Page 133 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

“TheFuzhoustands ready, sir.”

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Sunan Airport, North Korea

The Hwasong-17 ICBM loomed like a deadly obelisk on its mobile platform, its cone pointed at the cloud-shrouded, predawn sky. Heavy rain pummeled the launch site, pinging against the missile’s aluminum-alloy skin.

Rain-geared military personnel scrambled for cover as final checks were called out by launch operators inside the underground command and control bunker.

The mission control officer, an Army general, gave the terse command to initiate the countdown, and thirty seconds later the Fire Star’s massive engines roared to life with a fiery flash.

The thundering shock waves above echoed inside the bunker, trembling the ground beneath their feet. Tracking cameras flared with refractive bloom against the white-hot corona of flaming gases trailing the missile on its long flight to its distant target range in the far Pacific.

A faint smile and satisfied nod from the general ignited a round of wild cheers and applause inside the bunker. It was another successful launch, and a clear signal to the hated Americans that North Korea held a nuclear knife to their naked capitalist throats.

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Sea of Japan

The hundred-thousand-watt halogen lamps of a South Korean squid-jigging boat blazed across the surface of the dark, rain-roiled sea. The bright lights lured the deep-diving Japanese flying squid to the surface, where fishermen tricked the squid into seizing the jigged fluorescent lures flickering like darting shrimp.

The high-tech squid boat deployed a seasoned and highly patriotic crew. They happily shielded the secretive work of the two men and one woman, who identified themselves as South Korean National Intelligence Service operatives. Their mission was to monitor the early-morning North Korean missile launch.

Squid boats were common in these waters, and always operated at night. North Korean patrol boats wouldn’t suspect anything nor even bother them this far beyond the Communists’ economic zone.

The squid-jigging crew knew not to interfere with the intelligence work, pry into their activities, or gawk at their incredibly sophisticated equipment. Not even the captain dared to closely inspect or verify their credentials.

Despite the nearly daylight-bright halogen glow surrounding their vessel, the North Korean rocket trail was clearly visible almost from the moment it launched, its fiery plume muting behind the thick rain clouds as it punched through the storm.

Within moments, the Guardians had accomplished their first task of the mission.

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Aboard theOregon

Eric Stone idled theOregon’s engines and rotated its thrusters, keeping the big ship in place like a swimmer treading water. He had just put theOregontwenty-five miles due east from theBaktun. If his estimates were correct, that put them safely beyond the range of its tripod-mounted optics and, hopefully, well outside the estimated perimeter of theBaktun’s sensor drones. They hadn’t picked up any active radar or sonar activity from the mystery ship, nor had the Sniffer detected any radio, satellite, or laser communications.

Like theBaktun, theOregonwas also maintaining complete electromagnetic silence, careful not to send any kind of signal that would trigger theBaktun’s electronic spiderweb of passive sensors and send her scurrying away. But without active sensors, they still needed a way to confirm theBaktun’s location.

“Madyar’s ready to launch, Chairman,” Gomez said. He was theOregon’s senior drone pilot when he wasn’t flying either the AW609 tilt-rotor or the Joby.

“This will be the first time we’ve deployed the Madyar in combat conditions,” Linda Ross said. She had replaced Murphy at the weapons station since he had been relieved of duty.

“She tested in her sea trials well enough,” Cabrillo said.

Max huffed. “That’s like shooting paper targets at the range.”

“But it’s not the first time these Ukrainian drones have been aroundthe block,” Ross protested. “They’ve flown against Russian defenses without much of a hitch.”

“The Russkies don’t hold a candle to what theseBaktunboys have, at least in the technology department.”

“We’re about to find out what theBaktuncan really do,” Cabrillo said.

Juan wasn’t completely confident. The whole point of the Madyar drone was to avoid any kind of detection or destruction by enemy electronics. They named the drone Madyar after its inventors, the “Madyar’s Birds,” otherwise known as Ukraine’s 414th Drone Strike Regiment.

Of course, Max, Murph, and Eric couldn’t help but tinker with the battle-proven drone when they first got their hands on it a month ago. They extended both its range and optics, and modified its carbon-fiber airframe toOregonspecs. The Madyar was relatively small—no bigger than the deck of a push mower—which aided in its stealth capabilities.

Cabrillo nodded at Gomez, seated at his command station. “Launch the Madyar.”