Page 45 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“Will do.” Hux pushed the elevator button.

“How about that shot of Four Roses, Doc?” Juan asked. “I know you’ve got a bottle in your file cabinet.”

“You’re still on duty. But Lord knows I’ll need two fingers as soon as I get rid of you.”

24

Ten minutes in Huxley’s clinic turned into almost an hour as she hooked Juan up to a cocktail of intravenous fluids and painkillers and began her examination. Expert at medical triage, the trained Navy surgeon did a brief but thorough physical before rolling the Chairman into an MRI machine.

Huxley read his MRI imagery while Juan devoured a skillet-toasted Reuben sandwich dripping with tangy sauerkraut, homemade Thousand Island dressing, and melting Swiss cheese he’d ordered from the galley.

Huxley could only shake her head at the scan results. Though he wouldn’t admit it, she could tell he’d been through the ringer. And though he was clearly battered, bruised, and swollen, Cabrillo’s supreme physical conditioning had prevented any serious injuries. The only surgical intervention he needed was a couple of stitches for the knife wound in his hip he inflicted upon himself.

For a moment during the physical, Huxley was convinced he had suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury. He hadn’t been able to clearly explain to her how he managed to parachute down beneath a cargo canopy ill-designed to carry the weight of a man.

But what appeared to be temporary memory loss gave way to a familiar twinkle in Cabrillo’s clear blue eyes. She suddenly realized itwasn’t a brain injury or even a faulty memory at work, but an act of willful obfuscation. She wasn’t sure why Cabrillo didn’t want to tell her the truth about what happened at altitude, but she’d find out eventually. Since the MRI came out completely clear and theDSM-5didn’t list either fibbing or dissembling as diagnosed mental disorders, she couldn’t justify deactivating him from service.

“Anything else, Doc?”

“Not that you ever listen to me, but I highly recommend you take a few days off. Give yourself a chance to recover.”

“I’m good to go.”

Huxley wrinkled her nose.

“Well, at least take a shower. You smell like old bait.”

?

Cabrillo was more than happy to take Huxley’s recommendation to heart. He made his way straight to his cabin and headed for the green-marble-tiled shower.

Like every other member of theOregon, Cabrillo was given an allowance to decorate his private quarters according to his own taste. With the help of Kevin Nixon’s Magic Shop, his suite was transformed into a stylized version of his favorite movie,Casablanca.The pièce de résistance was a working copy of Sam’s upright piano, upon which Juan belted out his own soulful rendition of “As Time Goes By” when properly lubricated with strong drink.

Stripping off his clothes and prosthetic leg, Juan headed for the shower, grabbing the support bar as he blasted himself with hot water from the multidirectional showerheads. He let the nearly scalding hot water work its magic deep into his muscles as he sucked in great draughts of steaming air to clear his lungs. Finally, he snapped the faucet controls in the opposite direction and blasted himself with ice-cold water until his hot pink skin was numbed to the bone.

Clean as a newborn babe and fully refreshed, Cabrillo pulled on a pair of skivvies, spiked his hair with a dab of hair putty, and hit the intercom to call for a meeting in the conference room in ten minutes.

?

Cabrillo marched into the walnut-paneled conference room, clearly energized and ready to rock and roll. He, Linda, and Callie were dressed inOregon-branded blue coveralls.

TheOregon’s conference room design was inspired by the White House Situation Room. TheOregon’s version featured big-screen monitors on the walls and a long mahogany table surrounded by high-backed leather chairs with each position fronted by a small videoconferencing station.

Max, Linda, and Callie were already seated at the table. So were best friends Eric Stone and Mark Murphy.

Eric Stone, theOregon’s chief helmsman, was dressed like a refugee from an accounting firm in his pressed chinos, oxford shirt, and Warby Parker glasses.

On the other hand, theOregon’s chief weapons officer, Mark Murphy, looked like he’d just fallen out of a Mexican wedding hammock at the Bonnaroo music festival. His head was crowned with a dandelion’s mane of unkempt hair and his chin was dusted with what looked like dryer lint. He wore black skater pants and black Doc Martens combat boots. His psychedelic concert T-shirt announced:

The Uncertainty of Punk Tour

Featuring:

Johnny Heisenberg and the Double Slits

Melbourne, Australia

TBD