Leap - 02(12)

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.