Soft hands touched his head and shoulders. Fingers slipped under his chin and took his pulse. “You smell of brine,” a woman said. “We have to fix that somehow. Can you walk?”
He tried to open his eyes. Found he could just barely crack one eyelid. He saw dark hair and nothing else — he couldn’t turn his head to get a better look.
“I take it that means no,” the woman said.
The voice — he remembered it, the accent he couldn’t place. The woman in the sundress, the Asian woman he’d met with Donny and Shelly and the rest. She must have found him there on the carpet. But why? Why wasn’t she out with the rest of the partygoers, out on the main deck?
“I can’t lift you on my own, and there’s no one else to help. You have to get on your feet,” she whispered. “Please. So much depends on this.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew if he didn’t get up and get moving, he was doomed. Chapel reached down with his artificial arm and grabbed one of his ankles. His leg was curled up underneath him, his knee and ankle both on fire, but he could push the leg out straight if he didn’t mind some searing agony.
Well, he minded. He minded a lot. But he managed not to scream.
“Good,” she said. “You’re a strong guy, yes? A powerful guy. You can do this. You have to.”
He reached down and straightened out his other leg. He could just twist sideways until he was sitting up, though it felt like he was being torn in half. With his back against the wall he pushed upward from his knees. His feet slid away from him on the wet carpet, but he recovered before he fell again. Using every shred of willpower in his possession, Chapel was just able to push himself up until he was leaning against the wall, as little weight as possible on his feet.
“Here, on my shoulders,” she said, and pulled his good arm around her neck. Straightening out those muscles made Chapel want to pass out, but he forced himself to stay conscious. Just a little longer. Just a couple more seconds, he promised himself. “Donny’s cabin is just here,” she told him. “Move your left foot forward.”
Chapel fought to open his eyes, to see what was happening. He didn’t know this woman. Why was she helping him? Just because he was a friend of Donny’s? “You’ll get in trouble,” he said, his voice sounding weak and small even to his own ears. “Just leave me,” he told her.
“I don’t think so. Come, now, move your left foot forward. I know you can. Good. Very, very good. Now your right foot.”
She didn’t exactly carry him, but she took a lot more of his weight than he thought she could. Together they set off at a snail’s pace down the corridor.
Behind Chapel, out on the deck, someone started shouting in Spanish. Someone else shrieked in fright.
Chapel must have glanced backward.
“You’re thinking this isn’t a normal patrol, that they didn’t find us by accident, and you are right. But they don’t know who you are, only that you were missing when they demanded to see everyone on board. You can’t let them find out who you are.”
He felt his eyes widen — mostly because it hurt so much. What did she know about him? His mission was utterly secret — nobody on board even knew who he worked for, much less what he was doing here.
Questions were going to have to wait. He focused on moving his feet.
A door opened in front of him — she must have opened it. He could still barely keep his eyes open, barely see where he was. Beyond the door lay a sizable cabin, bigger than the one he had on the deck below. It had room for a little table and a couple of chairs and a widescreen television on the wall. It also had a private bathroom with a big shower stall. The Asian woman shoved Chapel into the stall and ran the water, which came out icy cold at first. Chapel shivered as the water poured down over his aching face and chest. He tried to keep his left arm out of the spray, but the rest of him was quickly soaked.
“For the salt smell,” she told him, adjusting the water temperature. “Get your trunks off. Don’t worry about modesty now. This is not the time. Get them off!”
If he hesitated, it wasn’t because he was afraid of letting her see him naked. It was because the little black book was jammed down the side of his shorts. It was the only hiding place he had.
“It hurts too much, I know,” she said. She bent down and pulled down his trunks. The little black book fell out before he could stop her. She didn’t seem surprised. Instead she shoved it into a pocket of her sundress. She wadded up his shorts and put them in a laundry hamper that was already full of wet bathing suits and towels.
“Wait,” he said. “That book—”
“Shh,” she told him. “I can hear them outside, be quiet!”
It was no use. Chapel had to focus on holding himself up and not collapsing inside the shower stall. He felt so weak that just the water pouring down on him could knock him over. He heard the Cubans out in the hall as well — he could hear them shouting, even over the roar of the blood in his ears. He heard them pounding on the door, demanding to be let in.
Then he heard the sound of wood splintering, and he knew they were breaking their way in.
The Asian woman did something then he could not have expected. She reached up and undid the strap of her sundress, then let it fall away from her body until she wore nothing but a pair of black lace panties. She balled up the dress and threw it in the laundry hamper. Then she pushed her way into the shower, sliding in under Chapel’s body, her bare breasts pressing up against his sternum.
“Put your arms around me,” she whispered.
That was when the door flew open, knocked half off its hinges. Cuban soldiers came rushing in, their guns in their hands, ready for anything. They spread out around the cabin, covering every part of it, ready to shoot anyone who moved.
Underneath Chapel, the Asian woman moaned as if she were in the throes of passion. Chapel stared at her face and saw her looking back, cool and dispassionate. She didn’t even close her eyes as she moaned again, nodding at him.
Message received. Chapel forced his arms around her, fighting the pain in his elbow and his wrist. His artificial arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her close. Water streamed over his silicone skin, which was bad — he was supposed to keep the arm as dry as possible — but there was nothing for it. He tried to grunt out a cry of arousal but only managed a whimper.
The door of the shower stall banged open, and a Cuban soldier stared in at them. A mischievous smile started to crack on his face, but he fought it down — the man was a professional, all right.
Behind him the young soldier with the glasses, the one in charge, peered in at the two of them. He didn’t so much as blink when he saw them like that.
For a second Chapel worried that the ruse would fail, that the man would realize the two of them were only acting as if they were aroused. But then the Asian woman turned her head to look at the Cubans and she let out a whooping screech of embarrassment that was enough to make the two soldiers step back. The Asian woman brought a hand up to her face, and her eyes went wide as saucers. And then she started giggling.
It was not a sound Chapel ever expected this woman to make. It was the sort of giggle someone like Shelly might let out if she were caught in this situation.
“Oh my God,” the Asian woman said, and her accent was gone. She sounded exactly like one of the coeds up on the deck. “Oh my God oh my God, Jimmy, there are… people here! Oh my God!”
The Cuban soldier who had discovered them turned beet red and turned his face away. The commanding officer still stared at them, and Chapel could see he wasn’t quite convinced.