Page 115 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

The young nurse blushed as if caught in a sin, her bandage a kind of immodesty.

“Your name?” the older one repeated, as if he were a stupid child. “Do you remember your name?”

He nodded. He remembered now. It all came back. The attack. Olmedo. The tall man in the red bandana.

He knew that man.

He clenched his teeth, raging.

The heart monitor alarmed as his blood pressure surged.

The young nurse’s eyes widened. “What’s happening to him?”

The old nun grabbed a hypodermic needle, filled it with sedative, and fed it into his IV tube.

Moments later, the man’s eyes got heavy. He felt the darkness falling over his mind like a heavy blanket, fading his headache. His eyes closed against his will. He heard a distant voice, almost like an echo.

“What is your name?” the old nun asked.

He saw the man’s face again. He hated him. The woman’s voice was fading.

“Your name? Tell me your name.”

He whispered his name. The last one he’d used. Not his real name. Never his real name.

“V…Var…Vargas.”

“Your first name, my son?”

He didn’t answer.

His mind searched for the name of the man in the red bandana. He clutched to his image like a drowning sailor at sea clinging to a piece of drifting flotsam, hoping for rescue. Hoping for his name.

But still Vargas couldn’t find it. He held on for as long as he could until his mind finally let go, swallowed by the fathomless dark.

63

Taiwan

Emily Nighswonger’s eyes fluttered open. She had no idea where she was, but noticed the IV tube inserted into one of her heavily tattooed arms. She lay rock-still in her bed, unable to move despite the lack of restraints, though she managed to roll her head to one side. She caught a glimpse of pine-studded mountains shrouded in fog framed in a large picture window. A serene Chopin nocturne played softly overhead.

Her face clouded with confusion as the room’s only door silently swung open.

Peng De pushed a steel cart in front of him, its tray covered with a white cloth. He wore surgical scrubs like a medical professional, though his face was unmasked. He wheeled the cart next to her bed.

“Doctor…where…am I?” she said in flawless Mandarin.

“You’re in a special clinic. You were in an accident, remember?” Peng responded in British-accented English with a low, soothing voice. He noticed the small spot of blood on her head bandage.

“No, I don’t.” Nighswonger took a deep breath. “What happened exactly?”

“You were nearly killed.”

She struggled to move, but neither her torso nor limbs responded. She blanched with fear.

“I’m paralyzed.”

“Yes, but only temporarily.” Peng nodded at the IV. “I’ve administered a small dose of a neuromuscular blocking agent.”