Page 153 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

Murph had grabbed a screenshot of the guy, but Eric never could ID him. Still, he seemed somehow familiar. He couldn’t pull up a name.

“I see you’re struggling. I had plastic surgery, though I had the same problem recognizing you, at first.”

“What’s wrong? Did I forget to sign your high school yearbook? Steal your girlfriend?”

“You were flippant that night, too.” The man spat on the ground.

“What’s this about? And who in the hell are you?”

“Do you remember the name Nadia?”

A cold shot of pure terror seized Cabrillo. The memory of the woman flooded back over him like a waking nightmare. It was the Colombian snatch-and-grab mission that had gone sideways. Nadia’s screams had cried out to him over the years.

“I can see by the look on your face you do remember my beautiful Nadia. I think maybe you even dream about her as I do.”

Cabrillo watched the man’s face twist into a maudlin grimace even as his eyes flared with rage.

“She suffered terribly. So will you.”

While Suárez spoke, Juan secretly sent a link of the live video to Linda, who was officer of the day, standing watch in the op center.

“It wasn’t intentional, Suárez. I told you that a long time ago. I thought she was dead or I never would have left her there.”

“And yet you did—and she burned alive. Can you imagine a worse death? She was such a beauty. It was as if you set fire to the Louvre that night. Humanity can never forgive you for her loss, nor can I forgive you for her suffering.”

Suárez turned around and approached the two bound women, holding up his fiery weapon. His gloved hand turned the ignition valve and a thin blue cone of flame like from a welding torch arced to life at the tip of the pilot assembly. He stepped closer to the young nun.

Juan tensed, fearing the worst was about to happen.

“Suárez! Don’t!”

Suárez raised the old Soviet-era flamethrower to the young nun’s face. She cringed as the scorching blue flame licked her skin. She refused to cry out, but finally fainted with a shuddering whimper as a huge red blister bloomed on her cheek.

Suárez pulled the flamethrower away and killed the pilot light, ignoring the other nun’s fervent prayers.

Suárez turned back to the camera, unaware that Ross had just sent Juan a text.

Crew notified. Recording video. Horrible. Please advise.

“So what do you want, Suárez?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for the CIA man?”

“What are your terms?”

Suárez unshouldered the heavy pack with great difficulty, his face pinched with pain. The Colombian assassin approached his smartphone perched on a tripod broadcasting the horror show.

“Terms? Here are my terms. You have exactly ninety minutes to turn yourself over to my custody. You will trade your life for the lives of these two Sisters of Divine Mercy. I will release them upon your arrival. You will come to the cave alone. I’ll send the GPS coordinates as soon as I end the call and that’s when your countdown begins.”

“You know I’ll be there.”

“Of course you will. And you’ll try to bring in your operatives, and free the women and kill me. Well, let me save you the trouble. I don’t care if I die. In fact, I would consider it a favor.” Suárez hacked with a phlegmy cough. He pulled his ungloved hand away from his mouth. It was bloody. He showed it to the camera. “You see? I haven’t much longer to live anyway.” He wiped his hand on his pants.

“You also need to know I have cameras located all over this little island. If you jam them, these women will be burned alive. If anyone approaches the cave other than you, the women will be burned alive. Do anything other than what I tell you, and these nuns will be soaked in napalm gel and lit up like Nero’s torches. Am I completely understood?”

“Understood.”

“I will be broadcasting this event live for your crew. I want them to see your suffering. I want your screams lodged in their brains for the rest of their lives.Hasta luego, cabrón.”