Page 57 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“Precisely. I’ll hand it off to the State Department and they’ll raise a ruckus. With any luck, your mission will break China’s stranglehold on El Salvador’s economic neck.”
“And bring President Olmedo fully into America’s orbit.”
“Exactamundo.”
“Any idea what that ship is carrying?”
“Our source on the other end couldn’t get close, and I’ve been advised that Chinese security is tight at Acajutla. There’s a section of the port under their exclusive management—and that’s where you’ll find your target berthed when it arrives.”
TheSpook’s giant bubble canopy gave Juan a nearly three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the ocean around him. He easily spotted the lead diver signaling to Max the “all clear” signal. Hanley’s mechanical grip released on the big directional nozzle and he backed away. Cabrillo manipulated his controls and followed suit.
“I’ll let you know when we’ve arrived and keep you posted as we progress.”
“Outstanding.”
“For another fee, of course.”
“I’m already paying you double for the ‘snipe hunt,’ which we’ve now canceled.”
“For which we are eternally grateful.” Cabrillo twisted the joystick and nosed theSpooktoward theOregon’s moon pool doors.
“Uncle Sam isn’t made of money.”
“I don’t think our rich uncle will mind adding a few more measly bucks to the thirty-six trillion dollars he’s already borrowed from his grandchildren.”
“That’s legalized piracy, Cabrillo.”
“Are you referring to me or Washington, D.C.?”
“You have me over the proverbial barrel. What alternative do I have?”
Cabrillo chuckled. “None. Talk soon.”
31
El Salvador
TheOregonwas anchored a mile offshore from the Port of Acajutla. Thecapitán de puerto—the harbormaster—had denied her entrance. At first, Cabrillo assumed his cover had been blown, but a few quick questions and a consult with a commercial vessel tracking system confirmed that the busy port was, indeed, suffering a logjam. Though highly efficient and flexible, the small port only had three piers and eight berths, and accommodated everything from container ships to cruise ships. President Olmedo’s reforms had transformed El Salvador into a minor economic miracle in short order. There were big plans for a significant expansion, but for now Acajutla Port was more crowded than a Costco parking lot on Christmas Eve.
Cabrillo graciously informed thecapitán de puertothat his schedule was a bit flexible, and the grateful harbormaster promised swift service as soon as a dock became available.
In truth, Cabrillo was grateful for the mix-up. It wasn’t actually necessary for theOregonto dock in order to gain access to the port or their target, theGolden Lotus.
The other advantage to the change in plan was practical. Since Raven and Linc hadn’t called in for an exfil, Juan authorized Gomez to make the short hop in the tilt-rotor to pick up Murphy and his friend Linlin Zhang from the San Salvador airport and ferry them to theOregon.
Juan was deeply conflicted. On the one hand, he was thrilled Murph and his friend had escaped the assassination attempt in Thailand and had made it all the way back to San Salvador in one piece. Murphy had called Juan from theOregon’s Gulfstream on a secure line while still en route over the Pacific and filled him in on the details of the Thailand attack. Murph was no fool—he would never put theOregon’s security at risk. The talented weapons officer made a compelling case that Linlin’s life was in danger and she had no other alternatives.
But Cabrillo wasn’t accustomed to strangers coming on board theOregonunless they had been thoroughly vetted, and he didn’t consider Murph’s history of tickling tonsils with his former girlfriend a proper background investigation. Cabrillo believed Murphy, but that didn’t change the fact she was an unknown quantity. He offered an awkward compromise Murph readily accepted. Cabrillo also ordered the special effects crew to “dirty up” theOregonjust enough to keep Linlin in the dark regarding the ship’s true capacities.
Gomez landed the thundering AW tilt-rotor aircraft with feathery grace and cycled down the engines. Murphy and Linlin hopped onto theOregon’s main deck, ducking low beneath the slowing carbon-fiber blades circling overhead, their backpacks in hand.
Murphy led her toward the door of the soaring superstructure perched on theOregon’s aft end. The two of them stepped over loose cables, past dented and rusty oil drums, and through the doorway flaked with peeling paint. Once inside, Linlin’s nose curled at the overwhelming smell of Pine-Sol. The potent aromatic embellishment was the finishing touch on the Magic Shop’s “trashyOregon” set design.
Murph drew her by the hand down the long, narrow corridor of faded and cracked linoleum and into the galley—a mass of clean but scratched and marred stainless steel benches. The order window’s rolling shutter was bolted closed.
Juan greeted the two of them with a welcoming smile, wearing his customary linen slacks, leather loafers, and silky tropical shirt.
Eddie Seng, Juan’s director of shore operations and head of the Gundogs, stood next to him. The former CIA undercover had spentyears in China. The wiry close-quarters combat specialist wore his hair long and his beard thick.
