China Sea by David Poyer Read Free Book Online

it.
    The phone, right outside. No matter if you were squatting on the can, there was always a phone near the CO. He shut off the water reluctantly. Naked, shivering, he said, “USS Gaddis, commanding officer, this is a nonsecure line.”
    â€œDan? Is that you?”
    â€œBlair,” he said, smiling.
    He’d met Blair Titus in Bahrain, during what was for him an all-too-brief port visit during Operation Earnest Will and for her a tour as defense staffer for Sen. Bankey Talmadge. At the time Dan had thought that was it: one snatched night; knowing only that he’d always remember her; that in years to come he’d see her likeness in others who passed him on the street, in malls, on beaches. She would be part of what made him himself; he would take the smell of her hair and the feel of her lips with him into the darkness. But then he’d found her again on the heat-baked tarmac at Manama when he arrived with the other Van Zandt survivors.
    Since then they’d spent weekends together and gone hiking and camping in the Blue Ridge. He’d been out to Charles County to meet her family. No promises, no commitments, just a strange sort of camaraderie, respect, and (he had to admit) great sex.
    Neither had much time for the other. Or for much of anything but work. That was the price you paid, he figured, for being dedicated to what you did.
    But sometimes he wondered if what you got was worth what you were charged. He came back to being naked, dripping, holding the phone and her saying, “I was calling because the base closing commission’s going to be in Philly and I can make it an overnight. If you want.”
    â€œSure. We’re pretty busy here, but—sure! When?”
    â€œThursday. I’ll have my assistant set something up. I don’t think I want to be down near the shipyard area. That’s in South Philly, right?”
    â€œYeah—why not?”
    â€œHaven’t you heard? About the Philly Ripper?”
    â€œSorry, I haven’t been following the news.”
    â€œThey found one woman dead, and pretty badly mutilated. Another was attacked and escaped but couldn’t give much of a description.”
    â€œNo, I haven’t heard about that. I’ve had my head inside these repairs. Thursday, fine, it’ll be nice to see you. What time’ll you be in?”
    She said she wasn’t sure but would have her assistant call. She made a kissing noise and said good-bye.
    A tap at the door: Foley. The seaman stared, then coughed into a fist. “Excuse me, sir. Quarterdeck wants to know where you wanna hold the progress conference.”
    Dan grabbed for the towel. “Uh, make it in the wardroom. Call damage control central, see if they can get the word to Mr. Armey to meet me there.”
    *   *   *
    HE was on his way when shouting came from a ladderway, a clang of metal on metal. He wheeled, dropped a deck, and came off the ladder into a pushing, shouting melee.
    â€œMarsh” Mellows, the big chief master-at-arms, held two people apart at its heart. One was a livid Pakistani; the other, a snarling woman in coveralls and a yellow hard hat. “What’s going on?” Dan said as all eyes swung to him.
    â€œGot a situation, is all,” said Mellows, still holding them both, the Pakistani and the woman, well separated. He did look like Mr. Clean, just as burly but sort of friendly at the same time, with knotted curly eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev. “You don’t need to get involved in this, sir.”
    He liked Mellows—had come to depend on the chief master-at-arms’s calm efficiency, the way he seemed to know everything the crew said or even thought. Still, he didn’t like the mix of angry sailors. “Maybe I’d better.”
    The chief said reluctantly, “Seaman Usmani here. Sounds like the son of a bitch couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”
    â€œHow about it?” Dan asked