Page 151 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“I don’t blame you. But only the government can set you free. Don’t you want to be free?”
Suárez shut his eyes again. Only, this time he could see the CIA man who killed his wife. See his own hands wrapped around the CIA man’s throat, feel his larynx crushing beneath his grip, his blue eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“I want it badly.”
“So tell me. Names and places.”
“Who is the CIA man?”
“I’ve made an inquiry. He’s a ghost. I’ll help you find him, but you’ll have to be patient. A man like that will always be in the shadows somewhere. And that’s where you’ll be, too. You’re bound to meet him eventually.”
“And all I have to do is give you what you want, and I’m free?”
“Totally free. But you’ll report to me, though rarely, and carefully. And if you ever betray me? Well, you can imagine how that will go. What do you say?”
Suárez lit another cigarette. He took a long pull, thinking. He held the cigarette between his fingers, twisting it, turning the smoke into tight little curls that rose like climbing grapevines toward the ceiling light.
“How will it work, exactly?”
“You’ll need a new identity, of course.” Cabral reached into his canvas bag and tossed a Colombian passport onto the table.
The assassin picked it up and read his new name aloud, “Rafael Vargas.” His practiced eye scanned the rest of the document. Faded entry stamps, coffee-stained pages, and the like.
“Pretty good work.”
“Better than CIA. You’ll receive advanced training in weapons, comms, and tradecraft before we send you out. You’ll need some plastic surgery, too. I’ll make all the arrangements.”
“When do I start?”
Cabral reached back into his messenger bag. He tossed a yellow pad and a couple of pens onto the desk.
“Names, places, dates. You know the drill.”
Suárez picked up a pen and wrote the name “Rafael Vargas.”
“What’s that?”
“Wanted to see how it felt.” Vargas scratched it off and wrote down his first FARC name.
“Hungry?” Cabral asked.
“Starving.” He didn’t look up from the pad.
Cabral stood. “I’ll grab some hot food and a couple of coldcervezas.”
“I’ll be here,jefe.”
“We’ll make a good team, you and me.”
82
Present Day
Amonth after the sinking of theFuzhouand theBaktun, theOregoncrew finally got its hard-earned vacation at their private island in the eastern Caribbean.
It had been touch-and-go for a moment. Juan’s strict orders were to not fire on the Chinese nor sink theBaktun, and Cabrillo’s explanation that he had technically done neither didn’t sit well with Overholt or the director of national intelligence.
But the few surviving Chinese sailors rescued by theOregonall confirmed their ship was sunk by the bandit shipBaktunin an unprovoked attack and not by the Americans. In fact, they even praised the Americans’ heroic rescue efforts, superlative medical care, and respectful treatment. Their testimonies completely exonerated theOregonin the eyes of the Chinese authorities. If theFuzhouhad been recording the events of that day, they never got the data files transferred.
