Page 77 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
The smiling barman served up champagne cocktails to order and Olmedo steered them toward their seats on the sunlit terrace.
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The terrace of the president’s mansion offered an unparalleled view of Izalco looming in the distance, its peak veiled by a wisp of fog. Theair was rich with the fragrant scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, and citrus. Whitepalomascooed in the distance and iridescent hummingbirds hovered over the hibiscus.
“It’s like heaven out here,” Linda said, inhaling a deep breath of the tropical aromas.
“This view would never get old,” MacD remarked, admiring the forested slope and the volcano beyond. His gaze scanned the horizon before subtly shifting down to the lawn below and the armed guards lazily patrolling the perimeter near the forest edge.
“Central America certainly has its charms,” Linda agreed.
The president chuckled. “We don’t always get credit for the beauty and promise of our country.”
Cabrillo took subtle note of the three armed guards in civilian dress on the terrace. They seemed relaxed, almost bored. They wore holstered pistols and carried short-barreled SIG MPX 9-millimeter carbines slung across their chests. Olmedo’s security team clearly wasn’t any more concerned about his safety than the president himself.
Olmedo signaled to one of the servers and drinks were refreshed. As soon as the bubbles settled, the president lifted his glass in a toast.
“My nation owes the three of you a great debt. Because of what you did, I will be announcing to the nation tomorrow night our decade-long arrangement with the Chinese will finally come to an end.”
“To El Salvador’s bright future,” Juan said before they sipped their drinks.
Just then, Olmedo’s twin eleven-year-old girls stepped bashfully through the French doors and onto the terrace.
Olmedo stood, his face beaming with fatherly pride. MacD and Juan stood as well.
“My daughters, Sofía and Yesenia,” the president said.
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Twenty minutes later, the group was seated around the table and enjoying an incredible meal of simple but delectable local dishes including a variety of sweet and savory pupusas, tamales, empanadas, andpasteles. The twin girls also indulged inatoles de elote, traditional sweet drinks made from corn, milk, cinnamon, and sugar.
The conversation stayed clear of politics after the girls arrived. In faultless English, the two confident youngsters politely peppered theOregonoperators with questions about the United States and places they had seen. They were particularly fascinated with Linda Ross and the idea she could pilot a large vessel and also knew how to handle weapons.
Cabrillo couldn’t help note how natural Linda was with the girls, and how obviously proud their father was. A momentary sadness washed over him. After the death of his wife, he never really considered getting married again, and in so doing, denied himself the possibility of raising a family.
TheOregoncrew was his family now, and that was good enough.
But then again…Abraham was ninety-nine years old when Isaac was born, wasn’t he?Cabrillo chuckled as he popped another pupusa stuffed with loroco into his mouth. The delicate flavor of the edible flower delighted him.
He glanced over at MacD, who was relishing the conversation with the Olmedo twins as well. Cabrillo made a mental note to give the big Cajun extra time off this year to spend with his young daughter back in Louisiana. MacD’s long periods of separation from her must have been harder on the former U.S. Army Ranger than he let on.
Juan finally began to relax, utterly charmed by the springlike weather, the delightful conversation, and delectable repast. He cast his gaze upon the idyllic view beyond the terrace. The slight breeze stirred against the bougainvillea and rustled the palm leaves, suddenly quieting the birds.
It was a perfect morning.
Until the machine gun opened fire.
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Two of the three presidential guards down by the tree line doubled over, their chests and bellies crimsoned by the short bursts of automatic gunfire. The third guard raised his weapon and sprayed wildly into the trees before he, too, was cut in half.
“Down!” Juan’s command cut through the sudden chaos of gunfire and screams as he flipped the heavy teak table sideways, crashing plates and glasses across the terrace.
MacD hit the deck as Linda pulled Olmedo and his daughters behind the flipped table.
The three terrace guards pulled their rifles and began shouting orders to evacuate the president, but the nearest guard was flung backward by a heavy round to the chest. The farthest guard managed half a turn before a second shot caught him in the throat, and the last guard dove for cover behind a stone planter. He raised his carbine to fire, but a bullet in his brainpan put him down in a spray of pinkish mist.
MacD dashed toward the corpse of the nearest guard and wrestled the SIG carbine from his hands, then yanked the Glock 19 from the man’s holster. He shot a glance at the grounds.
