Alex put his cheek next to John’s mouth—he was breathing. Then Alex felt the artery in John’s neck—his pulse raced. The racing heart was a sign that John was running out of time.
Cat finished driving north, 487 kilometers in under seven hours, arriving at Puerto La Cruz. Sailors wearing civilian clothes and piloting an unmarked RHIB picked up her, Alex, John, and Miguel at the pier and motored away. Fortunately, the winds were calm and the ocean smooth as glass, shining under the afternoon sun—peaceful. Lying on his back, John looked peaceful, too—for all the wrong reasons. Alex had cleaned the camouflage paint off John’s skin, and John’s face looked gray. Alex put his cheek down to John’s lips—he wasn’t breathing. Alex checked John’s pulse—it galloped like the lead horse in a Kentucky Derby. Alex used his left hand under John’s chin to tilt his head back until John’s chin pointed up, making John’s air passageway straight. Alex placed his cheek to John’s mouth—still no breathing. Alex put his ear to John’s mouth—no sound. With Alex’s right hand, he pinched John’s nostrils closed. Then he sealed his lips over John’s and blew air until John’s chest rose. After John’s chest contracted, Alex blew again—long and slow.
“John stopped breathing,” Cat told the RHIB pilot. “We have to hurry!”
“We’re going full out, ma’am,” the pilot said. “This is as fast as she’ll go.”
Every five seconds, Alex breathed into John. After three minutes, Alex stopped to see if John would breathe on his own. “Breathe, John. Come on, John. Breathe, damnit!” John still wasn’t breathing. Alex resumed giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
The USS Jason Dunham had moved closer to shore while remaining in international waters—every little bit helped. A chief hospital corpsman met the Outcasts when they arrived, quickly ushering John to sick bay, where he gave him an IV and blood.
Alex and Cat waited outside sick bay to find out John’s condition. When the doorknob to sick bay turned, Alex’s anxiety level rose.
The chief hospital corpsman smiled.
Alex’s anxiety level suddenly dropped. He felt like he was on a roller coaster.
“How is John?” Cat asked.
“Better,” the chief hospital corpsman said. “He had injuries caused by the shock effect of the bullets, and he lost well over forty percent of his blood. If he wasn’t in such excellent physical and cardiovascular shape, even if he could have survived the trauma, his cardiovascular would have collapsed. John is lucky to be alive.”
“Can we see him?” Alex asked.
“I guess,” the chief hospital corpsman said.
Alex and Cat thanked him and walked inside. John lay hooked up to an IV. His eyes were open.
“John,” Alex greeted him.
“Hi, John,” Cat said.
John turned and looked at them and didn’t say anything—he was quiet that way. Alex’s sister was quiet, too, and Alex was comfortable with that.
“Anything we can do for you, buddy?” Alex asked.
“Take me with you,” John pleaded.
“You know I can’t do that. Not while you’re in this condition.”
“I know,” John said sadly.
They were silent for more than a minute. “Anything else?” Alex asked.
Alex had never seen John cry, but now moisture glistened in the corners of his eyes. “You know what I want,” John said.
Alex knew. “With extreme prejudice.”
Cat lowered her head.
Alex and Cat left the operating room.
“The captain would like a word with you in his stateroom,” the chief hospital corpsman said.
Alex and Cat walked to the nearest ladder and climbed to the third floor (0-3 level) amidships, then found the captain’s door and knocked.
“Enter,” a voice said.
They walked in to find the ship’s captain, seated with two naval officers Alex didn’t recognize and the Evaluator officer who spoke with a lisp. In the center of the navy blue carpet was the U.S. Navy’s blue and gold seal—an eagle gripping an anchor and a ship sailing in the background.
“Please, sit down,” the captain said.
Alex and Cat sat.
“We just finished talking with JSOC, and they said they’ll give you the divining rod at your final destination. JSOC traced General Tehrani’s location to an Iranian Aframax-category oil tanker.”
“Where is the tanker now, sir?” Cat asked.
“After the tanker left Venezuela, JSOC lost it, but the tanker’s manifest reads that it’s sailing for St. Petersburg, Russia, to deliver crude oil. The tanker should arrive in St. Petersburg in about thirteen days. Right now we’re returning to Virginia. When we’re within helicopter range, our Seahawk will fly both of you to NAS Oceana, and you’ll be shuttled to the Dam Neck annex, where you’ll debrief from this mission and brief for the General Tehrani mission. After taking a couple of days to prepare, you’ll fly a civilian flight the rest of the way: Norfolk to Washington, Washington to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to St. Petersburg. You both should arrive a week before the oil tanker.”