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"You're a lucky man. None of the bullets struck a bone, internal organ or artery. I stitched up your leg and neck, or, more accurately, your trapezius muscle. Also your cheek. Plastic surgery should hide the scar, unless of course your women find it adds to your sex appeal. The smack on your head caused a concussion. X-rays showed no sign of a hairline fracture. My prognosis is that you'll be swimming the English Channel and playing the violin within months."
Pitt laughed. Almost immediately he tensed as the pain struck from every side. Webster's look became one of quick concern.
"I am sorry. My bedside manner tends to get a bit too jolly, I'm afraid."
Pin relaxed and the agony soon subsided. He loved English phrasing and humor. They were a class act, he thought. He smiled grimly and stared at Webster with unconcealed respect. He knew the doctor had down played his skill and labors out of modesty.
"If that hurt," said Pitt, "I can't wait to get your bill."
It was Webster's turn to laugh. "Careful, I wouldn't want you to ruin my beautiful needlework."
Pitt gingerly eased himself to a sitting position and held out his hand.
"I'm grateful for what you did for the four of us."
Webster rose and shook Pitts outstretched hand. "An honor doctoring you, Mr. Pitt. I'll take my leave now. It seems you're the man of the hour. I think you have some distinguished visitors gathering outside."
"Goodbye, Doc, and thank you."
Webster gave a willk and a nod. Then he walked over to the door, opened it and motioned everyone inside.
Senator Pitt entered followed by Hala, Colonel Hollis and Captain Collins. The men shook hands, but Hala leaned down and lightly kissed Pitt.
"I hope you've found our ship's service satisfactory," said Captain Collins jovially.
"No man ever recuperated in a fancier hospital," Pitt replied. "I'm only sorry I can't bask in such luxury for another month."
"Unfortunately, your presence is required up north by tomorrow," said Hollis.
"Oh, no," Pitt moaned.
"Oh, yes," said the Senator, holding up his watch. "The Sounder will be towing us into dock at Punta Arenas in another ninety minutes. An Air Force transport is waiting to fly you and Ms. Kaniil and me to Washington."
Pitt made a helpless gesture with both hands. "So much for my luxury cruise."
Next came the usual round of solicitous questions concerning his condition. After a few minutes Hollis turned the conversation to his current problem.
"Would you know Ammar if you saw him again?" he asked Pitt.
"I could pick him out of a lineup easily enough. Didn't you find him? I gave you a detailed description of his height, weight and looks before Doc Webster knocked me out."
Hollis handed him a small stack of photos. "Here are pictures taken and processed by the ship's photographer of the hijackers' bodies, including those taken prisoner. Do you see Suleiman Aziz Ammar among them?"
Pitt slowly sifted through the photographs, studying the closeup features of the dead. They had seemed faceless during the battle, he recalled. He wondered with morbid curiosity which ones were dead by his hands. Finally he looked up and shook his head.
"He's not in here among the living or the dead."
"You're sure?" asked Hollis. "The wounds and deathlike expressions can badly alter facial features."
"I stood closer to him than I am to you under conditions that aren't easily forgotten. Believe me, Colonel, when I say Ammar isn't among those pictures."
Hollis pulled a larger photo from an envelope and passed it to Pitt without comment.
After a few seconds, Pitt gave Hollis a questioning look. "What do you want me to say?"
"Is that Suleiman Aziz Ammar?"
Pitt handed the photograph back. "You know damn well it is, or you wouldn't magically produce a picture taken of him at a different time in a different place."
