Free Strike Force by Robert Stanek Page A

tests. The latest version of the D-Wave was decidedly different from its predecessors, though still a 10-foot high black box containing a cylindrical cooling system wrapped around a niobium computer chip chilled to about as close to absolute zero as mankind could get. There were only three of the latest generation of the multimillion-dollar chips in existence, and one of those was sitting in its massive black box inside his testing room on loan from In-Q-Tel, the high-tech investment arm of the CIA.
       Quantum computing was still so radical and strange that even some of the most advanced engineers in the world were still trying to figure out what it was for and how to use it. As one of the few people with access to the exotic technology, he was working to create optimized algorithms that allowed anyone to tap into quantum computing's unparalleled potential for solving the world's problems. At times, it seemed he was tapping into the very fabric of reality in ways no one had ever previously thought possible.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 2
    Mediterranean Sea Early Morning, Tuesday, 19 June
     
     
     
    To the east, the first faint light of morning was consuming the darkness. On the deck, the crew hurried about their tasks. Hidden from view, a powerfully built woman with bright blue eyes watched with the intensity of a leopard waiting to pounce on its prey. Her gaze was sharp. Her traditional robes covered her black scuba suit. Her hijab covered her close-cropped blond hair and was up around her face so that only her stunning blue eyes showed.
       Though many prepared themselves for the mission, everything was quiet and calm. It was the kind of reassuring tranquility that steeled her heart to her task.
       She watched as the men checked their weapons and she watched for her target, knowing the target was somewhere below decks. The target was the one complication. The one kink in an otherwise flawless plan. A kink she'd soon eliminate.
       Still in the shadows, she crossed to the port side of the boat where a dozen strongboxes and crates were piled high. She opened one of the boxes and retrieved its contents--in this case, the instrument of her target's demise.
       She laid out the 7.62mm semi-automatic rifle, using the stack of crates in front of her as a base for its tripod. As she relaxed her breathing and set her right index finger alongside the trigger, she peered through the sight of the 6x48 riflescope, made a two-click adjustment for the slight breeze and the distance.
       Today would be the prelude of tomorrow's glorious beginning. The culmination of a masterful work--and the next 48 hours would decide everything.
        Nothing left to chance.
       She switched off the safety on the rifle, signaled to the captain to set the boats on a drift course toward the Sea Shepherd . On her signal, the attack began. No weapons at first, only the heavy chain links the fishermen would have used--if there were actual fishermen on any of the boats in her tiny fleet.
       Predictably, those she watched responded by sounding a ship-wide alert. She watched and waited as they responded with fire hoses and stink bombs. Any other day such a response would have sent the fishermen running, but today wasn't any other day.
       The L129A1 Sharpshooter she used was effective at a range of up to 800 meters. Her target would be much closer and she was confident there would soon be one less complication.
       She stared through the sight, blocking out everything else as she controlled her breathing and prepared to take the shot that would change everything.
        One bullet. One bullet to erase the trail and blaze the way to tomorrow.
       The target came up from below decks like a Brahma bull out of a chute at a rodeo. She sighted the target in her scope and squeezed the trigger.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
    Mediterranean Sea Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
     
     
     
    The amphibious assault ship USS Kearsarge turned slowly