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“She got a nasty concussion when she slammed her head into the concrete roof of that fort. She’d probably be brain-damaged or dead without the helmet. As it is, she’ll need weeks or months to recover.”
Juan crossed his arms and grimaced as he leaned against the counter next to Julia.
“I thought we had such a good plan for getting them out safely,” he said.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Julia said. “This is a dangerous business. We all understood that when we signed up.”
“But this time, it wasn’t bad luck. We screwed up. Did you find out what happened to Linda, Gomez, and Murph on the Gator?”
She looked puzzled and shook her head. “I did a full work-up on all of them and didn’t find anything unusual. The tox screen came back negative for chemicals in their systems. Other than Linda’s injuries, there weren’t any residual effects.”
“What could cause them to lose their minds like that?”
“You know I hate saying that I’m stumped, but I’ve never run across anything like this. I’ll do a deeper search of the medical literature after I get a little sleep.”
The sound of creaking crutches preceded Hali’s tottering into the medical bay.
“I heard everything went well,” Julia said to him.
She had found an orthopedic specialist in Vitória who was renowned for his expertise in laparoscopic ACL repair.
“Only took an hour,” Hali said. “Did you know that doctor does the knee surgeries for all the famous soccer players here in Brazil?”
Julia nodded. “He studied at Harvard Med with me before coming back here. I had to pull some strings to get you in so fast.”
Hali smiled. “So that’s why he said I should be doing flying scissors kicks again in no time.”
“Why don’t you go into exam room one, and I’ll take a look at the incision in a minute.”
He gave her the thumbs-up and plodded away.
“He seems to be taking it well,” she said.
“I told him we’d get him a brand-new paraglider for his efforts, above and beyond, to save Belasco,” Juan said. “What’s the news on our other casualty?”
“Linda?” Julia affirmed. “Two ruptured eardrums. Almost total hearing loss.”
Juan swallowed hard. “Is it permanent?”
“I hope not. But it’ll be a while until we know. The tympanic membranes in both ears were severely damaged, but I’m hoping they will repair themselves. In the meantime, she can only understand visual communication.”
“I’ll check in on her later.” Juan sighed and stood up. “Right now, I have an uncomfortable call to make.”
“Langston Overholt?”
He nodded. “Time to give him an update on this debacle.”
“You saved two of them,” she said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Without you and the teams from the Oregon, all three agents would be dead right now.”
She was right about that, but it was small consolation to Juan.
He headed back to his cabin to contact Overholt. When he got there, he found Maurice, the ship’s elderly steward, setting a coffeepot, mug, and fruit plate on the table. Maurice was the sole non-American on the Oregon. He’d served in the Royal Navy for decades before being lured to the Corporation. As always, he was dressed in an immaculate white jacket with a pristine linen napkin draped over his arm.
“I thought you’d like some refreshment for your call, Captain,” Maurice said. He was the only person on board who didn’t call Juan “Chairman.” He insisted on adhering to naval tradition.
“Thanks, Maurice,” Juan said, amazed at how the steward kept apprised about everything on the Oregon. Maurice was the epicenter of crew scuttlebutt, yet everyone also trusted him with their private thoughts. “How’s the crew handling the fallout from our recent mission?”
“They seem to be in relatively good spirits,” Maurice said as he poured the coffee. “We all know that the unfortunate results were due to difficulties you couldn’t have anticipated . . . Will that be all, Captain?”
