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 think 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.