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"Then call up your remote boss and find out."
"Please stand by."
The robot went silent as its communications system sent out a request to its control center. The reply came back immediately. "There is a small staff in a clinic on the fourth level. Does Mr. Pitt require medical assistance?"
"Yes," Pitt answered. "I'll require an injection of a painkiller and a tight bandage if I'm to provide Mr.
Kamatori with a challenging degree of competition."
"You did not appear to limp a few hours ago," McGoon flagged Pitt.
"My knee was numb," Pitt lied. "But the pain and stiffness have increased to where I find it difficult to walk." He took a few halting steps and tensed his face as though experiencing a mild case of agony.
As a machine that was completely adequate for the job, Murasaki, alias McGoon, duly relayed his visual observation of Pitt's pathetic display to his directorate controller somewhere deep within the Dragon Center and received permission to escort his injured prisoner to the medical clinic. Another roboguard appeared to keep a video eye on Giordino, who promptly named the newcomer McGurk.
Playing his fake condition as though an Academy Award was in the offing, Pitt shuffled awkwardly through a labyrinth of corridors before being hustled into an elevator by McGoon.
The robot pressed a floor button with a metal finger, and the elevator began to quietly descend, although not as silently as the one in the Federal Headquarters Building.
Too bad the MAIT team didn't have intelligence on an elevator that dropped from the island's surface to the underground center, Pitt thought during the ride. Penetration from the resort might have been carried off with a higher chance of success. A few moments later the doors spr
ead and McGoon prodded Pitt into a brightly lit passageway.
"The fourth door on your left. Take it and enter."
The door, like every piece of flat surface in the underground facility, was painted white. A small red cross was the only indication of a medical center. There was no knob, only a button set in the frame. Pitt pushed it and the door noiselessly slid open. He limped inside. An attractive young lady in a nurse's uniform looked up from a desk through serious brown eyes as he entered. She spoke to him in Japanese, and he shrugged dumbly.
"Sorry," he said. "I only speak English."
Without another word she stood and walked across a room with six empty beds and disappeared into an office. A few seconds later a young smiling Japanese man wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater under the standard white coat with a stethoscope hanging from his neck approached with the nurse at his heels.
"Mr. Pitt, Mr. Dirk Pitt?" he inquired in West Coast American.
"Yes."
"I was informed you were coming. Josh Nogami. This is a real honor. I've been a fan of yours since you raised the Titanic. As a matter of fact, I took up scuba diving because of you."
"My pleasure," Pitt said almost bashfully. "You don't sound like a local boy."
"Born and raised in San Francisco under the shadow of the Bay Bridge. Where are you from?"
"I grew up in Newport Beach, California."
"No kidding. I served my internship at St. Paul's Hospital in Santa Ana. I used to surf at Newport every chance I got."
"You're a long way from your practice."
"So are you, Mr. Pitt."
"Did Suma make an offer you couldn't refuse?"
The smile went cool. "I'm also an admirer of Mr. Suma. I joined his employ four years ago without being bought."
"You believe in what he's doing?"
"One hundred percent."
"Pardon me for suggesting that you're misguided."
