The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (life changing books .txt) 📕

than standing over a dead body with a smoking gun in your hand.”

“But it could still just be an accident,” Marion persisted.

“Until my memory resolves itself, I have to be extra-careful and assume the worst, otherwise I’m leaving myself vulnerable.” Bell tried to lean over to reach into the nightstand, but the rush of blood to his head made him almost lose consciousness again. He flopped back onto the pillows. His face had turned the color of old ash.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“The magazine of my .45 should be in my holster.”

“I don’t think—” Marion stopped when she saw the determined look in her husband’s eye. She got up and perused the holster in the drawer, then handed him the loaded magazine.

He slipped it into the magazine well, quietly racked the slide, and then thumbed down the hammer. He slid the gun under his pillow. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask another favor?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“Leave Panama.”

The smile vanished.

“You heard me, Marion. You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous, and I’m in no condition to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protect—”

He cut her off. “You do. You’re a target now because you’re my wife. That makes you leverage. I can’t continue my investigation knowing you could be kidnapped or worse. You’re a distraction. A lovely, beautiful, wonderful distraction. And one I can’t afford.”

Her face bore a mask of utter frustration. He’d laid out a logical argument that she could not refute. Marion took another tack. “Let’s both get out of here. You’re in no shape to continue investigating. You hardly remember the past twenty-four hours. What can you hope to accomplish?”

“I can’t let some two dozen men die without getting justice,” he said.

She watched him for a moment. “This is your way to balance the scales, isn’t it?”

He didn’t reply.

“Don’t you see that it doesn’t, Isaac? Finding the killers will make no difference to the men who dug you out. It won’t repay the debt you feel you owe them.”

“There’s also Roosevelt’s visit, and the attack in California,” he said, then added, “You know I can’t leave this alone.”

“I do. Your dedication is one of the things I love most about you, but . . .”

“But there’s a price to pay. And you’re the one who pays it the most.”

“It’s okay.” Her smile was a little wan. “If I wanted a worry-free life, I would have married an accountant.”

Guilt rippled across Bell’s face. He loved Marion desperately and knew he caused her anguish with every case he took and every madman, anarchist, or murderer he chased down. It wasn’t that she didn’t know and understand his job before they married, yet he could tell that she worried more now as they both recalculated their mortality.

“I know that I know something,” he said at last. “I just don’t know what I know. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Marion said, her voice softened by concern. “I also see that it’s killing you.”

“There’s a hole in my memory, a black void I don’t know how to fill.” Coming from Bell, this was an admission of doubt and weakness. “I’ve never experienced anything like it, Marion. It’s like my brain has let me down. Or I’ve let myself down. Or something.”

“Don’t torture yourself like this. You’ve been injured. It will take time to heal.”

“What if it doesn’t?” he asked. “What if the blow caused permanent harm? As you’ve so often pointed out, I live by my wits. Right now, I feel like a half-wit.”

Her grip on his hand tightened, but she said nothing.

“I’m not sure how well I can look after myself here in Panama and I’m certain I can’t protect us both. I also know I can’t leave. I have to see this through to the end.”

“For your sake, I’ll go,” Marion said. “Me being here puts too much on your plate. You need to focus on yourself and the case. I accept that. I don’t like it, but I accept it.”

Relief washed over him, and the somber cast in his eyes brightened. He kissed her as tenderly as he ever had. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I was talking with some nurses last night when you were still unconscious. A few of them are at the end of their contract and are steaming back to San Francisco the day after tomorrow. I should be able to book passage on the same ship.”

“Perfect.”

“What are you going to do once you’re cleared to leave here?”

“I was told I was driving back from Gamboa after meeting Court Talbot. I don’t remember our get-together, but I have a vague image in my mind of a boat heading off into the mist. I think Talbot’s out hunting the Viboras on Lake Gatun. I need to talk to him about our meeting and, hopefully, jog loose whatever it was I understood before the crash.”

“Sounds to me like you’re thinking straight.”

“Thanks. In the meantime, I’ll see to it that Dr. Hamby thinks it’s a good idea to have another bed dragged in here until you’re safely out of the country.”

Her cheeks pinked and her eyes narrowed knowingly. “If we put extra pillows under the blanket, it’ll look like I’m actually using it.”

21

Bell was released from the hospital the next morning. His head was feeling clearer, though the retrograde amnesia persisted, and the knot above his brow was noticeably red. In addition, he had bruises on his arms, legs, and shoulders. None of his joints were impaired, thankfully. He wasn’t in top form, he freely admitted, but he could function.

It was on the drive from the Ancon Hospital to the Central Hotel that Bell began to sense rising paranoia in himself. Not knowing what had happened on the road from Gamboa made him feel vulnerable, and that made him imagine danger lurking all around. He no longer saw people walking the streets as they went about their business. He saw potential threats.

If he’d become a target of the Viboras, he realized that they