The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📗

yet as soon as he yanked himself back to consciousness he’d begin tapping again, though any semblance of code was soon lost. He could no longer remain upright enough to reach the flange, so he lay on his side, just above the murky water, and tapped the Colt’s butt against the tank wall, a sound that grew weaker and weaker until it went silent altogether.

Isaac Bell awoke in Heaven. The light was painfully bright, and the creature hovering over him was too beautiful to be anything other than an angel. He could open his eyes just a fraction of an inch. This particular seraph had cascading blond hair, eyes as bright and sharp as colored glass, and such a look of worry that tiny wrinkles had formed between her brows. He immediately believed it was the power of her concern that brought him back from the abyss.

He wished, though, that he’d returned in a better state. His head pounded, and his body felt like he’d gone twenty rounds with the current bare-knuckle-boxing champ. Surely he should be at peace.

Maybe this wasn’t Heaven. It couldn’t be. He hurt too damned much. But the angel . . .

He drifted off again before the angel realized he’d awakened.

The next time Bell clawed his way to consciousness it was dark, but he could see the moon’s glow through a gauzy curtain. He was thirsty and sore yet somehow knew he was safe. He was in a bed, the sheets were crisp and the blanket smelled of detergent. The pillow beneath his head was like a cloud, and that thought brought memories of the angel. While he wanted to get up and search for her, struggling to turn his body even a little was too much and he gave up the idea and let sleep envelop him once more.

When he came back the third time, it was early morning. The light was soft, and the angel was there once again, dabbing his head with a cool compress, her hair tamed in a ponytail that snaked down over her shoulder and almost brushed the bed.

She saw he was awake and cried out his name as he croaked hers.

“Isaac.”

“Marion.”

“I’ve been so worried,” she said as joyous tears welled up in her deep green eyes. She leaned over to kiss his face, and he could taste the salt on her lips.

“I don’t understand.” And he didn’t. Marion should be in Los Angeles. And then a sickening thought rushed in on him so hard and fast that he levered himself upright and grabbed her arm. “How long was I out?”

In their relationship, it was Isaac who usually had all the answers, so for a moment Marion delighted in having information he did not. But she couldn’t let his questions go unanswered for too long. That would just be cruel.

“Not even a day, my dear.” She handed him a glass of water, which he drank sparingly despite his obvious thirst.

Then he almost spit it out. Bell was defined by logic. It was the underpinning of his life, yet right now nothing made sense, and he felt suspended back between wakefulness and sleep. “What? How is that possible? What the devil is going on here?”

“Easy, Isaac. I came to Panama with you, remember? You promised me a getaway at the Hotel Del, but then you had to come here, and I joined you.”

Bell took some more water and looked around. It was clear he was in the private room of a hospital, maybe the big one on Ancon Hill. The gauzy veil he’d noted the night before was mosquito netting that had been draped around his bed. It was pulled back now, and Marion sat in a straight-backed chair at his side.

Out the window he could see the serrated fronds of some palm trees.

“Right,” he finally said, recalling the voyage and their room at the Central overlooking the unnaturally green lawn.

“Felix Ramirez found me last night having dinner with the Webbs when word reached the city that you’d been rescued from an avalanche. He stayed with us all night and only left earlier this morning because of his work at the hotel. He said he would try to come by later.”

“Wait. An avalanche? I was in an avalanche?”

“That’s what they told me.”

“I don’t remember that at all.” He pointedly touched the gauze-swathed lump on his forehead. “I don’t remember much at all, actually. What happened?”

“I’ll let someone involved tell you all about it. Give me a moment.”

She rose. She was wearing an all-white outfit that was open at the throat and with wide sleeves so she wouldn’t overheat in the tropical climate.

Bell stared out the window as the sun slowly crept over the distant hills. He tried yet couldn’t recall details of the day before. While his brain rarely failed him, all he could recollect was eating breakfast alone and driving for a bit. He didn’t know his destination. Marion related that Felix had said he had a meeting, but he couldn’t remember where or with whom. He didn’t know if he’d kept the appointment. And he certainly didn’t remember any avalanche.

Bell felt an icy panic grip his stomach. His mind was everything. What if . . .

Two men came into the room with Marion. One was Sam Westbrook, the young railroad scheduler, and the other was a doctor, judging by the white lab coat and stethoscope coiled in one of its pockets.

“Mr. Bell,” Sam said earnestly, his panama hat held in his hands in front of him. “Boy, is it good to see you. That sure was something.”

“Just a moment,” the doctor said. He was a ginger with a thick beard who looked like he knew his way around a gymnasium. “Mr. Bell, I’m Dr. Hamby. How are you feeling?”

“Beat up but okay.”

The doctor stepped between Bell and the window and peered closely into his eyes. Bell held still while Hamby moved his head to the side, allowing the light of the rising sun to strike Isaac in the face. Both pupils contracted