Page 63 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
Twenty-one minutes later, Cabrillo reappeared with two steaming cups of fresh-brewed Cuban pour-over with Linda Ross and Max Hanley in tow. He handed one to Littleton.
Despite the early-morning hour, with an operation underway, the entire crew was wide-awake and alert, and ready to contribute any way they could. The galley was fired up and serving hot coffee and breakfast burritos to fuel the crew for the long day already unfolding.
Littleton popped the lid on his coffee, and pointed at the computer screen on his desk.
“You were right, Chairman. This sample is a saturated solution of fentanyl base, the most potent form of all. You said you found twenty-five hundred liters?”
“Yup.”
Littleton whistled. “It’s worth millions. Could kill millions and millions more.” He blew on his coffee and then took a noisy sip.
“The question is, what do we do about it?” Cabrillo asked.
“We’ve discussed some options but none of them good,” Linda said. “We need to knock this thing out, and do it without the Chinese knowing about it. We can’t destroy the container or the warehouse. Can’t drain it away—”
“Heavens no. You’d have a mass-casualty event on your hands.”
“Then what can we do?” Hanley asked.
Littleton took another thoughtful slurp of his hot coffee.
“We’ll need some kind of enzyme or catalyst to neutralize it…and in sufficient quantities.”
Max frowned. “What kind of enzymes or catalysts?”
“We could possibly neutralize it with certain chemicals we might have on board.”
“Such as?”
“Ethanol could partially denature it. Hydrogen peroxide could oxidize it, rendering it inactive. Sodium hydroxide might neutralize it through a base-induced hydrolysis reaction…”
“Everybody knows that,” Max said, trying to cut the tension with his snide sense of humor.
Littleton was still lost in thought.
“Calcium chloride, maybe? Some ships use it for moisture control and deicing. Mixing it with the fentanyl might form a less soluble complex, which might precipitate out of the solution. Even a sufficient amount of bleach—”
Linda Ross shook her head. “We’re not carrying hazardous chemicals these days.”
“Not even as cleaning supplies?”
“Afraid not. We’ve rid ourselves of as many combustibles as we can given our combat operations.”
“Any other possibilities, Doc?” Cabrillo asked.
Littleton’s laughing eyes narrowed, his mind running through countless chemical formulas. He snapped his fingers. “You know, if we had enough styrene monomer…even acrylic acid…”
Linda shook her head again. “Nope.”
“You’re sure? Not even as cargo?”
“As director of operations, I promise you, we don’t have it.”
“May I see the cargo manifest?”
Linda shrugged. She wasn’t used to being challenged, but she was humble enough to know that Littleton was the expert on this one.
“Sure.”
