Free Leap - 02 by Michael C. Grumley

were looking for was more obvious?  We’ve been scanning data from thousands of miles of ocean looking for the signs of the Forel.  It would have taken the sub weeks to get here.  And knowing that the longer they were out, the higher the chances of somehow being discovered, probably means a direct route.”  Borger zoomed out to a larger picture, highlighting the area he was scanning.  “But what if we were approaching this from the wrong angle, or more specifically the wrong angle?  Or more specifically, the wrong direction?  The Forel was captured here.”  A bright circle appeared off the northern coast of Brazil.  “From there, pretty much anywhere south has a higher chance of being patrolled by the Brazilian Navy.  So I decided to take a look to the north.” 
    Borger double-clicked his mouse.  Again, the picture zoomed in, but this time closer to the northeastern coastline of South America.  The next countries north of Brazil were the small countries of French Guiana, Suriname, and Guyana, lastly followed by the larger Venezuela at the top of his picture.
    “I managed to commandeer more servers to run another search and went north instead.  And this is what the program found.”  He typed something on his keyboard and his map zoomed in even further, down to the individual wave level where a tiny red cloud appeared.
    All three of the others stared at their own screens, studying the red image.  “That’s it,” said Langford.
    “Yes, sir,” answered Borger.  “The Forel’s exhaust plume.  Or at least the heat from it.  But that’s not the best part.  Look at where I found it.”  He zoomed out yet again and the other three on the line fell silent.
    “Guyana?”
    “Guyana,” repeated Borger. 
    Caesare tilted his head curiously at the image.  “What on earth was it doing in Guyana?”
    “That’s where it gets weird.”  Borger leaned forward again in his chair and resumed typing.  “It’s not just that the Forel was submerged off the coast of that country.  “It’s how long it was submerged for.”
    “How long?”
    “Two months!”
    “Two months?!” cried Langford.  “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, sir.  Once I found it, I downloaded another two months of data and started going backward.  The exact location varies a little, but not much.  That Russian sub had been sitting there for exactly two months and four days.”
    The conference line fell silent again as the three digested the information.  Modern submarines could, of course, remain stationary for a long period of time.  Although no one really ever did it for that long, outside of running drills.
    “What the hell were they doing?”
    Clay spoke up.  “Will, can you tell in which direction they were pointed?”
    “I certainly can!”  Borger smiled.  Clay was one sharp cookie.  “Because subs need to approach the surface to discard their exhaust, I was able to identify the outline of the sub pretty easily.  We can see that the sub’s direction was almost always pointed toward the city it was nearest to, which was Guyana’s only major city: Georgetown.”
    Clay was interested in the direction the Forel was pointing for one reason.  Aligning either the bow or stern with a target gave a submarine the smallest possible profile. 
    “So, it didn’t want to be seen by the city of Georgetown?”
    “Not the city,” corrected Borger.  “Something in the city.”
    Borger continued typing and the picture on their screens scrolled slightly south, traveling through the wide mouth of the Demerara River where it met the Atlantic Ocean.  Approximately two miles upriver sat an unmistakable shape.
    “This is why I woke you all up,” said Borger.
    The others were quiet yet again, this time studying the crystal clear image of a ship.  It appeared to be anchored near the only bridge crossing the Demerara from Georgetown.
    “It’s big,” Caesare offered.  “Do we know whose it is?”
    “The Chinese,” answered