Mission Liberty Read Online Free PDF Page B

the last minute, a half dozen civilians entered the room. DeLuca recognized two, one a senator from California, the other
     a representative from Florida. The others were either congressmen he didn’t recognize or their aides—it was, no doubt, a fact-finding
     commission of some sort. DeLuca wondered what part he was going to play in the dog and pony show.
    “Gentlemen,” the
LBJ
’s captain said, a man named McKinley who DeLuca had been told was a distant relation to the former President McKinley. “If
     we could all be seated, we’ll get started. As your host, please let me know if there’s anything I can get you. There are drinks
     and light snacks in the captain’s mess afterward for anybody who’s still hungry, and I apologize for the late hour, but we
     wanted to wait until Ambassador Ellis could attend. Mr. Ambassador, welcome aboard.”
    “Captain,” the ambassador said.
    The table was large, oval, made of teak, with a glass of water, a black three-ring binder containing a report, and a notepad
     and pen at each position. The carrier’s captain stood in front of a seventy-two-inch plasma screen, mounted on the wall behind
     him, and on it, a map of Liger, divided into three sections. He also had a laptop on the table in front of him.
    “We’ve got some special visitors who I’d like to introduce first, and then I’ll let General Kissick introduce the others.
     We have with us tonight, just flown in from Washington, Senators Todd and Morelli, Representatives Lacey, Stephens, and Hokum,
     and their aides.”
    Each member of the delegation nodded when Captain McKinley said his or her name. DeLuca shot LeDoux a look, but LeDoux didn’t
     respond.
    “They’re here to find out the latest intel regarding Operation Liberty and to get a sense of our preparedness,” McKinley said.
     “We welcome you, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard. Please let me know personally if there’s anything I can do to make
     you comfortable. Now I’ll turn the floor over to General Kissick. He’ll get you up to speed.”
    The Marine general, wearing his DCUs, was a slender man with close-cropped hair and a voice that sounded more like a high
     school math teacher than a more typical boo-ya Semper Fi jarhead—he sounded more like an accountant than what DeLuca expected
     a Marine general to sound like.
    “I know some of you have already been fully briefed but some haven’t,” Kissick said, “so those who have been, bear with me,
     and the rest of you are going to have to drink from the fire hose on this. Most of the names and facts I’m going to give you
     are in the report in front of you. Those of you freshly arrived from Washington have no doubt been reading the newspapers
     as well as the official briefings. My name is General John Kissick, United States Marines. Why don’t we go around the table
     and introduce ourselves.”
    “Admiral Donovan Webster, Sixth Carrier Group, Task Force 32,” the man to Kissick’s immediate right said. He was about fifty,
     with fair hair and a default facial expression that stopped just short of a smirk. “We’re here to provide close air and missile
     support.”
    “Rear Admiral Stanley Pulaski, Task Group 32.5,” the next man said. He was smaller in stature than Webster and a few years
     older, balding, with round wire-rimmed glasses and bushy eyebrows that made him look a bit like a troll. “We’re here to put
     the Marines on the beach, or wherever they need to go. I believe we have a number of Army Rangers who are going to need taxis,
     too.”
    “Captain Henry Long, with the
Cowper,
” the next man said. He looked as if he was barely out of his twenties, clean-shaven to the point that DeLuca wondered if
     he could grow a beard if he tried.
    “Captain Alan Gates, with the
Glover,
” said the man next to him, early forties, handsome, good posture, hair beginning to gray above the ears.
    “Wes Chandler, CIA station chief for Liger,” the next man said. Chandler