Chapter 41
El Salvador
Juan, MacD, and Linda Ross had been ushered into the sumptuous dining room inside of President Olmedo’s private residence.
The soaring floor-to-ceiling windows offered stunning views of a terrace overlooking a neatly trimmed lawn lined with flowering bougainvillea, delicate white ginger lily, star-shaped plumeria and, most dramatically, Izalco, El Salvador’s iconic volcano.
White-jacketed servers stood behind covered rolling carts by one of the grand windows as a barman prepared his service in a far corner.
A round table set with china and crystal and bedecked with colorful flowers stood on the terrace.
Three armed guards dressed in casual linen clothes stood watch on the deck.
Another guard stood outside the interior doorway leading into the dining room.
The sprawling Spanish colonial–style mansion featured terra-cotta-tiled roofs, wrought-iron balconies, and arched windows.
The hillside residence was nestled in a secluded valley at the base of Cerro Verde National Park, surrounded by fifty acres of dense tropical forest that provided complete privacy.
“Doc and Eddie are gonna wish they’d seen this place,” MacD said. The two Oregon crew members were confined to their cabins, both stricken with the mosquito-borne Zika virus and unable to attend today’s festivities.
“I saw motion sensors, security cameras, and a few guards,” Linda said. “Not much in the way of executive security.”
“I’ve read President Olmedo has an eighty-five percent approval rating,” MacD said. “Who’s there to be afraid of?”
“It’s actually ninety percent in the latest poll,” a voice said from the doorway.
The three Oregon operators turned in unison.
President Olmedo slipped into the dining room, his iconic beard split by a flashing thousand-watt smile.
Tall and athletically built, the forty-something was dressed like a typical millennial soccer dad—jeans, Nikes, ball cap, and a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into the collar of his light blue polo shirt.
He approached Juan with his hand extended.
“You must be Senor Cabrillo. Mucho gusto.”
They shook hands.
“Igualmente, Senor Presidente.” Juan made the rest of the introductions, pleasant and informal.
Olmedo waved a hand at his attire. “Forgive me for not appearing more presidential, but my daughters had a tennis match and we only just returned.”
“And your lovely wife?” Linda asked. “Dr. Olmedo?”
“She’s on ER duty at the hospital. She’ll be jealous of our time together. Perhaps you’ll do us the honor of returning in the future?”
“We’re honored to be invited into your home,” Juan said. “It’s a very generous gesture.”
“The honor is mine. Perhaps a refreshment or two before we eat? My daughters will be delayed just a few more minutes. They very much want to meet the American heroes they’ve already heard so much about.”
“Just doing our job, sir,” Cabrillo said. “But I will take that drink.”
The smiling barman served up champagne cocktails to order and Olmedo steered them toward their seats on the sunlit terrace.
★
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.
The air was rich with the fragrant scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, and citrus.
White palomas cooed 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.
★
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, and pasteles.
The twin girls also indulged in atoles 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 the Oregon operators 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.
The Oregon crew 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.