Page 81 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
Fierro’s grip jerked on his yoke. The plane yawed sharply, but he corrected it instantly. “A breach? How? When?”
“We only just discovered it minutes ago. I called you as soon as I could perform a forensic analysis and damage assessment.”
“How is this possible? Explain yourself.”
“Technically, our operating systems weren’t entirely breached. But some of the more complex coding we’ve been working on was stolen before the computer itself detected the break-in and stopped it. The good news is the project itself wasn’t damaged or destroyed, and we’re still on schedule.”
Fierro exhaled with relief, his breath heavy in his headphones.
“What’s the bad news you’re not telling me?”
“The stolen piece of code reveals exactly what it is that we’re working on. And worse, I suspect there’s a possibility they might have discovered our location.”
Fierro’s teeth clenched, choking down a primal scream. He calmed himself. “Who’s behind this? The Americans? The Chinese?”
“I think not. The Americans and Chinese use brute-force instrumentalities. This attack was subtle, like a thin dagger between the vertebrae. Quite admirable, actually. If I had to guess, it’s a supremely talented individual or an independent hacker collective.”
“Curb your admiration, dear Doctor. This attack poses quite a threat to us. The information they now possess is priceless. No doubt they plan on selling it to the highest bidder. They need to be stopped immediately, if it’s not already too late.”
“Agreed.”
“Any ideas about how to find them?”
“That’s the other good news. Once we identified the attack vector, we dissected their digital footprint and reconstructed their path through the system. By analyzing packet flows and correlating time stamps, we unraveled both the exploit and pinpointed the origin of the intrusion.”
“Meaning?”
“The attack came from a region of Panama known as the Darién Gap.”
Fierro pumped a fist in the air. “Excellent. I have assets in the region. Send me the exact coordinates. I’ll send a snatch team in immediately. We’ll find out what they’ve done and deal with them accordingly.”
“I’m sending the coordinates to you now,” Bose said. A moment later, Fierro’s comms dinged.
“Got it. Thank you for the call, Dr.Bose. I don’t need to tell you that pushing forward with Project Q at all possible speed is of the utmost importance.”
“I can’t change the laws of physics. It takes whatever time it takes.”
“Four days is an eternity at this juncture.”
“Patience, Mr.Fierro. In just four days, you will be king of the world.”
44
El Salvador
Eleven bloody corpses were laid out in an uneven row on the manicured lawn below the terrace of the president’s private home. Here, in the land of the violent Mayans, Cabrillo imagined them to be a grotesque offering to their insatiable gods of chaos. The sweet aroma of the local flora had given way to the coppery smell of exsanguination, the birdsong to buzzing flies.
Juan knelt down next to the nearest corpse. He pulled up a sleeve, revealing a familiar tattoo. “This one’s SAS.”
“This boy was Wagner,” MacD said, standing at the far end of the macabre line. The former Ranger was using his phone to collect fingerprints and snap photos of each of the killers for later ID.
Juan stood, his eyes scanning the carnage as his mind briefly replayed the events of the last hour.
One of the unfortunate by-products of the global war on terror was the endless supply of men trained to kill but with no more wars to fight. Too many of them succumbed to the temptation of big money in exchange for their lethal skills.
“How many in total?” President Olmedo asked his tough young sergeant. The rapid-reaction force soldier was one of sixty men who arrived on scene just fourteen minutes after Olmedo’s call for backup. The RRF came prepared for pitched battle. Armed helicopters still circled the compound, their blades hammering the air above them.
“Only these eleven, sir,” the sergeant said. “It’s unclear how many might have escaped.”
