Leap - 02 (12 page)

23

Admiral Langford sat at one end of a large, polished conference room table, joined by Secretary of Defense Merl Miller, Secretary of State Douglas Bartman, and Stan Griffith, the National Security Advisor.  A large monitor behind Langford displayed a frozen satellite image that he’d received from Borger.

“How the hell did we miss this?”  Miller was the first to speak.

“According to the CIA, the analyst tracking the corvette was inexperienced.  China and Venezuela have grown very close recently, after establishing some bi-lateral trade agreements.  And Venezuela had announced some military exercises.  The analyst thought the corvette was part of a cooperative training maneuver.  But instead, the corvette continued on to Guyana before reporting mechanical problems and pulling in at Georgetown.  At the time, the explanation was assumed to be authentic.”

“And it just sat there for over four months?”

Langford nodded.

“Christ!  Did they even bother to check on it?”  Miller held up his hand before Langford could respond.  “Forget I said that.  We’re talking about the CIA.”

The other three men grinned even though it wasn’t a joke.

Bartman leaned forward.  “And a few weeks after this ship arrives, our mystery sub shows up.  How did the Russians find out about it?”

“We don’t know.  But we do know there was equipment waiting when the Chinese showed up in Georgetown, likely from Venezuela.”

“The trucks and earth moving equipment,” Miller murmured.  “So the big question is…what are they bringing back out of the jungle?”

They all looked back up at the large monitor.  The frozen screen was displaying a close-up picture of the crate transfer aboard the corvette.

“And this has been going on for over five weeks?”  Griffith inquired.

“Just about.”  Langford tapped his laptop and the video began to advance in slow motion.

“How about drugs?” Miller offered.

Griffith shook his head.  “It wouldn’t take five weeks to bring down a shipment of drugs.”

“Unless it was a big shipment.”

“No,” Bartman agreed.  “China has more than enough domestic production of drugs.  They wouldn’t need to come all the way over here for more.”

“Well, I’m betting it ain’t
sugar!
” Miller shot back, sarcastically.

“What else do they have?” asked Griffith.

Bartman was watching Langford and knew what his colleague’s answer would be even before he said it.

“They do have
gold
.”

Griffith raised his bushy eyebrows.  “Gold?”

Bartman considered the idea.  “Guyana is a small exporter of gold.  It’s a highly valuable commodity and it’s portable.  It might also explain the extreme security.”

“Wait a minute,” Griffith interrupted.  “Guyana is a gold exporter.  If they already sell it to other countries, why would they care about keeping shipments to China secret?”

Langford shrugged.  “Maybe they’ve discovered a big deposit that they don’t want anyone else to know about.”

The room became silent as each of the men considered the possibility.  China had been hoarding gold over the last several years, from all over the world.  They had also been buying up mines in foreign countries.  There was something they wanted gold for, and badly.  No one knew why, but some suspected China was planning a major global economic event.

“Then why not bring something bigger?” asked Miller.  “Like a freighter?  And why not more trucks?  Whatever it is, they could get it out a hell of a lot faster.”

“And attract a lot more attention.”

“Well, they evidently got the Russian’s attention.”

Langford sat, thinking.  “On the other hand, maybe it’s something immaterial.”

“You mean something Guyana’s government doesn’t care about?”

“Right.”

“Or,” said Bartman, from the other side of the table, “they do care about it, but the Chinese has given them an offer they can’t refuse.”  He paused and leaned back in his chair.  “Well, at least sending the Bowditch was a good call.”  The Secretary of State didn’t need to explain his statement.  The relationship between the United States and China had become increasingly tenuous in recent years, to put it mildly.  A more accurate word, which only a few dared to use, was
eroded
.  The last thing the U.S. needed was to incite more military tension.  That was why Langford had sent the Bowditch, a science vessel.

The conference phone on the table suddenly beeped.  Langford glanced at the others as he reached for the phone.  “I thought there was someone else we might want to have chime in on the subject.”  Langford pushed a button on the keyboard.  “Langford.”

“I have her on the line, Admiral,” his secretary’s voice came over the intercom.

“Put her through.”

After a moment, the line clicked.  Langford cleared his throat and spoke up.  “Good morning, Doctor Lokke.  Are you there?”

“Yes, Admiral.  I am.  I’m sorry for being tardy.”

“That’s quite all right.  Have you had time to review the information I sent you?”

“I have indeed.”

“Excellent.  Standby while I add you.”  Langford leaned forward and studied the complicated phone’s keypad for a moment, pushing one of the larger buttons.  He looked up at the large monitor and saw Kathryn Lokke’s video feed appear as a smaller window, overlaying the wide still frame from his own computer. 

Kathryn Lokke stared into her camera.  Her light complexion and short reddish-brown hair filled most of her window.

“Doctor Lokke, allow me to introduce Douglas Bartman, our Secretary of State.  I believe you already know the rest of the group.”

Lokke smiled curtly.  “Yes, I do.  Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bartman.”

The Secretary nodded as Langford began.  “Doctor, we were just discussing the video from Georgetown.  More specifically, the crates being loaded onto the corvette ship and what they might contain.  Drugs or agricultural commodities don’t appear practical, but we’re military men.  You’re the expert, and we’d like to hear your opinion.”

Dr. Kathryn Lokke was the Director of the United States Geological Survey, the largest scientific and research department on the planet.  She had taken over the department somewhat recently and had worked previously with Langford and others on his staff, under rather difficult circumstances.  Langford thought very highly of her, as did the President.  He also knew she was not someone to be trifled with.

Lokke took a deep breath, studying the footage on her own screen.  “Well, it’s not a liquid or gas, or else they would be using cylinders.  I also agree it’s not drugs.  I doubt the Chinese would sit around for several months loading drugs on a ship.  Drugs are moved quickly.  As for other commodities, the quantity would have to be significant.  But they’re not, especially for someone like China.”

“What about a commodity like gold?” Langford asked.

She frowned, thinking.  “Gold is less a commodity than it is money.  And there is a lot of mining going on in South America.  But no, I doubt that’s the answer, either.”

Griffith squinted.  “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure,” Lokke shrugged.  “But gold is extremely dense and heavy, and those crates are relatively large.  If they were filled with gold, there would be no way two men could carry it.  Unless, of course, the quantities inside were much smaller than the crates, or if the men were twelve feet tall.”

Langford’s lip curled in his familiar way.  “So either smaller amounts or it’s something else.”

“I think it’s something else.  Why put small amounts of gold in larger crates?  It would be a waste of space, especially on a relatively small ship.  Besides, there’s a bigger problem.  Mining gold, or even silver, for that matter, requires refining to get it into smaller blocks for shipping.  But a refinery requires a lot of space and energy.  Not something you would see in the jungle or on a mountain.  It’s not practical.”

“So we rule out gold.”

“Yes,” she nodded.  “Silver and platinum too.”

“Well, we know they’re doing something.” Miller said.  “They took up some earth movers, and they’ve been bringing something down ever since.”

“Earth movers?” Lokke asked, with a raised brow.  “I didn’t catch that part.”

Langford chimed in.  “Yes, a few of them, as far we can determine.”

“Hmm…”  The men could see Kathryn Lokke lean back, thinking.  She remained quiet for a long time before speaking up.  “There is something that comes to mind.  Something that might be far more strategic than gold.  REEs.”

“What’s an REE?”

“Rare earth elements,” Lokke explained, leaning forward again.  She was surprised at their confused looks. 

Langford looked at the others then back to the screen.  “Fill us in.”

“Rare earth elements, or REEs, are a group of seventeen specific elements on the periodic table which have become the equivalent of a modern day gold rush.  These elements have very special properties that make them extremely valuable in a variety of modern technologies, especially technologies with military applications: things from lasers, to fiber optics, to missile guidance systems.  These elements are also essential to many technological advances that make our modern way of life possible.”

Griffith spoke up.  “So they’re rare.”

“Actually, no,” Lokke answered.  “They’re quite plentiful.  In fact, cerium for example, is the twenty-fifth most abundant element on the planet.  What’s rare about them is not their existence: it’s their
concentrations
.  You see, REEs are common, but in deposits that are quite dispersed, which means uneconomical for mining.  However, as modern technologies have advanced, rare earth mining has become more economically feasible; so much so that they’ve become a very important piece of political leverage, especially to China.”

Langford suddenly remembered.  “You’re talking about China’s export ban.”

“Exactly.  China has been absorbing rare earth mines for decades.  So much that they ended up cornering the market by the early 2000s.  No one cared because China, the world’s largest exporter, sold them to the rest of the world as they did with many other commodities.  But…” Lokke said.  “That changed in 2009.”

Bartman frowned.  “What happened in 2009?”

“China stopped exporting them,” Langford answered.  “Or should we say, they restricted them.”

“Right,” said Lokke.  “In a big way.  Suddenly the folly of allowing China to become the primary owner of rare earth metals became clear.  Dozens of uneconomic rare earth projects, which had been abandoned around the world, were instantly in the spotlight again.  Today, nearly all first world countries are desperately searching for rare earth deposits and trying to establish new mines.”

Langford watched Lokke on the monitor.  He could see the wheels in her head turning.  “So you’re saying the Chinese may have found a deposit in Guyana?”

Kathryn Lokke rubbed her finger gingerly back and forth across her lips.  “Maybe.  Or maybe they found ‘
The
Deposit.’”

“I thought you said they were all over the world?”

“They are.  But there’s something else.  One of the early researchers of rare earths in the 1800s was a man named Delafontaine.  I think Matt was his first name, or maybe Marc.  Anyway, he studied them for over forty years and even developed a new form of spectroscopy.  He also wrote a lot of papers on the subject.  One of which was an idea on what he called “The Deposit.”  Remember, rare earths are common.  In fact, many of them exist together, but always in varying densities.  In other words, some deposits are denser than others.  In several cases dating back to the early twentieth century, they found deposits that had surprisingly low concentrations.  What Delafontaine posited was that based simply on arithmetic, or perhaps chance, there was probably another deposit somewhere out there of unusually
high
density.  One that would be ‘off the charts’ compared to what’s already been found.  To him, it was mathematically inevitable.”

“And was it ever found?”

Lokke shook her head.  “No.  But considering how dependent the world is on technology today, if the deposit did exist and was found, the strategic and economic value of it could be incalculable.”

Everyone quietly stared back at the frozen video frame on the monitor, or more specifically, at the crates being transferred.

“Are you suggesting this is what the Chinese found in Guyana?  ‘The Deposit?’”

“I’m simply pointing out a possibility.  One that is remote at best.  Although I
will
say, rare earth searches are being conducted everywhere.  In many respects, the geography of our continents is now pretty well mapped, all except one: South America.  And most of South America is completely covered in dense jungle.  So, if Delafontaine’s deposit
did
exist, South America would be the one place that could still hide it.”

24

“Okay,” Langford pressed his fingers together in front of his face.  “If this is true….if the Chinese found a special rare earth deposit, then what are in those crates of theirs?”

“Rocks.”

“Rocks?”

Lokke nodded.  “Most likely.  Rocks that would look common to the average person, but to an expert they would be covered with signs of very dense and rare element content.”

Griffith spoke up.  “Would they need any special equipment or facilities?  What about a refinery?”

“Possibly not.  Rare e
arths do require an extraction process, but if the concentrations were
really
dense, you might only need basic equipment.  Equipment like bulldozers or land movers.  You could get them out quickly and worry about extraction and refinement later.”  Lokke noted the looks on the men’s faces.  “Remember, this is just a theory.  The Chinese could very well be after something else, but a big rare earth find would fill a lot of the holes.”

“Okay,” said Miller.  “Let’s step back.  Maybe the Chinese discovered a big deposit and maybe they didn’t.  If they didn’t, what else could it be?  We’ve already ruled out gold and other precious metals, plus agricultural possibilities.  What else could be that valuable to them?”

“Maybe they found the Lost Ark,” smiled Griffith.  The others around the table chuckled.

Langford stopped and thought for a moment.  “Is that possible?”

“What, finding the Ark?”

“No,” frowned the Admiral.  “Something else.  Could it be some unknown archeological discovery?”  He turned toward the screen.  “Dr. Lokke?”

She shrugged.  “It could certainly be a historical item. Although that’s probably a stretch.  If it was truly significant, I doubt the Guyana government would sit idly by while it was deconstructed and taken away piece by piece.  Besides, what would the Chinese want with a piece of some Mayan type of history?  I’m not an archeologist, but even a hidden temple or a tiny city couldn’t be disassembled in a few months.  Nor would it explain the need for earth moving equipment.  Unless, of course, you were trying to destroy it, but that makes even less sense.”

“What about some kind of ancient treasure?”

Bartman shook his head.  “Aren’t most ancient treasures made of gold or silver?”

“Right.  Again, too heavy,” conceded Langford.  “I guess we’re back to the rare earths theory.”

Kathryn Lokke peered directly into her camera.  “You know, the more I think of REEs, the more sense it makes.  The Chinese have established a veritable stranglehold on the rest of the world with these elements.  This has given them tremendous economic and technological leverage for a long time, even while other sources are found and brought online.  So, if there was a super dense deposit out there, and I was the Chinese, I would grab it pretty darn quick.”

Miller turned to Langford.  “Okay, so either it is elements or it isn’t.  Either way, we need to get a look into those crates, and fast.”

Langford nodded.  “I’m working on that.”

“What do you mean?”

Langford checked his watch.  “I have two men who should be on the ground soon.”

Miller stared at Langford for a moment before grinning wryly.  “And which two men would that be?”

“John Clay and Steve Caesare.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

The small city of Georgetown was clearly visible against the bright green background of Guyana’s rain-forested mountains.  The Bowditch was still miles away, but by now was visible to anyone on shore, including the crew of the corvette.

Standing outside the bridge, Captain Krogstad lowered his binoculars and peered at the receding shape of the Oceanhawk helicopter, headed well south of the city.  Next to him, Commander Lawton stared in the same direction. 

Between that night’s observations and further verification from Borger’s footage, they had confirmed something sizable was indeed being loaded onto the Chinese ship.   However, the crates were well sealed, leaving no visual clues as to what was inside.  They had also verified that the ship had arrived just over four months prior, and while they could not achieve a positive confirmation, they suspected the Russian sub had arrived just a few weeks after the corvette.  All the while, sitting quietly and watching.

Lawton was surprised to feel a tinge of worry for John Clay and Steve Caesare, who were both on the helicopter.  She reluctantly admitted to herself that Caesare, while having a certain brashness to his personality, was also somewhat charming.

She straightened up taller next to the captain and quickly forced the thought out of her mind.  They were grown men.   They would be fine.  Besides, she had a lot of work to do.

The chance of not being seen was almost zero, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be subtle.  As the chopper lifted off the ground and headed back out to sea for the Bowditch, Clay and Caesare hefted their packs up and over their shoulders.  It would be a long hike into town, but the early morning coolness meant they would have a head start before the humidity and heat really set in.

They covered the first five miles in less than an hour, which was surprisingly good time considering they had to stay off the road and out of sight.  They were also traveling in the most casual clothes they had, knowing they would need to blend in quickly when they reached Georgetown.  Both were dressed in shorts, yet while Clay wore a comfortable, dark green polo shirt, Caesare wore a rather loud button up.  It was the most casual clothing they could find and from Borger’s suitcase no less.

Together they continued weaving in and out of the trees, picking up more moisture from the thick foliage than from the air.  Both men stopped several times at the sound of a passing automobile, which was usually a truck headed north from New Amsterdam, carrying an early morning load of commercial goods. 

When they neared the town, they crossed over the railroad and came in high up along Embankment Road. 

Georgetown had a population of 750,000.  However, it was the half million tourists it received annually which allowed Clay and Caesare to blend in.  Originally settled as a Dutch colony, Georgetown was invaded and captured by the British in 1781, primarily due to its location at the base of the Demerara River.  After decades of political friction between the local governing body and the policies of King George, the town finally received its city status in 1842.  The wards and streets were named after the Dutch, French, and English, who administered the city through different periods of its history.  As a result, and perhaps more notably, Guyana became the only country in South America with English as an official language.

It took them just under two hours to reach the city’s downtown district and to find a small obscure hotel.  Leaving their packs in the room, they promptly found a taxi and slid into the back seat.

The old driver peered at them both from the rearview mirror.  “Good afternoon,” he said, with a hint of a British accent.

“Hello, Mr.…Brennan,” Caesare said, leaning forward and glancing at the driver’s credentials overhead.

From under a thick mane of white hair, the driver turned and looked back over his shoulder while Clay slammed the back door shut.  “Where can I take you lads?”

The two looked at each other in the back seat.  “We’re…new in town.  Thought we’d take a tour of the city.”

“Splendid.”  Those words were music to Brennan’s ears.  He grinned and set the meter before glancing over his shoulder and turning out into the lane.  “Are you two with CARICOM?”

CARICOM was short for “Caribbean Community” and was an agreement to improve economic relations and foreign policies for fifteen Caribbean member nations.  Guyana, and more specifically Georgetown, had the distinction of housing the CARICOM headquarters since its inception.

Clay shook his head at the question.  “Afraid not.  We’re here for a business meeting and taking a couple of personal days first.”

The driver nodded and turned right onto Mandela Avenue, heading north.  “Well, you couldn’t find a better city for a holiday if you like the ocean and warm water.  My family moved to Georgetown when I was six, ‘course it looked a spot different back then.  Been here ever since.”

Clay and Caesare sat quietly for the next several minutes while the driver rattled off interesting tidbits about the city, including a drive-by of both the Georgetown Lighthouse and their National Museum.  It was only when they’d reached the water and the renowned Georgetown “Sea Wall” that Clay spoke up and asked the older man to turn left.

He obliged and took them along the wall, which eventually curved onto Main Street and headed south along the Demerara River.

Brennan had been driving a taxi for over thirty years and couldn’t remember the last time he had a couple of fares quite like these two in his cab.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something different about them.  He watched his passengers from the mirror as he pointed out several of the city’s most notable landmarks.  Curiously, the two men in the back looked at very few of them.

After turning south, the two suddenly paid significantly more interest to the surrounding area.  It was the area with the oldest and most rundown buildings in all of Georgetown.  But it was when they made their way toward the tall bridge that the men really perked up.  Their eyes were locked on the gray Chinese warship as they passed.

After snapping a few pictures, they both turned forward again.  “What kind of meeting are you chaps here for?”  Brennan asked.

The edge of Caesare’s lips curled as he glanced at Clay.  The driver’s question had a knowing tone.  “It’s more of a convention actually,” Caesare answered.

“I see,” replied Brennan, still watching them.  “What kind of convention, if you don’t mind my query?”

“Potato chips.”

Brennan raised his eyebrows.  “Potato chips?”

“Yes.  I believe you call them ‘crisps.’”

The driver sat upright and peered in the mirror at Caesare, who was now grinning widely.

Brennan suddenly laughed.  “You’re funning with me.”

Clay reached forward and dropped a large bill onto the seat.  “Mr. Brennan, perhaps you can find a quiet place to pull over.”

The driver’s expression changed from curiosity to nervousness.  “Sure,” he said, glancing down at the protruding microphone attached to his two-way radio.  At the next block, he turned left and circled back onto the busy four-lane road of Mandela Avenue.  “Any place in particular?” he asked, scanning the road.

“Here is fine,” Clay answered, as he reached behind himself.

Brennan’s apprehension grew as he quickly pulled to the side and stopped the car.  He didn’t know that the object Clay was reaching for was simply his wallet.  Clay retrieved two bills and returned it to his back pocket.

“Mr. Brennan, you seem an intelligent man.  It may not come as a big surprise that my friend and I would like to remain as ‘unmemorable’ to you as possible.”

“Okay.”

Clay smirked.  “And please relax.  We’re not going to hurt you.”

Brennan took a deep breath and calmly breathed out.  “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”  He was more relieved than they knew.  Despite their tourist apparel, it was clear to Brennan that these two men had an edge about them.  They were polite, but he suspected his two passengers could be as physical as they needed to be.

“Well,” Brennan said, with a humorous tone.  “I presume you chaps aren’t looking for a store to buy chips.”

Both Clay and Caesare smiled.  “Not exactly.”  Clay handed the two bills to the driver.  “We’re more interested in getting some information.”

The old man noted the money in Clay’s hand and took it calmly.  It was his turn to smirk.  “I suspect it has something to do with the Chinese ship then?”

“It does.”

Brennan finally shook his head and chuckled.  “Bloody hell,” he said, running a hand through his white hair.  “I thought for a minute you boys were going to off me.”

Caesare laughed.  “Your tour wasn’t that bad.”

The driver laughed as well.  “Well, I’m happy to know
that’s
settled.”  He put the car into park and shifted his body sideways to get a better look at the two in the back.  “So what about that ship are you keen to find out?  The bloody thing has been sitting here for a long time and the lot of us has been wondering why.”

“So, you don’t know?”

“No one does.  No one can get near it.  What you saw was as close as anyone is allowed to get.”  Brennan looked at them suspiciously.  “And at night, no one is allowed on these streets at all.”

“Why’s that?”  Caesare asked.

Brennan looked around outside the car and lowered his voice.  “Because of the trucks.”

“What trucks?”

The driver grinned at that.  “Come now, boys.  I reckon you wouldn’t be here unless you knew a bit about the trucks yourself.”

Clay acquiesced.  “We know a bit, but not much.  Do you know where the trucks are going?”

“No.  That entire part of the jungle is now off-limits according to the government.  It has been ever since that ship arrived.”  Brennan watched his two passengers exchange looks.  “Do you know what they’re carrying on those trucks?” asked the taller of the two.