Cooks Overboard Read Online Free PDF

tongue seemed to slide back into his throat, cutting off his air. He clawed at his mouth, his fingers reaching deepinto the back of his throat as he pressed his tongue out of the way.
    But his lungs wouldn’t work; they wouldn’t inhale. He was suffocating…and he knew it.
    His arm hit the cane, knocking it aside as he stumbled toward the door. His glasses fell from his face. He could scarcely see. Where was his grad student? His helper? Susan! His mind shrieked for her, but his voice was still. He needed air, needed to breathe.
    He reached the door, and yanked it open.
    The hallway was empty. No one, no help…He stepped into the hall and fell to his knees, then onto his back. Susan!
    The only movement on his face was a single tear that rolled down his wrinkled cheek.

7
    “Sven! You bastard, I’ve been looking for you all night.”
    He cringed. The Hydra. He wished she were dead.
    He was curled up on a deck chair, covered by a blanket. He no longer felt nauseous; instead the pains in his stomach were so bad he couldn’t even drink water. His legs and arms had turned almost numb, and now this monster was yelling at him. He’d thought he’d be safe from her up here on the bridge deck. Passengers came up here only to watch the freighter sail into and out of harbors, but their next stop wasn’t until Cabo San Lucas. “I’m trying to get a little peace and quiet,” he whispered. It hurt to talk. “I’m sick. And sick of everyone hassling me.”
    “And I’m sick of you and your whining.” Her contorted face pressed close to his. If he’d brought a knife, she’d be fish food.
    “Give me the microfilm and be quick about it,” she demanded. “I don’t want anyone to see us together.”
    The microfilm. That was all she cared about. Not him, not his illness. “I can’t.”
    “Now what? What did you do with it, you fool? I swear you’ll never work for me again. Do you hear me?”
    He rubbed his forehead. The microfilm was in his pocket. He could give it to her and be done with her and her temper. But then she’d win and he’d lose. “I wasn’t able to go get it yet. I’ve been too sick.”
    “I don’t believe this! Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you at all. You are so worthless.” She paced around. “Listen, too many other crewmen will be milling around your quarters this time of night. I’d better not go with you to get it. The first chance you get, I want you to bring it to the galley. Anyone can go in there day or night for a soft drink or a snack, so it won’t look suspicious. I’ll be waiting for you, but if I’m not there for some reason—or if someone else is and you can’t pass it to me—put it in an open sack of sugar.”
    “Sugar?”
    “No, wait—if any water or perspiration got on it, it might get sticky, and that might ruin it.”
    “I don’t want to be around food.” He groaned.
    “I’ve got it. Put it in a tin of baking powder. It’ll stay dry, and no one will pick it up and use it by chance. I don’t think we have anyone who’ll want to bake while on board.”
    “I’m too sick.” He started to lie down again. “I can’t go down there.”
    She grabbed his shirt with both hands and yanked him upright, her face only inches from his. “Your cabin is down there! If you didn’t leave the microfilm—” She stopped and looked around. She must have realized how loud her voice had become. “If you hadn’t left it in your cabin, none of this would have happened! You’ll go to your cabin, get the microfilm, and bring it to the galley. If I’m not there, put it in the open tin of baking powder. Is that clear?”
    He nodded sullenly, unwilling to let her see his fear.
    “Do it tonight,” she ordered.
    A stabbing pain hit his stomach so fiercely he doubled over, clutching it and moaning. She let go of him and jumped back, as if afraid he’d contaminate her.
    “Remember—baking powder. Hide it in the baking powder.”
    “I heard you.” He could barely