But now all of the progress IMIS had made with Dulce was suspect, and Lee knew it. If the accuracy was compromised, even as little as ten percentage points, it meant that many more words may be misinterpreted due to their cross-relationships. Scientific methods were very strict, and, in this case, the size of the possible breach seemed to be growing.
Lee watched another red error scroll by in the log file and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head nervously.
6
The flight to Belem in Para, Brazil took five and a half hours. The late day sun had just under two hours before its final descent behind the lush but distant mountains far to the west.
Founded in 1616 as the first European colony on the Amazon River, the multicolored buildings of Belem glowed brightly below as the jet banked to the right and prepared its approach. From his seat, Clay gazed out across the dense, green tropical landscape, extending as far as he could see. It was so lush it was almost glowing. Somewhere in his memory, Clay remembered reading that the forests of South America were responsible for creating more than twenty percent of the world’s oxygen. From the incredible view through his side window, he believed it.
The fourth largest continent by landmass, South America was home to some of the most exotic life and incredible features on the planet, including both the world’s largest rainforest and the tallest waterfall in the world. It was a vast and mystical place, remaining almost entirely unexplored until well into the early twentieth century. Legends claimed that many of its hidden mysteries were still waiting to be discovered. The one that Clay and Caesare had come to see was man-made. Floating silently in the Val-de-Cães naval yard, it rested just several hundred feet below them.
The sub had been under heavy guard since being escorted into port, where the Russian crew was quickly isolated for questioning. And according to Langford, they weren’t very talkative.
Next to Clay, Caesare’s snoring was interrupted by a loud snort as he startled himself awake. Caesare blinked and rubbed his eyes with his hands, then remained still for a moment feeling the descent of the aircraft. “Well, that was quick.”
Clay smirked, finally turning away from the window, and gathered his papers from the small table. He stood the papers on end to straighten them before sliding them back into the folder, tucking the stack neatly into his pack.
With a yawn, Caesare leaned forward, letting the back of his leather seat follow him up into its upright position. He glanced at his watch. “Four-thirty. We’d better hustle.”
“You know, this report doesn’t have much on the capture of this boat.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“We don’t know who was involved, what was used, or whether there was any communication established.”
“Right,” Caesare answered. “My guess is sonobuoys, but knowing whether they were active or passive would be a big help.”
“And whose buoys they were,” Clay added.
Caesare raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think they were Brazilian?”
“I don’t know. Brazil uses a lot of the older MADs. The buoys could be theirs, but it also seems like our boats got here awfully fast.”
“As in… they were already here.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Either they were already here or they took a couple days to get here. Which makes me wonder…”
Caesare finished his thought. “How long did they know about the Russian sub?”
The summer heat and humidity enveloped both men the moment they exited the craft, making it feel as though they were sweating. Together, they walked briskly across the hot tarmac, each pulling a suitcase behind him with a pack slung over an outside shoulder.
The airport was small by most U.S. standards, with an old metal-and-glass framed terminal building standing alone on the very far side of the tarmac. As Clay and Caesare approached, a dark green Humvee suddenly rounded the corner of the building and sped toward them, almost skidding to a stop.
A young ensign jumped out and ran toward them with an apologetic look on his face.
“Commanders,” he said, addressing them in a thick Portuguese accent, “I’m very sorry to be late now.” He stopped abruptly in front of them with an awkward expression, wondering if he was supposed to salute. Caesare was closest and smiled at him, extending his hand. Relieved, the ensign relaxed and shook Caesare’s hand first, then Clay’s. “I am Ensign Costa. I’ve been sent to accept you. May I assist you with your bags?”
“Pleased to meet you, Ensign Costa,” Caesare smiled and shook his head. “Nah, we’re fine.”
Costa nodded back and promptly turned to the car, trotting several steps ahead of them and opening the back tailgate. The two men approached, tossing their bags and packs in without losing a beat. Clay climbed into the front passenger seat and Caesare slid in behind him. They were happy to find the air conditioning already on high.
Costa opened the driver’s door and reached in, handing each man a bottle of water. Clay thanked him and Caesare whistled. “Look at that. It’s like we’re important.”
The ensign nodded and climbed in next to Clay. He closed the door and immediately dropped the vehicle into drive. “Your flight was good, yes?” He turned them around, heading back past the old terminal.
“Fine, thank you,” Clay answered, peering out the windows. The base looked older than he was expecting. If not older, then certainly more run down. Another jet was landing further away on another runway and looked to be a commercial flight. The place was apparently still being used. They bounced high in their seats as Costa crossed over a rough section of asphalt and out onto the main road.
“I’ll take you to the submarine first, yes? Before the hotel.”
“How long has it been here?” Caesare asked, from the back seat.
“Uh… two days,” replied Costa, changing lanes. He looked back through his rearview mirror. “It is very secret. You are the only Americans to come.”
“Why so secret?” Clay prodded. He already knew the answer. “What if people see it in the water?”
Costa grinned as they crested the top of a wide overpass, crossing above one of the wide tributaries feeding into the largest section of the Amazon River. “Yes, people could see it very easy, and ask questions. If it was still here.”
Clay glanced back over his shoulder to Caesare who raised his eyebrows curiously. “So Costa,” he said, changing the subject. “How long have you been in the Navy?”
“I am in the Navy nine years. My father and grandfather were sailors too, both on battleships, and my great grandfather was a hero in the Revoltas da Armada. We are…” he paused to think of the right phrase, “a military family.”
Clay nodded warmly. “Your family must be proud of you.”
Costa nodded and almost chuckled. “Yes, they are proud of their Enrique.”
The sub was not nearby. It was now being held roughly thirty minutes north, up a smaller river, and tied up at a very old and seemingly abandoned cannery. The place looked much worse than the base at which they’d just landed, and the rundown buildings along the cannery’s dock looked rusted through as if ready to fall down at any moment.
Costa drove over an old wooden bridge, which groaned as they passed over and was guarded by two armed soldiers. Once on the other side, they came around past the dock and slowed near one of the last structures. Here, Costa finally stopped the Humvee and pushed the transmission back into park.