Page 58 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
Murphy stumbled over and Juan bear-hugged him.
“Now you’re safe,” Cabrillo said. He turned and faced Linlin, thrusting out his hand. “Juan Cabrillo.”
Linlin took his hand gratefully. Her slim, unmanicured fingers offered a firm grip.
“I can’t thank you enough, Captain.”
“Chairman,” Murph corrected.
“My apologies—”
“Juan is fine. Welcome aboard theAgua Linda.” He turned to Eddie. “My navigator, Eddie Seng.”
“Ni hao,” Eddie said, using his most pronounced American inflection. As an undercover he mastered the Chinese mainland accent and various Mandarin dialects, but he didn’t want Linlin to suspect he’d ever been there.
It must have worked. She fought back a grin, no doubt amused by his unusual perversion of her mother tongue.
Seng waited until Linlin offered her hand first, out of courtesy. He was careful not to stare daggers through her lest he be perceived as aggressive or rude, but his trained eye took in every possible detail. He had only survived his years in a low-trust, high-surveillance culture like Communist China by being able to read people instantaneously.
“Ni hao.” The brief handshake ended with a slight nod of their heads, a sign of mutual respect. Linlin turned to her faultless English. “Where did you learn to speak Chinese?”
“I was born in New York City. Chinatown, technically.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“I think you would enjoy it. If you ever go, I will give you my parents’ phone number. They would be happy to host you.”
“That’s very nice of you to offer.”
Eddie’s high-alert sensors dropped a few degrees. Linlin was completely charming. Still, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was the one being interrogated.
“You look utterly exhausted,” Juan said.
“I didn’t sleep much on the plane,” Murph said. “Too jacked up on adrenaline and coffee.”
Cabrillo nodded. “Long plane flights are the worst.”
“I appreciate you letting me take shelter with you,” Linlin said. “When Murph said he knew a safe location, I had no idea he was referring to a cargo ship at sea.”
“I don’t know your situation exactly,” Juan said, “but whoever’s looking for you will be hard-pressed to find you here. Have you ever been on a working cargo vessel before?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m intrigued. I would think it a very romantic life.”
“Hardly. It’s pretty boring stuff. We’re like a giant delivery truck. Having said that, I’m going to restrict you to your private quarters while you’re on board. The decks can be very dangerous. Lots of heavy equipment. It’s for your safety.”
“I understand.”
Cabrillo noted Linlin’s eyes narrowing slightly.
The rolling shutter suddenly opened with a stuttering racket. One of theOregon’s sous-chefs, dressed down in working utilities rather than the customary Cordon Bleu–styled jacket, stood grimly behind the counter, a smoldering cigarette dangling from her lower lip—fully in character. Juan picked her for this assignment because she’d spent a year acting in Off-Broadway productions before heading to cooking school. She relished the chance to play the role of the grumpy ship’s cook while secretly keeping watch over the stranger.
“I’m sure you guys are starving.” Juan waved a hand at the counter as he turned toward Linlin. “Cookie there will whip you up anything you want, so long as its eggs, bacon, or hamburger.” He leaned in close. “She doesn’t have much of a repertoire, but it’s still pretty good.”
Linlin began to demur, but she suddenly realized Cabrillo wanted to speak with Murph privately.
“Thank you. I am rather famished.” She smiled and made a beeline for the stainless steel counter.
As soon as Linlin was out of earshot, Juan pulled Murph aside by the elbow. He kept an eye on her as he spoke with Murphy in whispered tones.
