Page 26 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
The destruction of the 747 was the final straw for Peng. All his energy and focus would now turn to the conspiracy problem. Who were they? How to find them? How to defeat them? He hardly knew where to begin.
The only thing he was certain of was that if a highly secretive organization truly existed, as he was sure it did, it would possess a high degree of technical knowledge related to the field, as well as the resources to carry out its plans.
Peng had already discounted the work of foreign agents of the Western powers. Certainly the Americans and British were capable of this kind of activity. But his sources within those respective governments had passed along the fact their programs also had suffered seemingly random setbacks.
That led him to only one possible conclusion. There were rumors of a shadowy network of saboteurs known as the Guardians, who carried out such ruthless acts of banditry. But why?
Peng needed a weapon to counter them, and he believed he knew just such a weapon. She was a former agent, the best he’d ever worked with. She possessed a stellar mind with vast expertise in computer science and demonstrated superlative spycraft in overseas work. Unfortunately, she now worked for another division.
But rank had its privileges, and Peng’s superiors would support hertransfer to his division on the strength of his reputation alone, no matter how disruptive to the other department. She would help him prove the conspiracy was all too real, and that he was fighting on the front lines of China’s most important battle.
The Guardians had to be stopped no matter the cost.
15
Panama
Linc and Raven had followed the others up Death Mountain. At times they found themselves climbing hand over hand over rain-slicked rocks on narrow, near-vertical paths a Nubian ibex wouldn’t have braved.
Against their best operator instincts, Linc and Raven each carried a small child for nearly a mile on the very steepest part of the climb, their young mothers weeping with gratitude. At one particularly perilous gap in the rocks, they lent helping hands to a couple of elderly folk too weak to make the jump by themselves.
The long line of migrants had separated, the strongest surging far ahead and the weakest falling way behind. Both Raven and Linc sensed the danger trailing behind the farthest stragglers. As much as they wanted to help, they knew without weapons it would be impossible to stop an attack by armed thieves. To complete their mission, they had to keep pressing forward, and trust the fates of the poor people behind them to God and the far-less-tender mercies of the predators lying in wait.
Linc and Raven both caught the familiar stench, sulfurous and fecal, hanging in the humid jungle air before they turned the next bend. They saw where the trail had widened and a knot of young families making a wide berth around a decomposing corpse draped against the rocks like seaweed strewn upon the shore. Parents tried to shield theirchildren’s eyes from the sack of blackish flesh and bones buzzing with insects, but the sickening smell struck them all. A teenager crossed herself as she vomited, then bolted away.
The families braving the Darién risked everything in search of a new and better life. But the fallen body reminded them all that for some the tragic journey through the Plug ended in an unmarked grave—or worse, no grave at all.
?
Several hours later, the sun stooped behind the mountains, throwing long shadows beneath the towering trees. Raven and Linc had finally topped the mountain and were on the down slope, a tricky path, but not nearly so hazardous as the climb up. TheOregonoperators now passed knots of exhausted and injured travelers camped on the ground, too tired or battered to continue anytime soon.
Raven avoided the pleading eyes of the young mothers as best she could. Her heart went out to them. A pregnant woman sat forlornly on a rock, her eyes glazed over in numbed terror, an empty Brazos Abiertos plastic water bottle lying at her feet.
“Espera,” Raven rasped toward Linc’s broad back. Wait.
He turned around, his eyes a question mark. Raven nodded at the pregnant woman. He understood immediately.
Raven dropped to one knee, pulled out a half-drunk liter of bottled water from her pack, and handed it to her. The woman’s grim face struggled to understand the gesture.
“Tómalo,” Raven said. Take it.
The woman nodded slightly and began to cry as she grasped the bottle with trembling hands. She struggled to open it. Raven popped the cap and handed it back to her. The woman took a small sip and muttered her thanks, returning it to her.
Raven smiled and shook her head. “Es para tu bebe.” It’s for your baby.
Raven didn’t wait for an answer. She stood and marched away with Linc at her side. He didn’t say a word.
He only wished he’d done the same.
Twenty minutes later they found themselves all alone on the steeply winding trail until they reached the foot of the next steep climb. They shot each other a quick glance, mustered up their reserves, and sped up the hill just as gunshots rang out on the other side. It was the unmistakable staccato of a short burst from an AK-47.
Screams echoed in the trees.
Both operators instantly dashed into the tree line and found cover just as a dozen panicked migrants scrambled wide-eyed and breathless back over the hill and down the trail. One of the men caught sight of Raven and shouted, “Run for your life! Killers are coming!”
Linc didn’t need to speak any Spanish to understand what the man had said. He and Raven exchanged another look and waited in place, listening for more gunfire.
There was none.
