Read Online The Hydra Protocol by David Wellington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Wellington
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Borracho pendejo, ” he muttered, and then he walked away.
The soldier, still blushing, gave them an embarrassed shrug. “May I see your passports, please?” he asked.
SOUTH OF MIAMI, FLORIDA: JUNE 11, 02:32
It was another hour at least before the Cubans finished their search of the yacht. Chapel would very much have liked to know what they were looking for, and why they had devoted so much manpower and time to investigating what was clearly just a party boat that strayed accidentally into disputed waters. He had no way of finding out, though.
It was all he could do to curl up on a bunk and try to breathe through the pain.
He only knew the Cubans had gone because Donny came into the cabin and told as much to the Asian woman. She had put her sundress back on but had sat with Chapel the whole time, stroking his back and telling him how strong he was. He appreciated the effort, but it didn’t help much. Donny came in with the news that they were headed back to Miami and that the Cubans had left them with just a stern warning. When he saw Chapel curled up on his bed, though, his eyes went wide and he grabbed the door frame as if he was having trouble balancing.
“What’s wrong with him?” Donny asked. “He didn’t drink that much.”
“He has the raptures of the deep,” the Asian woman said. “We need to get him treatment right away.”
“The raptures . . . you mean the bends? He’s got the bends? Jimmy, what the hell have you been up to?”
“Please,” the Asian woman said. “He’s in great pain. He may die!”
“Shit,” Donny said, and he ran over to kneel next to the bed. “Jim. Jim, come on, man, look at me. Look at me—you’re a ranger, man. You can get through this.”
“Oxygen,” Chapel managed to croak. The pain came in waves, and just then it was hitting a peak. He could barely move his lungs.
“He needs a hyperbaric chamber,” the Asian woman said. “There’s one in Miami. Call ahead and have it made ready. But in the meantime—”
“Oxygen,” Chapel said again.
“He’s right,” the Asian woman said. “He needs to breathe pure oxygen, to flush the nitrogen from his system.”
“We have some SCUBA tanks onboard,” Donny suggested. “I can get one up here right away.”
“That won’t work,” the Asian woman told him. “Those tanks hold only normal air, and that’ll just put more nitrogen in his blood.”
“There’s . . . there might be an oxygen tank in the medical kit—I think—”
“Go now,” the woman told Donny. “Please.”
Donny nodded and rubbed at his mouth with one hand. Then he ran off to get the tank.
Chapel turned his head to the side, to look at her face. She looked scared. He wondered just how bad he looked to make everybody so scared. “Why are you helping me?” he asked. She didn’t answer, just rubbed at his arms. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Nadezhda,” she told him. “Nadia, to my family and friends.”
A Russian name. Who was this woman? “After . . .” Chapel paused to let the pain in his joints reach a fiery crescendo. It got so bad he couldn’t see for a moment. “After that shower we took together—”
“Yes,” she said, and smiled at him. “You can call me Nadia.”
Chapel closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone. He must have blacked out for a while. Donny came running into the room and put a mask over Chapel’s face, and that was the last thing he remembered for a while. When he woke up again, he was on a stretcher being wheeled down the yacht’s gangplank. The sky was red with dawn. He heard seagulls and smelled diesel fuel and knew he must be in Miami. Donny was walking alongside the stretcher, holding Chapel’s hand.
The pain was just a shadow of what it had been. The oxygen must have done its job. The relief of it, of not hurting so much he wanted to die, washed through Chapel and was better than any surge of endorphins.
“You’re awake,” Donny said. “You had us pretty
The soldier, still blushing, gave them an embarrassed shrug. “May I see your passports, please?” he asked.
SOUTH OF MIAMI, FLORIDA: JUNE 11, 02:32
It was another hour at least before the Cubans finished their search of the yacht. Chapel would very much have liked to know what they were looking for, and why they had devoted so much manpower and time to investigating what was clearly just a party boat that strayed accidentally into disputed waters. He had no way of finding out, though.
It was all he could do to curl up on a bunk and try to breathe through the pain.
He only knew the Cubans had gone because Donny came into the cabin and told as much to the Asian woman. She had put her sundress back on but had sat with Chapel the whole time, stroking his back and telling him how strong he was. He appreciated the effort, but it didn’t help much. Donny came in with the news that they were headed back to Miami and that the Cubans had left them with just a stern warning. When he saw Chapel curled up on his bed, though, his eyes went wide and he grabbed the door frame as if he was having trouble balancing.
“What’s wrong with him?” Donny asked. “He didn’t drink that much.”
“He has the raptures of the deep,” the Asian woman said. “We need to get him treatment right away.”
“The raptures . . . you mean the bends? He’s got the bends? Jimmy, what the hell have you been up to?”
“Please,” the Asian woman said. “He’s in great pain. He may die!”
“Shit,” Donny said, and he ran over to kneel next to the bed. “Jim. Jim, come on, man, look at me. Look at me—you’re a ranger, man. You can get through this.”
“Oxygen,” Chapel managed to croak. The pain came in waves, and just then it was hitting a peak. He could barely move his lungs.
“He needs a hyperbaric chamber,” the Asian woman said. “There’s one in Miami. Call ahead and have it made ready. But in the meantime—”
“Oxygen,” Chapel said again.
“He’s right,” the Asian woman said. “He needs to breathe pure oxygen, to flush the nitrogen from his system.”
“We have some SCUBA tanks onboard,” Donny suggested. “I can get one up here right away.”
“That won’t work,” the Asian woman told him. “Those tanks hold only normal air, and that’ll just put more nitrogen in his blood.”
“There’s . . . there might be an oxygen tank in the medical kit—I think—”
“Go now,” the woman told Donny. “Please.”
Donny nodded and rubbed at his mouth with one hand. Then he ran off to get the tank.
Chapel turned his head to the side, to look at her face. She looked scared. He wondered just how bad he looked to make everybody so scared. “Why are you helping me?” he asked. She didn’t answer, just rubbed at his arms. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Nadezhda,” she told him. “Nadia, to my family and friends.”
A Russian name. Who was this woman? “After . . .” Chapel paused to let the pain in his joints reach a fiery crescendo. It got so bad he couldn’t see for a moment. “After that shower we took together—”
“Yes,” she said, and smiled at him. “You can call me Nadia.”
Chapel closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone. He must have blacked out for a while. Donny came running into the room and put a mask over Chapel’s face, and that was the last thing he remembered for a while. When he woke up again, he was on a stretcher being wheeled down the yacht’s gangplank. The sky was red with dawn. He heard seagulls and smelled diesel fuel and knew he must be in Miami. Donny was walking alongside the stretcher, holding Chapel’s hand.
The pain was just a shadow of what it had been. The oxygen must have done its job. The relief of it, of not hurting so much he wanted to die, washed through Chapel and was better than any surge of endorphins.
“You’re awake,” Donny said. “You had us pretty
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