He pulled Jerry and Olive out of earshot.Before he could speak, Jerry said, “Colada, I strongly advise not taking that man to the bridge.”
“Oh?“Jorge raised an eyebrow.“Why’s that, Maguire?”
Jerry released a big sigh before he spoke.“Call it a hunch.”He paused and said, “Sir.”
After glancing back at Hao, Jorge said, “Got it.”
“Wait,” Olive said.She stepped closer.“He was dragged in unconscious.I had to stop his head wound from bleeding.He’s not faking.”
After this speech, her hand instinctively clutched the side of her jaw, and she felt herself wince.
“Maybe,” Jerry said.“Maybe not.”
Rick Norton approached.“If I get a vote, I agree with Maguire.”
“Your vote counts, Coppertop.”Jorge nodded.“Okay.He stays here.”
He looked at Olive.“Ozzy is in sick bay.Pot Pie caught a bullet to the lower abdomen.He needs surgery.They could use an extra hand.The Secret Service boys have Cynthia locked in tight.No help there.Feel up to helping out?”
Jerry leaned in.“She got beat up pretty bad.”
Olive put a hand on his chest and smiled up at him.“Should have seen the other guy.”
Jerry stared blankly into her eyes.With absolutely no inflection, he said, “I met him briefly.”
Olive tried to read any kind of emotion in Jerry’s expression.She realized he was compartmentalizing at that moment.Remorse and second-guessing would likely wait for some vulnerable night of bad dreams weeks or months from now.
To Jorge, she said, “I can’t do what you all do.But, I know how to assist a surgeon.”Jorge’s eyes narrowed, clearly inspecting her injured face, evaluating her slurred and painful speech.“I can do it,” she insisted.
With a deep sigh, Jerry said, “I’ll take you.It’s on this deck.Not far.”
“Drop Olive, then get back to work,” Jorge said.“Fourteenth Group is ‘Talon Strike.’They are about twelve mikes out.Fast movers inbound, too.Hate to do this to you, Maguire, but you’re who we got.”
“Roger, Colada.”
Confused at the code speak, Olive looked at Jerry, who nodded.But she could see his jaw clenching.“What?What is it?”
Jerry turned her to face him.“Long conversation.Promise we’ll have it soon.”
Jorge put a hand on Emma’s waist.“Twenty-four Ten, go with them.I don’t think we’ll need you for a while.”
“You got it, Colada,” Emma said.She patted him on the cheek and looked at them.“Ready, Maguire?”
Olive realized they didn’t trust who could hear what, and their work depended on secrecy.They used their call signs even in casual conversation, even here, to remain clandestine.
“Gonna need Bourbon,” Jerry said.
Olive frowned.Bourbon?Since when?
“That you will.”Jorge turned back briefly.“Pick Bourbon up when you drop Olive off.Then make your way up top with Twenty-Four Ten.”
“Sixty seconds.Need to grab some gear,” Jerry said.“Drumstick.Give me a hand.”
He and Sanders lifted one of the sheets and pulled a black backpack off the person under it.Jerry dumped its contents on the deck.He and Bill Sanders shifted the lid of a crate and loaded the backpack with ammunition.Then they quickly moved to a different crate.Jerry retrieved a long rifle that looked identical to the one strapped to his back, including the same elaborate-looking scope.He detached the scope from the second rifle and casually stowed it into the backpack.
As he slipped the pack onto his back, he said to Jorge.“Set.”
Jorge spoke into the air.“Heisman or Trout, guide Maguire to sick bay, then to the chapel, if you would be so kind.”
