Page 85 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

“As my father would do.”

“Exactamente.”

Fierro tapped the larger man’s chest with his finger.

“I want you to handle it personally. I don’t trust mercenaries. I only trust you.”

“I am honored.”

“But no failures this time. Understood?”

“Perfectly. And after this,patrón, I think I shall retire.”

Fierro smiled broadly. “You’ve earned it, my old friend. You’ve served my family faithfully for many years. Kill Olmedo, and I’ll hand you a king’s treasure. You’ll be able to retire anywhere in the world in royal luxury.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe it’s even time for you to get a woman.”

Vargas darkened at that last suggestion.

“I’ll make my preparations.”

46

McLean, Virginia

Langston Overholt IV sat in his basement, stripped to his waist and lightly sweating inside his new infrared sauna. It was the latest addition to his elegant Tudor Revival estate located in proximity to both the Potomac River and CIA headquarters.

His preferred evening regimen of late had been a large balloon glass filled with two ounces of Monkey 47 gin and four ounces of Fever-Tree Mediterranean tonic—lightly stirred—poured over an ice sphere and garnished with a sprig of fresh rosemary.

Unfortunately, both his long-suffering wife and his general practitioner had insisted he trade the delectable discipline of gin and tonic for a bout of nightly infrared therapy. His primary consolation was the view through the sauna glass set directly across from one of the finest wine cellars in the area.

The other feature of the sauna making it slightly less unbearable was the excellent Bluetooth sound system. Overholt’s eyes were shut, his soul embracing Joep Beving’s hauntingly transcendent albumSolipsism.

“I’m a great fan of the Dutchman,” a voice said over the sound system. “Though I prefer hisPrehensionalbum.”

Overholt’s eyes snapped open, as if waking from a sharp dream. Instinctively, he gripped the towel around his waist, and deeply regretted the absence of a weapon in his sauna.

“I once saw him play in a private home in Stockholm,” Overholt said. “He’s even more impressive in person.”

The voice continued. “I understand he’s quite tall.”

“Very.”

“You seem rather relaxed. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Overholt glanced around the four-person sauna. He knew there were no cameras in there. His eyes turned to the window glass. Ah, yes. By the wine cellar. A CCTV camera. He lifted one hand and threw a jaunty wave.

“I would wave back at you but you wouldn’t be able to see me.”

“A pity, I’m sure,” Overholt sniffed.

“Do please accept my heartfelt apologies. I am extremely protective regarding my own privacy and consider it almost a religious tenet to never violate the personal privacy of others.”

“What, pray tell, has driven you to this self-proclaimed act of heresy?” Overholt wiped away a bead of sweat from the end of his nose.

“Time, unfortunately. I’m out of it.”

“In what regard?”

“In twenty-four hours, I’ll be dead.”