After she finished, she gave Pitt a slap on his exposed tail. "All finished. And may I say that you've got a nice set of buns."
"Why is it," Pitt said, pulling up his boxer briefs, "women always take advantage of me?"
"Because we're smart enough to see through that steely exterior and know that inside beats the heart of a sentimental slob."
Pitt looked at her. "Do you read palms, or more correctly, buns?"
"No, but I'm a whiz with tarot cards." Crabtree paused and gave him a come-hither smile. "Come over to my quarters sometime and I'll give you a reading."
Pitt would have rather rushed off for a root canal. "Sorry, knowing the future might upset my stomach."
Pitt limped through the open doorway to the chairman's cabin. No bunk for the chairman of the board. Cabrillo was lying in a king-size bed with a Balinese carved headboard on top of clean green sheets. Bottles on a stand containing clear fluids flowed into him through tubes. Considering his ordeal, he looked reasonably healthy as he sat propped up by pillows reading damage reports while smoking a pipe. Pitt was saddened to see that his leg had been amputated below the knee. The stump was elevated on a pillow, a red stain having spread through the bandage.
"Sorry about your leg," said Pitt. "I had hoped the surgeon might have somehow reattached it."
"Wishful thinking," said Cabrillo with extraordinary grit. "The bone was too shattered for the doc to glue it back on."
"I guess there is no sense in asking how you feel. Your constitution seems to be firing on all cylinders."
Cabrillo nodded at his missing limb. "Not so bad. At least it's below the knee. How do you think I'd look with a peg leg?"
Pitt looked down and shrugged. "Somehow I can't picture the chairman of the board stomping about the deck like some lecherous buccaneer."
"Why not? That's what I am."
"It's obvious," Pitt said, smiling, "that you don't need any sympathy."
"What I need is a good bottle of Beaujolais to replace my blood loss."
Pitt eased into a chair beside the bed. "I hear you've given orders to bypass the Philippines."
Cabrillo nodded. "You heard correct. All hell must have broken loose when the Chinese learned we sank one of their cruisers along with its crew. They'll use every arm-twisting scheme in the diplomatic book to have us arrested and the ship impounded the minute we sail into Manila."
"What then is our destination?"
"Guam," answered Cabrillo. "We'll be safe in American territory."
"I'm deeply sorry about the death and injuries to your crew and damage to your ship," said Pitt sincerely. "The blame belongs on my shoulders. If I hadn't insisted you delay your departure from Hong Kong to search inside the liner, the Oregon might have gotten clear."
"Blame?" Cabrillo said sharply. "You think you're the cause of all that's happened? Don't flatter yourself. I wasn't ordered by Dirk Pitt to covertly search the United States. I made a contract with the U.S. government to fulfill a mission. All decisions relating to the search were mine and mine alone."
"You and your crew paid a high price."
"Maybe so, but the corporation was damn well rewarded for it. In fact, we're already guaranteed a fat bonus."
"Still-"
"Still, hell. The mission would have been a bust if you and Giordino hadn't learned what you did. To someone, somewhere in the hallowed halls of our intelligence agencies the information will be considered vital to the nation's interest."
"All we really learned," said Pitt, "is that a former ocean liner, gutted of every nonessential piece of equipment and owned by a master criminal, is sailing without a crew to a port in the United States owned by the same master criminal."
"I'd say that's quite a store of information."
"What good is it if we've yet to fathom the motivation?"
"I have confidence you'll divine the answer when you get back to the States."
"We probably won't learn anything solid until Qin Shang tips his hand."