Page 66 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“Maps,” Stoney finally blurted out.
“Maps? What about them?” Ross asked.
Stoney turned toward Kasim. “Hey, Hali. Question.”
“Shoot.”
“We used the Sniffer to break into the comms of the warehouse guards, right? Changed the signal output for the audio hypnosis trick?”
“Exactly.”
Stoney pointed at the convoy on the screen.
“GPS maps. Everybody uses them now. Especially when they’re in a foreign country. Why can’t we use the Sniffer to break into their GPS? Reroute them?”
“Spoofing them.” Max grinned ear to ear. “I like where this is going.”
“I’m sure we could. We have to break into their system…put up a stronger signal than they’re currently receiving. I’ll need to put a drone on top of that trailer to do that. And pronto.”
“We don’t want them to smell something fishy going on with their maps,” Juan said. “Find out what final destination they plugged in, and then we can send them on a slightly different route without raising their suspicions.”
“And then?”
Juan stood. “There’s only one option. The thing we always do. The one move that never fails us.”
Max clapped his hands together.
“We’re gonna do a plan C.”
35
El Salvador
The thundering storm made for a harrowing trip, but provided excellent noise and visual cover for theOregon’s AW tilt-rotor.
True to his word, Hali deployed the Cray supercomputer and the Sniffer to piece together a spoofed GPS map that fed into each of the three vehicles of the fentanyl convoy. The final destination the Chinese had chosen was a village near the San Vicente volcano, a region of hidden valleys, remote farms, and isolated villages.
Hali and Stone fed the AI program a series of prompts, explaining exactly what they wanted it to accomplish. The AI program quickly determined a route that took the convoy off the main road and into the mountains, convincing the Chinese the longer, more remote, and tedious route was still the fastest by peppering their maps with fake warnings of road constructions, lane closures, and traffic accidents. The Chinese bought it—hook, line, and sinker.
Based on the available terrain, Juan and the other four operatives carefully selected their ambush points, kitted up, and piled into the AW with Gomez on the stick. He set the AW down in a cyclone of rotor wash on a rain-soaked field a half mile from their destination some thirty minutes before the convoy would pass by. The half-mile march over steep mountainous terrain in the pouring rain would eat up at least fifteen more minutes.
The powdery fentanyl-neutralizing absorbing agent was packed into three sacks of fifty pounds each on the backs of three men. Waterproof covers protected the liquid-absorbing materials from the deluge of rain.
Linda Ross carried a fourth sack with the remaining thirty-five pounds under protest that she wasn’t being treated equally. But her verbal complaint turned into silent gratitude as she ascended the first steep, rocky embankment. Her pack straps dug into her shoulders and lactic acid fried her thighs on the forced quick march up the slippery mountain path.
Cabrillo led the way with Eddie hot on his heels. Dr.Littleton, theOregon’s best mountain-wall climber and former high school all-American wide receiver, easily kept pace with the trained operators despite the extra fifty-pound burden on his heavily laden back. Linda was right behind him acting as sweep. MacD, the former Army Ranger andOregonGundog with the honey-sweet Cajun drawl, cut a separate trail heading for a different location.
The team badly needed their comms beneath the roar of rain pelting their headgear. The mission required the utmost speed, stealth, and timing—and they only had one chance to pull it off.
?
The driver of the rear guard vehicle in the convoy swore violently as the thick rain nearly blinded him. The Suburban’s wipers slapped furiously across the windshield, but were unable to keep up with the deluge. Yet the driver’s orders were clear and the security protocols set. He had to keep pace with the container truck no matter what. The three other guards sat in stoic silence, their hands clenching whatever secure holds they could find.
The thunderous cracks of lightning overhead were nearly deafening, but the gut-wrenching sound of an erupting tire was unmistakable. The red-faced driver cursed furiously as the wheel jerked in his hands. He pumped the brakes and pointed the nose of the big SUVtoward the side of the narrow one-lane road, finally bringing it to a shuddering stop.
The man riding shotgun, the unit supervisor, snatched up his cell phone and called to the other two vehicles, informing them they had blown a tire.
A voice from the lead guard vehicle crackled on his radio. “Do you want us to stop? Come back and lend you a hand?”
