Page 105 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

The octocopter’s optical targeting system finally locked onto the human figure in the water. The software made the necessary calculations and fired a single shot at Cabrillo’s skull.

The Chairman should have been killed, but the wave he’d been cresting suddenly dropped and the bullet missed him by just a few inches.

Just as the octocopter was preparing to take the next shot, anotherroller zoomed into the drone’s sensor area. It was forced to navigate away before the wave could crash into it, allowing Cabrillo a few extra moments to swim left to a new position, which once again blocked the drone’s vision.

The octocopter maneuvered right and surged forward, anticipating Cabrillo’s next position, hoping to acquire his form in the targeting reticle once again. Another wave rose up on its watery haunches and surged at the vehicle, forcing it farther right until it was now just beyond the outer pylon. Though it had no conception whatsoever of either kismet or dumb luck, the drone found itself perfectly positioned to acquire its target and laid its reticle squarely in the center of Juan’s broad back.

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The first shot from the octocopter jolted through Linc’s central nervous system like an electrical surge, putting all his senses on high alert.

More importantly, the sound of the blast helped him locate the drone, which now angled out from beneath the pier, its engines frothing up the water as it turned to fire.

Linc pulled the trigger and the big Barrett jumped on its tripod, sending a massive .50-caliber armor-piercing bullet downrange. Designed in the 1920s as an anti-vehicle and anti-aircraft round, the “Ma Deuce” easily pierced the octocopter’s aluminum body, smashing its computer brain and scattering its wreckage into the sea.

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Cabrillo turned around in the water toward the whining pitch of the octocopter’s motors just in time to see it shattered by Linc’s shot.

Ten minutes later, he scampered up the rusted ladder and swiped his watch across the flag to capture it. He then turned and dove off the pier, heading for the rendezvous point he and Linc had picked out on the beach.

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Thirty minutes later, Cabrillo crawled up onto the sandbank and jogged inside the dry cave. It was located far below the bluff above and out of sight of any overhead surveillance drones. He was out of breath and bent over, and holding himself up by bracing against his knees.

Linc was already inside, a wide grin on his face, his big Barrett rifle slung across his back. Cabrillo’s gear was stacked nearby. He held out a water canteen. Having survived Hell Week at BUD/S, Linc knew that hours of hard swimming in cold water generated a powerful thirst.

“You were making some serious Aquaman moves out there.”

“Heck…of a…shot,” Cabrillo said between great gulps of air. “Thanks.” He took a long swig of water.

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

Cabrillo wiped his mouth. “Might even get a Christmas bonus for that one.”

Juan stretched out his aching muscles. It had been a marathon swim session for sure, made even harder by the fact he was weighted down with waterlogged combat pants and heavy boots. Now that he was out of the cold water he was beginning to warm up.

Cabrillo’s face suddenly narrowed as if in pain. He dropped his pants.

“What’s wrong?” Linc asked.

Cabrillo opened up his combat leg. He pulled out his sat phone.

It was vibrating.

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“Fireside Pies. Guido speaking,” Juan said. He put the call on speakerphone.

“Juan! Thank God you’re okay,” Max said on the other end of the sat line. “We’ve been worried sick. We’ve been trying to reach you, but your sat signal’s been blocked. Your trackers, too. Those just came online a few minutes ago, Linc’s first. He with you?”

“Sure am,” Linc said. “And vertical, just like the Chairman.”

“We’re in a cave on the edge of an island beneath a bluff,” Juan said. “There must be some sort of a pocket where the signal blocking isn’t working.”

“What’s your status?”

“Pretty good considering we’re in the middle of an arena full of flame-throwing robots.”