Page 46 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“What are we going to do?” Linlin shouted from behind.
“No worries,” Murph called over his shoulder. “I know a safe place. The safest place on earth.”
?
Colonel Shi Chang watched the Yamaha race away through the tree line as he thundered up the stairs, his wetsuit dripping on the restaurant floorboards.
He smiled.
The Chinese special forces operator clicked his molar mic and called out to the rest of his team.
“All clear.”
Instantly, the bartender stood up from behind the bar, a wide grin on his handsome face. His shirt was soaked in fake blood and torn apart by the small explosions from the special effects squibs.
The other “wounded” members of the team climbed to their feet with nervous laughter. The married couple had the hardest time. The reduced-power flash-bang that exploded near their table still managed to bloody their noses and ring their heads like dinner bells. Two other members helped them to their feet as a third broke out a medical kit.
Chang’s number two, Sergeant Xuanyi, ambled up to him.
“That couldn’t have gone any better. I was worried thatguilaowas going to pull his peashooter.” A tail reported the tall American had previously entered an English-owned dive shop with known ties to Western agencies, where he was given a black-market pistol.
“I doubt the fool knew how to use it,” Chang said.
“Think she’ll be okay?”
“We’ve done our part to sell it. Agent Zhang’s fate is in her own hands now.”
25
The Pacific Ocean
Juan and Max were the only hands in the op center. It was well past midnight, and they were on station for what Cabrillo had officially dubbed “Operation Snipe Hunt.”
Overholt sent over the coordinates of the reported sightings of the mysterious demon ship supposedly haunting the vast and desolate eastern Pacific. Eric Stone ran those coordinates through his own variant of the Israeli targeting program Gospel. Stone’s AI-powered decision-making software generated a search grid for theOregon, designed for the highest probability of contact given the previous incidence reports. It was still a long-shot, Hail Mary play, but if Overholt was willing to write the check, Cabrillo was more than happy to cash it.
TheOregonhad been on station and following its preprogrammed course for over three uneventful hours. Max monitored the navigational sonar and radar systems, but nothing had popped up. TheOregon’s mil-spec equipment wasn’t picking up any mystery ships. They hadn’t seen a single fishing trawler or even a vagrant shipping container bobbing in the sea since arriving on station. They were in a literal dead zone, about as far away from civilization as an abandoned satellite circling Mars. Overholt’s phantom threat was likely just a phantom and no threat at all.
But Cabrillo had other things on his mind. He wasn’t at all happy that neither Linc nor Raven had reported in since their arrival inColombia three days earlier. In theory, all that meant was that they hadn’t found the Quds Force base yet, which wasn’t at all surprising. He preferred regular radio check-ins, but they were undercover and it wasn’t possible. He had complete faith in his two Gundogs, but no amount of planning or preparation could prevent unforeseen catastrophes.
Juan’s eyes scanned the small monitor on the Kirk Chair console. Raven’s and Linc’s trackers were still blinking active and on the move. That was a good sign—unless the trackers were located in the bellies of a couple of engorged crocodiles meandering down the river.
“We’re like a worm on a hook dangling over my momma’s bathtub,” Max said. “Not much chance we’re gonna get any bites.”
“I’m not looking to get bit.”
“You know what I mean.”
Cabrillo yawned and checked his Doxa Sub 300T wristwatch. “Twenty minutes until we’re relieved. After that I’ll head on over and hit the pool and turn some laps.”
“Knock yourself out. I’ll be heading for the galley. There’s a tray with a hot meatloaf sandwich and a couple of fingers of Buffalo Trace waiting for me.”
“I know there’s a biting joke in there somewhere, but I’m too bored to go find it.”
“Why don’t you head down to the pool now?” Max circled his finger in the air, indicating the op center. “I can cover this shindig from the Chair.”
“I’ll sit tight, but thanks.” Cabrillo never cut corners, especially on shifts. Max knew that. But the hopeful look on Max’s hungry face betrayed his true intentions.
Cabrillo grinned. “And don’t worry, your meatloaf sandwich will taste just as good cold.”
