Page 104 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“We won’t move a millimeter until Project Q has launched,” Fierro said. “Our lives depend on it.”
“Sir?” Bose asked.
“My La Liga colleagues will murder us most cruelly if we fail this mission. I’ve spent billions of La Liga dollars to make this happen.” He turned to Stokes. “That’s why we won’t engage the engines until the AGI comes online.”
“If we’re sunk, the AGI will never come online.”
“If we’re sunk, then it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It matters to me,” Bose said.
“Then make sure it launches on time.” Fierro pointed at the clock. “And not one second longer.” He turned back to Stokes. “Once that clock hits zero, the engines are all yours. But if Project Q fails to launch, you better find us a place where La Liga can never find us—and on this side of hell, I don’t know where that is.”
“It will be online and on time,” Bose said. “You have my word.”
“If La Liga isn’t bad enough, the Americans are hunting me now as well. With AGI online, we’ll seize the American energy grid, and drive them to their knees.”
Stokes nodded. “Pride cometh before a fall, and the damned Yanks are long due for one.”
“And did I mention that both of you will receive five percent of Project Q profits once it launches?”
Stokes and Bose exchanged a surprised glance.
Fierro smiled for the first time. “You’ll both be richer than gods.” He glanced down at his flight suit and sniffed the air. “I need a shower. I’m heading to my stateroom. Is it ready?”
“It hasn’t been touched since you were here last,” Stokes said. “Silk sheets and sweet-smelling soaps fit for a king, I’m told.”
“I’ll be back in an hour. Have coffee sent to my suite. Food, too. And contact me immediately if anything changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fierro turned on his heel and sped out of the compartment. His gunman scanned the room one more time, then laid his eyes on Stokes. The old English war fighter didn’t flinch, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the killer left the room.
Stokes waited a few moments, then motioned to Bose. “Come with me.”
?
Stokes shut the door to his spartan cabin and motioned Bose into a chair. His cramped little room was only slightly larger than the Indian doctor’s own quarters.
“Five percent, and richer than gods? That’s a bit of a twist, isn’t it?” Stokes asked.
“A ridiculous attempt to cement our loyalties. He must be concerned.”
“He should be. He’s obviously losing control, and the forces around him are closing in.”
“That makes him especially dangerous.”
“Indeed, it does. To you and me most of all. He’ll blame us for his own incompetence.”
“His thug terrifies me. What happened to his man Vargas?”
“No idea.”
“What are your thoughts on our situation?”
“I think that Colombian idiot will lead the Americans to us. Unfortunately, we’re blind and deaf out here on electromagnetic silence.”
“Can’t you turn on the radar for just a brief moment to catch a glimpse of things? Get an early warning? And then shut it down?”
