Page 40 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
But that fool Narcisco Tamacas could still derail all of it. Fierro hadto find a way to get his father, Oscar Tamacas, released from CECOT. President Olmedo was the key. Fierro had to escalate—but something surgical. Nothing too violent, lest he provoke an overwhelming American response. But what?
And Narcisco wasn’t the only threat. As Fierro had warned Dr.Bose, an imponderable number of “unknown unknowns” lay in wait over the course of the next ten days. If Project Q failed, all was lost. La Liga would never forgive his ambition, let alone the loss of their billions. They’d baptize him in a vat of acid for that sin.
Fear suddenly gripped him—and fear was the mind killer.
Fierro needed to cleanse his mind, and bring a fresh wind to his soul.
After spending a university semester abroad in Tokyo, Fierro had acquired a love of all things Japanese. But his greatest affection lay withkyudo, “the way of the bow.”
Originating out of the violence of war, Japanese archery had morphed from a combat form to its modern variant—both a ritualized art form and a deeply meditative practice.Kyudowas still very much a martial art, but the advent of gunpowder ended nearly all forms of samurai combat including archery.
Rooted in the principles of Zen Buddhism, Fierro usedkyudoas a form of meditation, embracing the physical disciplines of the highly ritualized stages of theshaho-hassetsuto drive out the worries of the world and concentrate his mind on the eternal now.
Fierro attributed a great deal of his success in both business and in life to this Zen-like practice. He had converted his father’s outdoor shooting range into thekyudojoas soon as he had taken possession of the estate. There were ten shooting lanes, but few guests had the patience, stamina, or skill for the art form. Over the years he had brought over several of the very best teachers from Japan—men and women who had achieved the physical and philosophical mastery of the ancient sport.
Fierro wore the traditional wide, pleated trousers, a loose-fitting, long-sleeve shirt, split-toed tabi socks, and a deerskin glove for his shooting hand. Most of all he carried his belovedyumi, a long, asymmetrical bow with a wrapped grip below the center. Theyumi’sdistinctive geometry delivered far more power than the more famous English longbow. All of Fierro’skyudocustom-fit kit was handcrafted by Japanese artisans at great expense.
Fierro approached theshai—the shooting lane—with his bow and arrow in hand. He placed his socked feet in the proper stance with the care and intentionality of a calligrapher’s first brushstroke on fine paper, grounding himself to both the earth and his destiny. He cast his gaze upon the small circular target some twenty-eight meters downrange.
He then took a deep, cleansing breath and aligned his posture, stacking the bones in his spine like a marbled Corinthian column as he broadened his chest and balanced his weight. His body was now a ladder between earth and sky, his inner spirit aligning with his outward purpose, filling him with a physical sense of stability, centeredness, and serenity.
Fierro next readied his bow, nocking the arrow against the wood’s curved embrace with gentle precision in quiet anticipation of the force that would proceed from this moment of tranquility.
He then raised the bow with a solemn grace away from his body and above his head in a slow, ascending arc, the half curve of the bow rising like the sun over a far horizon. With equal control, he lowered the bow in a descending arc, simultaneously extending his left arm even as his gloved hand drew back the string, lowering both until the arrow shaft rested near his upper lip.
Now fully extended, Fierro had finally reached the full draw of the mighty bow. His body was stretched to its maximum effort, the power of the bow testing his physical limits and his acute mental focus. The loss of either would result in catastrophe. Only the harmony of inner calm and unshakable resolve could sustain him now. Stillness of spirit and breath waged war against the explosive power straining to escape the bow’s limbs and string.
Every step, every movement, every breath had been the notes of Fierro’s unfolding adagio. With his body and mind now perfectly aligned, he was completely focused on the totality of the moment. Everything was in perfect alignment and balance. Time was finallystill, and reality reduced to a single point of being. There was neither target nor bow nor distance nor even Fierro. All was one.
Now was the time of crescendo.
Thehanarewas more than the mechanical release of the taut string. Fierro wasn’t trying to time the shot to hit the target—just the opposite. It was the letting go of ego, of consciousness itself. The release happened at the moment it was supposed to happen, just as the lapping tide drew away the sand beneath one’s feet. Thehanarewas his spirit’s exhaled breath, detached from any expectation of outcome. All had been in alignment, all the forces balanced. The pure and perfect release merely let the arrow fly.
And fly it did.
Fierro stood motionless, still at one with the tranquility of the moment. His eyes tracked the arrow’s faultless trajectory with dispassionate interest, its destination certain—becausehewas certain. All of his preparation, the intensity of his focus, the precise execution of his movements had already determined the arrow’s path.
The razor-sharp tip buried deep into the wooden target with a resonantthunk, its shaft quivering with aftershock. President Olmedo’s photo was taped to the target, the arrow squarely fixed between his eyes.
Fierro exhaled and lowered his bow, once again utterly confident in the outcome of Project Q. His faultless execution and intensity of focus guaranteed it.
His La Liga would become a superpower, and nothing could stop that reality from happening.
Fierro smiled. He knew exactly what needed to be done.
He would loft an arrow into Olmedo’s beating heart.
23
Aboard theOregon
Juan Cabrillo and Max Hanley were in the engineering office poring over a post-action technical analysis following theOregon’s encounter with Linda Ross’s drone attack. The two senior officers were drilling down into the performance of the systems, not their crew, who had executed their duties admirably.
Given the outcome of the battle, there was no question Cabrillo and his team needed to figure out how to harden theOregon’s radar and comms systems against electronic countermeasures. Even though they had known Linda’s drones would launch an electronic countermeasures attack, her drone systems were able to read and decipher theOregon’s encrypted channels in real time and break through them with relative ease. Those drones were, in effect, flying hacking machines.
But that was a highly technical problem for another day—a problem Murph and Eric would tackle once Murph got back from his vacation.
“The upgraded power plant sure did fine,” Max said. “Looks like a thirty-eight percent increase in overall power and an eleven percent increase in top-end speed.”
