Page 87 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
A British Invasion soundtrack had been roaring out of a portable player all night. The Rolling Stones were currently belting out “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Coarse laughter and friendly goading burbled up between music tracks accompanied by the vivid telling of bawdy jokes and crazy war stories.
Linc and Juan played along with the drunken revelry but were careful not to overindulge. The Frenchman staggered up to the two of them, four sheets to the wind, an empty glass in his hand.
“I know it was you two…that pulled me out of that hole. You didn’t leave me behind.” Mangin’s eyes watered. “You probably saved my life.”
Linc pointed at Juan. “I just held the rope. He’s the guy that got you out.”
“Team effort,” Juan said.
Mangin laid a hand on Cabrillo’s shoulder.
“I would serve under you anywhere, any time.”
Juan nodded. “Your glass is empty. You’re not trying hard enough.”
The Frenchman stared at the empty glass, almost as if surprised it was in his hand.
“C’est vrai.”
“Last call,” the barman shouted.
“Better get going,” Linc said.
The inebriated commando scowled like a wounded child and staggered off toward the bar.
Juan and Linc were alone again. It was no longer suspicious that they hung out together. It was Dragu? who had paired them up. Still, they took precautions not to appear to be too chummy.
“Maybe tonight when these guys are conked out we can look around,” Juan said. “Until then, we can relax.”
“I think I want some more of that roasted pig.”
“I’m with you on that one, big guy.”
?
Despite his intoxicated state, Plata was still keeping a relatively short leash on his dogs of war. He didn’t want a good time to spin out of control, and there was still plenty to do in the coming days. At midnight he blew his whistle. The music cut off and the men groaned with disappointment, but they dutifully headed for the barracks.
By twelve-thirty lights were off. Linc and Juan lay in their bunks listening to the whispered conversations melt slowly away into the deep inhalations of exhausted men falling asleep. It wouldn’t be long before the entire barracks would be in la-la land.
Juan yawned two or three times and rubbed his face to stay awake. He and Linc were going to recon the facility as soon as the last man passed out. Linc was in a bunk across the aisle and two over on the left. Even in the dark his big frame was impossible to miss. Juan yawned again. He didn’t realize how tired he was after the last few days of hard training. He knew it wasn’t the booze. He had nursed aglass of whiskey all night, pouring most of it out in the bushes when no one was looking and filling it back up to look like he was drinking as much as the others. Linc had done the same thing.
Juan’s eyelids were as heavy as cast-iron frying pans. He rubbed his face again. It didn’t help. He rolled his head over to see how Linc was doing. He heard the big man’s familiar snore, a steady, raspy hum. He must have been exhausted, too. Juan lifted his wrist to check his watch. It was twelve forty-seven a.m.
Too early to go out anyway, he told himself.Might as well get a little catnap…
Juan shut his eyes. And like the rest of the men in that room, he was soon rendered completely unconscious, unaware of the odorless gas clouding the air.
46
Juan was completely knocked out when an ear-piercing siren suddenly screamed in staccato bursts overhead. The sound sliced through his nervous system like a katana, startling him awake.
His wide-opened eyes were painfully blinded by fast-flashing halogen lights brighter than a noonday sun. The sudden sensory overload completely disoriented him, but he went from deep chemical slumber to full consciousness in just nanoseconds.
The siren cut out mid-scream as the lights suddenly stopped flashing, leaving Juan’s ears ringing and his aching retinas spotted with throbbing shadows. Cabrillo shut his eyes to clear his mind and his vision. When he opened them a few seconds later he saw that he was in a barred cage, like a human-sized dog kennel.
Thirty feet across from him he saw a line of ten similar cages, every other one containing one of the men he’d been training with the last few days. All of them were in their nightclothes—skivvies, T-shirts, and barefoot. No one had bothered to dress them when they were tossed unconscious into their cages. Incredibly, Juan’s artificial leg had remained attached.
There were ten kennels at the far end as well. The cages were arranged in a square U shape and he was in the fifth cage. At the open end of the U was a high platform with steps that led down intothe U. The whole room was enclosed by cement walls, floor and ceiling—no doubt part of the three-story building he had seen the day he arrived on the island.
