Read Online The Mediterranean Caper by Clive Cussler - Free Book Online Page B

up, throw my tail between my legs and set a course for home. Now, dammit, I’m going to stay anchored here until I die of old age or catch a Teaser .” His eyes twinkled as he glanced at Pitt. “Well, Major, what do you think of that?”
    Pitt merely shrugged. “Personally, I perfer angling for girls.” With very little effort his mind dropped the business at hand and formed a tantalizing picture of Teri standing on the beach in her red bikini.

4
    It was a few minutes past five when Pitt arrived back at his quarters on Brady Field. Within seconds of discarding his sticky clothing, he was firmly entrenched on his back in a narrow shower stall. It was a tight fit; his head was crooked into one corner, his back pressed flat on the wet tile floor, and his hairy legs and feet thrust upward at a ninety degree angle in the opposite corner. To anyone who might have peeked, it looked like a contorted and bone-torturing position, but Pitt found it thoroughly comfortable and immensely satisfying. When time allowed, he always relaxed in the shower in this manner. Sometimes he dozed off, but mostly he used the simulated rainy atmosphere and the solitude to think. At this moment his mind simmered with a multitude of perplexing questions.
    He mentally juggled the facts and unknowns together, seeking a pattern and trying to concentrate on the most important problems. It was no use. His mind eluded his grasp and stubbornly chewed on the minor and inconsequential riddle of the noiseless truck by the beach.
    For some inexplicable reason the riddle irritated him and he endeavored vainly to shake it, but it remained. Finally he gave in to it and closed his eyes and re-created the scene, hoping to visualize a sign or solution.
    Suddenly a blurred form appeared on the other side of the shower door.
    â€œHello in the shower.” Giordino’s voice rumbled over the running water. “You’ve been in there nearly half an hour. You must be thoroughly waterlogged by now.”
    Pitt resigned himself to the interruption and reached up and turned the faucet to off .
    â€œYou better hurry,” Giordino shouted. Then it occured to him that the water was no longer running. He lowered his voice. “Colonel Lewis is on his way over—he’ll be here any second.”
    Pitt sighed. Pushing his body to a sitting position, he awkwardly struggled to his feet, nearly slipping on the slick tile floor. A towel sailed over the shower door, falling in folds around his head. The mere thought of being prodded and pushed in order to impress a higher-ranking officer made the hairs on his neck bristle. He glared through the fuzzy glass panel.
    â€œTell Colonel Lewis he can play with himself while he waits.” His voice had a nice frost to it. “I’ll come out when I damn well feel like it,” he said succinctly. “Now get the hell out of my bathroom, you bastard, before I cram a bar of soap up your anal canal.” Abruptly, Pitt felt his cheeks heating. He hadn’t really meant to be rude to his old friend. Immediately sorry, he felt a wave of guilt. “I’m sorry, Al. My mind was elsewhere.”
    â€œForget it.” Without another word Giordino shrugged and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
    Pitt briskly dried his lean body and then shaved. After he finished, he blew the tiny black hairs out of the cordless electric shaver and patted his face with British Sterling aftershave lotion. When he stepped into the bedroom, Giordino and Colonel Lewis were waiting.
    Lewis sat on the edge of the bed and twisted one end of an immense red handlebar moustache. His large rosy face and twinkling blue eyes along with the large brush on his upper lip gave him the appearance of a jolly lumberjack. His movements and his speech were rapid, almost jerky, giving Pitt the impression that the Colonel had a pound of ground glass in his crotch.
    â€œSorry to break in on you like this,” boomed