Page 37 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

TheOregonhad no standardized uniforms, but Murphy certainly did. He wore his customary black skater pants, Doc Martens combat boots, and a psychedelic concert T-shirt. Cabrillo was never certain if these were actual punk rock bands or just something Murph made up. The one he was wearing today was a doozy.

The Conundrum Tour

featuring:

P vs NP

Squaring the Circle

Time’s Arrow

Special guests:

The Noise Vandals

Fists of Furry

Cabrillo chuckled. “I noticed you said ‘they.’ Is that a pronoun preference or an evasion on your part?”

“Shesaid she needed to see me.”

Cabrillo cocked an eyebrow. Neither Murphy nor Stone were known to be successful with the ladies. Genius could be off-putting, Cabrillo imagined, but not more than Doc Martens for serious young ladies.

“Girlfriend?”

“First.” Murph blushed lobster red. “And only.”

“Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Me too.”

“Is she in some kind of trouble? Do you want me to send someone with you?”

Murph hesitated. He’d been running this conversation in his head ever since he stepped into the elevator. He wasn’t at all sure what was going on with Linlin. Showing up with extra muscle might scare her off.

But it would be embarrassing for him if Linlin didn’t bother showing up at all, or was sitting there with her husband and two kids, maybe playing some kind of a cruel joke on him. He’d never hear the end of it. He also didn’t want the Chairman to waste valuableOregonpersonnel on what could turn out to be a wild-goose chase.

“I seriously doubt she’s in trouble. It’s probably just a programming glitch she can’t figure out. Coding was never her strong suit.”

Cabrillo wasn’t sure how to assess the situation. Murphy never asked for personal favors. And his specialized skills at the weapons station wouldn’t be needed anytime soon. They were next due at the Port of Lázaro Cárdenas to load up a shipment for delivery to El Salvador. To maintain its cover, theOregonoperated as a working cargo vessel whenever possible, especially when on a mission.

“When do you leave?”

“That’s the problem. I’ve gotta get there ASAP. I’ve checked all the commercial flights. Everything’s booked up, even first class.”

“Then let’s have Tiny give you a lift.” Chuck “Tiny” Gunderson was the Corporation’s six-foot-four, two-hundred-eighty-pound fixed-wing pilot. The former University of Wisconsin tackle was qualified on the half dozen aircraft owned by the organization including the new Gulfstream G400.

“Isn’t he on standby for Linc and Raven?”

“In case of emergency only. So is Gomez.”

George “Gomez” Adams was theOregon’s primary tilt-rotor pilot. The former Night Stalkers combat veteran would lead the extraction operation if Linc and Raven needed one. Another pilot, Arnie Davis, had just been hired on as a temporary contractor to support Gomez as needed. The former U.S. Air Force aviator had flown Ospreys for the 20th Special Operations Squadron.

Juan checked his watch out of habit. He always had a running clock and calendar in his mind. “It will be at least seven days before Raven and Linc report in. Plenty of time for Tiny to get you there and back.”

“Wow. That’s awesome of you.”

“I’ll call the boat garage to get you ashore. You call Tiny with your travel plans so he can get the flight logged, then get your gear packed, and vamoose outta here.”