22 Poseidon's Arrow by Clive Cussler

Author:Clive Cussler [Cussler, Clive]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

41

THE ADELAIDE’S AUXILIARY STORAGE LOCKER WAS a dim, steamy oven befitting the devil. Pitt could smell decaying flesh mixed with sweat when the bolted door was flung open and he and Giordino were shoved inside at gunpoint. He had struggled to bear the weight of his wounded friend down to the main deck and tried not to collapse under him. He noticed a canvas tarp in the locker and gently laid Giordino on it as the door was slammed and locked behind them.

“Is there a medic among you?” Pitt said. He glanced toward the Coast Guard team he saw huddled nearby.

A young man stood up and slowly made his way to Pitt’s side.

“Simpson, isn’t it?” Pitt said.

“Yes, sir. I can help.” He knelt over Giordino, quickly noting the spreading pool of blood beneath his right leg. “Has he been shot?”

“Yes.” Pitt ripped away a torn section of Giordino’s pants. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Simpson located the blood-soaked wound on Giordino’s outer thigh and applied pressure with his palm. “I need something for a bandage.”

Pitt removed his shirt and ripped off the sleeves, tearing them into long strips. Someone passed over a bottle of water, which the medic used to clean the wound. He took one of the strips and folded it into a pad. Applying it to the wound, he bound it with the remaining strips.

Giordino opened his eyes and looked up. “Where we headed?”

“To get some beer,” Pitt said. “Take a nap, and I’ll wake you when it’s on ice.”

Giordino gave him a crooked grin, then drifted off a few seconds later.

Simpson pulled a section of tarp over him and motioned Pitt aside. “He’s lucky. There were two wounds, indicating the bullet went clean through. Most likely, it missed the bone. But it must have nicked his femoral artery, hence all the blood. He may go into shock with that much blood loss, so we’ll need to keep an eye on him.”

“He’s a tough old goat,” Pitt said.

“He should be fine for now. His biggest problem will be avoiding infection in this stink hole.”

Pitt saw in the dim light that Simpson had a bruise on his cheekbone. “What happened to you?”

“Got jumped in the corridor on my way to watch. Bugger hit me with a chain. I was luckier than some of the guys.”

Pitt looked around the bay, which was lit by a single flickering overhead lamp. The Coast Guard team sat nearby, while another group, members of the Adelaide’s real crew, was sprinkled about the rear of the compartment. Two oblong shapes, wrapped in canvas and positioned off to one side, were responsible for the horrible odor.

“The captain and another man,” Simpson said. “Killed in the assault before we came along.”

Pitt nodded, then turned his attention to the Coast Guard team. They all bore wounds and bruises. Plugrad sat among the men with his back to a bulkhead, a vacant look in his eye.

“How’s Plugrad?”

“They knocked the lieutenant upside the head pretty good,” Simpson said. “He’s got a concussion but otherwise appears okay.

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