Chapter 44
El Salvador
Eleven bloody corpses were laid out in an uneven row on the manicured lawn below the terrace of the president’s private home.
Here, in the land of the violent Mayans, Cabrillo imagined them to be a grotesque offering to their insatiable gods of chaos.
The sweet aroma of the local flora had given way to the coppery smell of exsanguination, the birdsong to buzzing flies.
Juan knelt down next to the nearest corpse. He pulled up a sleeve, revealing a familiar tattoo. “This one’s SAS.”
“This boy was Wagner,” MacD said, standing at the far end of the macabre line. The former Ranger was using his phone to collect fingerprints and snap photos of each of the killers for later ID.
Juan stood, his eyes scanning the carnage as his mind briefly replayed the events of the last hour.
One of the unfortunate by-products of the global war on terror was the endless supply of men trained to kill but with no more wars to fight. Too many of them succumbed to the temptation of big money in exchange for their lethal skills.
“How many in total?” President Olmedo asked his tough young sergeant.
The rapid-reaction force soldier was one of sixty men who arrived on scene just fourteen minutes after Olmedo’s call for backup.
The RRF came prepared for pitched battle.
Armed helicopters still circled the compound, their blades hammering the air above them.
“Only these eleven, sir,” the sergeant said. “It’s unclear how many might have escaped.”
“And how many did we lose?” Olmedo asked grimly.
“Thirteen members from your security team were killed. Five wounded.”
“How many security people did you have here?” Linda asked.
“Twenty,” Olmedo said. “That means two are missing. I wonder if they were compromised?”
It wasn’t really a question. He turned to Cabrillo. “I don’t blame them. My enemies, though few, are wealthy, and our people are poor. The temptation is often too great.”
“We’ll keep searching for them, sir,” the sergeant said. “If they’re on the run, we’ll find them.”
“Thank you.”
The sergeant turned to Cabrillo and pointed at the bodies. “These pendejo mercenaries were highly trained, and their attack well planned. If you had not been here, my president and his family might have been captured or killed.”
“We were just doing our job.”
The sergeant’s fierce eyes narrowed as he threw a sharp salute. He held it until Juan threw a lazy John Wayne back at him. The soldier nodded and raced away.
Olmedo glanced back at the bodies, and then at his home. His face was grim but determined.
“Any idea who was behind all of this?” Cabrillo asked.
The president shrugged. “I have many enemies. Some political, some criminal. I would guess it’s one of the big gangs, MS-13 or Barrio 18.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Olmedo nodded at the corpses. “Those are professional soldiers. Some of them are even Tier One. That’s expensive talent.”
“I’ve heard of rumors of an organization called La Liga. Do you know it?”
Olmedo raised an eyebrow. “You are well-informed, my friend. My intel services tell me it’s a consortium of the largest Latin American drug cartels.
Their sources say its leader is a Colombian named Amador Fierro.
Supposedly, he modeled it after Sparta’s Peloponnesian League—the one that defeated Athens. ”
“A drug lord and a history buff. Quite a combo.”
“Fierro is a highly intelligent man, and very gifted.” Olmedo waved a hand at the corpses. “My understanding is that he is more cerebral than visceral.”
“Even a cuddly panda will tear your face off if cornered.”
“We have no proof he’s behind this. I would prefer not to make him an even greater enemy with a false accusation.”
“Fair enough. I’ll have my people try and ID these mercs. Maybe that will tell us who ordered the attack.”
“Thank you. I’m sure you have access to greater resources than we do.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you, Mr. President?” Juan asked.
“Haven’t you done enough? You’ve saved my family, and saved my life. It’s kind of you to offer.”
“It’s not an idle gesture, sir. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Olmedo tugged at the back of his neck. “Actually, I do have a bit of a problem. Tomorrow morning I’m attending the opening of a rural hospital for Indigenous people.”
He turned to Linda. “Built with confiscated drug money, by the way, Ms. Ross.”
“I can’t imagine a better use for it.”
Olmedo turned back to Juan. “El Salvador has a long and ugly history with its Indian population. At best, past governments have made promises they haven’t kept.
That’s why I can’t disappoint them. Would it be possible for you and your team to attend with me?
As you know, I have no personal security team now. ”
“What about the Army?”
“The Indigenous people are especially skeptical of the military. I can’t show up surrounded by armed soldiers. Not only will it frighten them, it will make me look like another hated tinhorn Latin American dictator.”
“If I were the head of your security, I’d tell you to reschedule the event. There’s no way to guarantee your safety, and your children need you now.”
“A reasonable suggestion, Mr. Cabrillo. But canceling is not an option. My country has just emerged from decades of such violence, and my people are still traumatized by haunting memories of this kind of terror inflicted on their families. My family is no more important than theirs. The whole nation will hear of this attack soon, and perhaps already have. If I retreat back into my castillo”—Olmedo gestured at his mansion—“behind a wall of armed guards, what message am I sending? If the wolves scare away the shepherd, the sheep will be slaughtered.”
Juan nodded with admiration, but said nothing. He was weighing his options.
“If you can’t come with me, I’ll understand,” Olmedo said. “You’ve already done more than enough.” The president flashed his winning smile. “But you did say, ‘Don’t hesitate to ask.’ ”
“Yes I did, didn’t I? Excuse me for a moment, sir.”
“Of course.”
Cabrillo pulled MacD and Linda aside and lowered his voice.
“No word from Linc or Raven?”
Linda shook her head. “Not yet.”
“What’s your opinion, Mac?”
“I’d assault the gates of hell for that guy.”
Juan smiled. He felt the same way. If there was ever a servant leader, this was him.
Overholt was clear about Olmedo’s strategic importance to the United States and the rest of Latin America.
Several other presidents were planning on following Olmedo’s criminal reforms in their respective countries.
The region was shackled by violence and corruption preventing healthy economic development, which, in turn, fueled the immigration crisis streaming across America’s borders.
If Olmedo were suddenly killed by his enemies, those other presidents would likely waver and Central America would remain locked in poverty and violence.
Juan knew if he asked Langston’s opinion he’d tell him to provide security until other arrangements could be made. The risk was relatively minimal. It was highly unlikely the opposition could put together another attack plan on such short notice.
But Cabrillo was first and foremost the captain of the Oregon.
His primary responsibility was to his ship and his crew.
He wouldn’t jeopardize them without just cause.
Overholt had been shooting them from mission to mission like a steel ball in a pachinko machine.
Their luck was due to run out sooner rather than later, and that meant somebody getting hurt—or worse.
But what could be a more just cause than covering the six of a man like Olmedo?
Cabrillo turned back to the president and stuck out his hand.
“We’d be honored to join you, sir. We’ll need to get back to our ship and make arrangements.”
“Please text me the number of the event coordinator,” Linda said. “There’s about a million details we’ll have to figure out.”
“I’ll text you a list of contact numbers as soon as I get back to my home office,” Olmedo promised. “Thank you all again.”