Page 125 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“Aye, Chairman.”
Juan’s spirits lifted. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was something. Anything was better than sitting around on his duff and hoping something would drop in his lap.
Time to celebrate.
?
Cabrillo’s favorite pastime was working out, the greater the physical and mental exertion, the better. Daily gun practice, wall climbing, weight lifting—he loved all of it. But nothing was more satisfying or better for his overall conditioning than swimming. Cabrillo could think of no better way to spend the next hour than doing butterflies with arm and leg weights in theOregon’s Olympic-sized pool, which he hoped to have all to himself. He had already changed into his swim trunks and carried his swim goggles in his hand.
He flung the door open to the pool area. The overhead lights were off but the pool lights were on. The shimmering marble-tiled walls echoed with the sound of a world-class swimmer churning the water like a pod of dolphins chasing a school of fish. Massive arm strokes flew through the air and thundering leg strokes crashed behind as the swimmer raced for the far end of the pool in record time.
Cabrillo bristled with frustration. He preferred to swim alone.
After an underwater flip and a powerful kick off the wall, theswimmer’s body exploded back out of the water and charged toward the near end where Cabrillo was standing.
It took Cabrillo’s eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the image. He saw the thick rope of blond, French-braided hair and goggled eyes covering the familiar face. It was Callie setting a new women’s butterfly speed record in theOregonpool.
As if reading his mind, Callie reached the end of the pool where he was standing and came to halt. She thrust herself out of the water with a single press of her powerful arms and a splashing kick with her legs, vaulting onto the marble floor in a single bound.
Callie stood dripping wet in front of the Chairman, breathing heavily but not out of breath. She pulled her goggles down around her neck and stood at her full height.
The only thing he had ever seen that had even come close to the vision of athletic beauty and female form was Ursula Andress emerging out of the Caribbean Sea inDr. No.
Juan could think of only one word to describe Callie at that moment.
Or maybe it was two.
Hubba-hubba.
Callie flashed an awkward smile.
“I’m so sorry. Linda said it was okay for me to swim here.”
“No, of course. The pool is for everybody, especially our VIP guests.”
“But she also said you like to swim by yourself.”
“There’s plenty of room to share. I play a mean game of Marco Polo.”
Callie laughed. “I bet you do. I just haven’t had the chance for a swim lately. It’s my favorite form of exercise. Well, that and surfing.”
“I haven’t surfed since college days in SoCal,” Juan said. He suddenly regretted that fact, but it was true. Life had taken him far away from his carefree days along the California coast. Callie reminded him of his glorious, sun-soaked youth.
Momentarily lost in nostalgia, he suddenly realized she didn’t mention diving.
She saw the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“Scuba doesn’t hold the same allure these days,” she said. “A kind of PTSD, I suppose.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” Juan said.
“Literally.”
Now it was Juan’s turn to laugh.
They held each other’s gaze. The air nearly crackled with feral electricity. Cabrillo suddenly felt very warm.
Callie broke the silence.
