft set of clicks and whistles for Dirk’s sake, as he was still sleeping near the surface. The external speaker on Lee’s desk emitted more of the translated words. Me happy. Me with Dirk.
Alison was about to reply when Sally’s next statement cut her off. Where you friend.
She meant John Clay. Sally had picked up on Alison’s relationship with Clay from the beginning. “He’s working too.”
He work much too.
Alison shyly nodded.
Why humans work much. Sally asked.
Alison took a deep breath. It was a simple question, but hardly a simple answer. She thought it over and finally shrugged. “To make the world good, I guess.”
Sally was quiet for a moment, as if considering her reply. World good now.
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