“Christ.” Langford took a deep breath and leaned back into his chair. “Listen to me, Clay, carefully. I just got off a call with the State Department. It seems the Brazilian government has decided it no longer wants our help. They’re putting up obstacles left and right which means I don’t think I can get anyone else in there except you two. More importantly, I think it’s just a matter of time before the higher ups realize you’ve arrived, escort you both back to the airport, and send you off with a couple of nice Brazilian tarp hats.”
Clay looked at Costa, patiently waiting about ten feet away. “I see.”
“If that boat is the Forel,” continued Langford, “you’d better get a look at it fast, before whoever is in charge there gets a call.”
“Understood.”
Langford leaned forward again, gripping the receiver. “There’s something about that sub they don’t want us to see. So get aboard quick and get as much intel as you can!”
“Yes, sir.” Clay abruptly hung up and lowered the satellite phone from his ear. He folded down the bulky antennae and stuffed the unit back into his pack. Standing back up, he took a casual step closer to Caesare and whispered.
“We’ve got to hurry.”
Caesare gave a knowing nod. He then spoke loudly to Costa. “All right, Ensign, we’re all set. Show us the way.”
Costa smiled graciously and turned back toward the sub, motioning them to follow.
Unlike the Soviet November class nuclear submarines with their more compact but noisier power generators, the Beluga was very different. It was a prototype diesel-electric, originally designed to test new propulsion technologies and hull properties. However, the project was thought to have been scrapped in 2002. The S-553 Forel was the only known Beluga class submarine built, and it hadn’t been seen since 1997. Until now.
Langford sat silently in his chair, thinking. So the Forel was still in operation. But what for? And what in the hell was it doing in Brazil? He knew one thing for certain. There was only one reason to paint a submarine blue: for hiding in shallow water.
Like all subs, the Forel’s interior was spotless and metal gray, yet Brazil’s warm, moist jungle air gave the compartments of the Russian sub a subtle dank smell.
Once aboard, Clay and Caesare quickly made their way aft. They stopped and examined the giant diesel generators, taking several pictures. The generators were modernized with a more compact design but after some inspection, nothing appeared unusual. However, what did surprise them was what they found in the engine room.
Against the wall were two large metal racks filled with computer and audio equipment. From the racks, very thick, black cables ran up the steel wall, branching off into dozens of slightly smaller cables. They all spread around the engine room, terminating at the giant electric motor in the tail.
“What do you make of this?” Clay stepped forward and curiously ran his fingers over the cables. Caesare continued taking pictures behind him.
“Dunno.” After taking pictures of the computer racks, Caesare flipped the tiny digital camera into video mode and proceeded to record. He carefully turned and covered the entire room.
Clay turned back to the rack. All modern subs were computer-controlled these days, but he’d never seen any with computers like these. “Look at this,” he said to Caesare.
Caesare stepped in next to him and peered at the large devices on top. “What are those, amplifiers?”
“I’m not sure.”
Suddenly they heard footsteps approaching quickly from a forward compartment, along the metal floor. Caesare turned off the camera and dropped it into his pocket just moments before Costa appeared at the hatch. His face bore a look of confused urgency.
“Commanders,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I am informed that you need to leave this submarine immediately.”
8
Will Borger was sitting in his office, studying his computer monitor, when the phone rang. He didn’t acknowledge it at first as he scrolled down a window filled with complex computer code, examining it carefully. After the phone’s third ring, he finally glanced at the number and opened his eyes wide. He immediately reached out and picked up the receiver. “Yes, sir.”
“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.