Page 99 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“I think we’re good to go, Chairman.”
“Wepps, your turn at bat.”
Murphy grinned ear to ear. “Launching recon drones.”
A hatch in the tilt-rotor’s belly released four fast-moving quadcopters optimized for silent running. Each surveillance drone deployed infrared sensors, low-light optics, and directional acoustic microphones.
Within moments, thermal and optical imagery tagged and auto-tracked each guard.
“Launching attack drones,” Murph said.
A second compartment on the AW released thirteen smaller drones, each carrying a large but nonlethal flash-bang canister. Onboard AI-guidance processed the recon drones’ real-time data, assigning attack drones to cover all of the guards. The thirteen kamikaze attack drones raced low just above the treetops, each pursuing their assigned targets.
The first flash-bangs erupted in the trees, their brief flashes of blistering light whiting out the infrared screens. The microphones on the recon drones broadcast the noise of the blasts, as well as the panicked shouts and curses of the remaining guards, now alerted to the surprise attack from out of the sky. Seconds later, the other perimeter guards were splayed on the ground, their unconscious forms gray and still on the tilt-rotor’s displays.
One of the shack guards raised his CZ Scorpion submachine gun skyward and ripped off a mag at one of the drones zipping past. The staccato light from his weapon flared on the AW monitors.
“Good luck with that,” Stone said, chuckling. “Dipwad.”
Four more flash-bang kamikazes crashed into the guard shack—one straight through the front door. The windows shattered. Threelimp bodies smashed hard into the concrete walls before tumbling to the floor. The fourth guard staggered a few steps outside, clutching his head and screaming before he face-planted into the dirt.
“Get that man an Excedrin,” Stone said.
“All clear,” Murph said. “Perimeter secure.”
“Good work, Wepps,” Cabrillo said. He checked the digital countdown clock. The guards had been neutralized in just eight seconds. But all of that commotion must have alerted Fierro and whoever else was inside the main house. Cabrillo unbuckled himself to head back into the cabin, clapping Gomez on the shoulder and telling him, “Time to get our groove on, boyo.”
“Yup.” Gomez eased the controls forward and mashed the throttle. The tilt-rotor raced toward the compound. Moments later the tilt-rotor slowed as it descended to the landing zone, but Juan and the three operators in back bolted out of the AW before it touched the ground. They dashed in a crouch toward the front door of the estate.
Gomez lofted away to a safe distance nearby, activating the tilt-rotor’s remote-controlled overwatch machine gun while Murph and Eddie retrieved the recon drones.
All four operators stacked up at the front entrance. Eddie breached the heavy door with shaped charges along the hinges, blasting it inward. The Gundogs dashed in with their night vision goggles down and weapons up, clearing rooms as they went. They had trained this way together for years, practicing for countless hours in theOregon’s onboard shoot house. More important, they had executed dozens of live-fire missions with faultless success.
Ten minutes later, the vast house was secured. A terrified live-in housekeeper and a bearded, bare-chested chef were the only people they encountered. Since neither offered any resistance they were handled gently, though their hands were flex-cuffed behind their backs and mouths gagged for security. The unconscious guards outside would wake up within the hour and could free them when they came to.
“No Fierro, boss. Now what?” MacD asked.
“We’ll spread out and pick up whatever intel looksinteresting—calendars, laptops, thumb drives, you name it. But time’s a-wastin’. No telling who might have called this in, so put some scoot in your boot.”
“Aye,” Eddie said. The operators split up.
“You catch that, Gomez?” Cabrillo asked.
“Your cab will be waiting at the curb in ten, hoss.”
“Perfecto.”
Ten minutes later, the team scrambled on board the tilt-rotor and Gomez lofted the bird into the starry sky, and headed for home.
55
Panama
“We need to move,” the Mexican squad leader said to his mercs. “Saddle up, and let’s go.”
The other two men shouldered their packs and picked up their weapons as the Mexican grabbed Varik by the collar and dragged him to his feet. Eidolon’s hands were already flex-cuffed in front of him.
“Hope you’re ready for a hike, little cockroach,” the Mexican said. “We’ve got a long way to go.”
