Tipping Point: The War With China - the First Salvo (Dan Lenson Novels) Read Online Free PDF Page A

painting him as an individual rogue. Which, God knew, anybody who wanted to could dig up more than enough evidence for. “Seriously. And, can I ask: this general’s retired? Who’s picking up the tab? For the prep session?”
    “The general’s donating his time,” the admiral said. “I didn’t say this, but apparently he’s a friend of your wife.”
    “Fantastic,” Dan said. Torn between relief and resentment. If it wasn’t Niles, it was Blair. Didn’t anyone think he could fight his own battles?
    “We’re not against you,” Shulman murmured. “But there’ll be some heat generated over this. If we have to sacrifice a burnt offering, to keep the mission…”
    ”Say no more.” Dan eyed the frosted buns again, and at last gave in. Pineapple. Not bad. “I’ve had a good career. If I have to go out because I saved some civilians, I have no heartburn over that.”
    “Let’s hope it won’t come to that.” The admiral coughed into his fist, and stood.
    Dan did too, a little confused. “We done, sir?”
    “I think we are. Good luck. Oh, and one more thing.” Rongstad reached inside his double-breasted blouse and extended a white envelope. “This request came in. The SecNav was going to preside, but he’s going to China as part of a high-level party. The family had asked for you, but you were deployed. It’s short notice, but we can provide transportation and a draft speech.”
    Dan nodded slowly, looking at the schedule of events. “‘Naming Ceremony, USS Cobie Kasson. ’ I’d be … deeply honored to preside.”
    *   *   *
    BRIGHT and fair, the day was warm as they strolled down Pier 7, Destroyer-Submarine Piers, Norfolk Operating Base, between towering gray ships toward the last one, outboard. An Arleigh Burke–class destroyer, she lay lower and wider than Savo Island . A band was playing “Anchors Aweigh.” Dan was in dress whites, white cap cover, white shoes, the uniform that made Navymen look like ice cream salesmen. Beside him, Blair strode along in low heels and a cotton summer dress, elegant but self-contained. She’d seemed torn about today, but had at last said yes, she would accompany him.
    The previous evening had not been pleasant. A continuing cold misunderstanding that left them injuring each other with small jabs. Overcome by remorse, hoping for some reconciliation, even if only physical, he’d reached for her in bed, but she’d pushed his arm away.
    An official car had picked them up at dawn, complete with a lieutenant commander public affairs type as escort. It had whisked them to the helo pad at the Pentagon, and forty minutes later he was looking down at the silvery glow of Willoughby Bay.
    Horn still lay across the Elizabeth River, surrounded by barbed wire. She didn’t exactly glow in the dark, but remaining aboard her for any length of time still fogged radioactivity badges. He’d written Kasson up for the Congressional, but it had been downgraded to the Navy Cross.
    The ship-naming process was hermetic and unfathomable, run not out of the CNO’s office but the SecNav’s. Once it had been straightforward—submarines named for fish, cruisers for cities, battleships for states. Now submarines were named for almost anything—states, presidents, admirals, politicians who gave the Navy money. The surface force, though, had maintained its standards. With one or two exceptions, destroyers and frigates were still named after Navy and Marine heroes. And in this case, one who’d served under him. Not that he’d known her well, but she’d been in his crew.
    Their escort introduced him to the rest of the official party, gathering under a blue awning a few yards from the raised platform where the ceremony would take place. Standing apart were two short women with a family resemblance. After a second, he recalled why they looked familiar, though he’d never met them before.
    “You must be Captain Lenson.” The sixtyish woman had a deep Louisiana accent. A very thin