“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.
Several vehicles were still parked along the dock, sitting idly in the darkness. The rest of the men they had seen earlier appeared to be gone, save for some soldiers guarding the bridge on the far side of the Forel.
Clay, slightly in front, put his hand up and signaled to stop. Together they floated motionlessly for a few minutes, listening. Nothing.
They continued forward, closing in on the top of the Forel’s giant vertical tailplane.
When they were within a hundred yards, Clay nodded to Caesare a few feet away and inserted his black regulator into his mouth. He gave a thumbs up before donning his mask and releasing some of the air out of his vest, causing him to sink gradually below the surface.