Hunt the Falcon by Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo

Author:Don Mann & Ralph Pezzullo [Mann, Don & Pezzullo, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780316247115
Amazon: 1478925132
Barnesnoble: 1478925132
Publisher: Mulholland Books
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

People are made of flesh and blood, and a miracle fiber called courage.

—Mignon McLaughlin

He woke up in a hospital. Blinked. Felt his legs and arms, which were still intact. It took him a couple of seconds to focus on the yellow walls and the man sitting in the corner in a green chair, talking into a cell phone in what he recognized as Portuguese. The first things about him that registered were the short dreadlocks and the tattoo on his neck. Then Crocker remembered his name.

“DZ,” he said, trying to sit up. “What the fuck happened? Where am I?”

The left side of his head hurt. He lifted his left arm and touched the bandage that ran from the top of his head to his ear.

DZ put the phone away and said, “You’re one crazy lucky motherfucker.”

“Why?”

“Why?” DZ threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t believe you asked that.”

“Where are we?”

“Dude, we’re in a hospital in Puerto Iguazú, on the Argentine side of the falls. You suffered a pretty bad concussion, a crack in your skull that’s been closed up with staples, some lacerations to your wrist, and a couple of bruised ribs. Otherwise you’re okay, which is totally unbelievable.”

“Okay?” Crocker asked, trying to recall what had transpired to split his head open and land him in the hospital.

“I saw the whole thing happen, man, and I still can’t believe it,” DZ continued. “Are you Irish?”

“Irish? No, some French, German, Scottish, and Norwegian mixed together. Why?”

“You know the saying, the luck of the Irish. Never mind.”

Crocker looked for his watch, which wasn’t on his wrist. The place where it used to be was covered with another white bandage. “What time is it?”

“A couple ticks shy of noon.”

Noon. The last thing he remembered was the jet taking off at the airport last night. He’d been driving a truck. Akil sat beside him. “Akil. How’s he?” Crocker asked, realizing that his mouth was bone dry, and reaching for the bottle of water on the table beside him.

“Akil was taken to the airport in Ciudad del Este about an hour ago,” DZ answered, standing and adjusting the hems of his pant legs. Crocker noticed for the first time that the young man was wearing a cast on his left foot. “His right arm and wrist are both broken, and his right foot is messed up.” DZ pointed to the night table to Crocker’s right. “Oh, and he left you his watch.”

Crocker leaned over and saw the black Luminox Colormark 3050 Series watch on the table’s gray enamel surface. The Luminox wasn’t as tricked out as his Suunto, but it was rugged, water resistant, and featured continuous-glow dive bezel, hands, and hour markers. “What happened to mine?”

“It got totaled, man. Big surprise.”

He liked that watch, which had been a present from Holly. “Totaled how?”

“Smashed to shit when the truck tumbled over like a toy, a little metal toy flicked by Godzilla. I never in a million years expected anyone to walk away from that alive.

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