Warriors Read Online Free PDF Page B

that what I just said?”
    An ashen-faced aide made a throat-cutting motion, and the monitors all went black at once.
    “That’s better, isn’t it?” McCloskey said, propping his polished cowboy boots on an empty chair and firing up a Marlboro.
    No one said a word.
    “It’s a bitch, ain’t it?” the president said to no one in particular. “Four of our boys dead. The goddamn NKs in possession of one of our CIA shit-buckets chock-full of classified information. Damn it to hell. Somebody give me a good reason not to turn North Korea into a goddamn NK-Mart parking lot. China, too, if they dick around with our navy anymore. I’m serious. I’ll tell you all one thing. I’d like to know what Admiral Wainwright has to say about all this. Tony? What the hell am I going to do now?”
    A palpable pall of shocked silence hung over the room.
    “Tony?” the president repeated, swiveling around, searching all the faces in the room.
    Finally, someone had the guts to speak up. Secretary of State Kim Case, which surprised no one.
    “Mr. President?” the slim, attractive blonde said.
    “Yeah, Kim, what is it?”
    “Admiral Wainwright is dead, sir. He died in the terrorist attack on the Dreadnought in Tripoli last May.”
    The president was very quiet for a long time before he looked up, staring at the secretary, his face a stone mask.
    “I know that, Kim. What I said was, I’d like to know what he thought. And I would like to know that, I really would. But he’s dead. Isn’t he?”
    “Yes, Mr. President. He is.”
    A stunned silence descended.
    No one said a word. What more was there to say?
    Emily Young, the president’s lovely young personal secretary, could be heard sobbing quietly in dark corner of the room. Emily didn’t think she could take much more of this. She loved the old cowboy. Actually was in love with him. It killed her to see the boss like this, a wounded stag. And all of them, the press, with their goddamn knives out . . . and, like a mule in a hailstorm, he just had to stand there and take it.
    She heard the president say, “Emily, for crissakes, will you stop bawling? What the hell is wrong with everybody?”
    There was no answer.
    The president stood, looked around at all the upturned faces, and said, “Well, thank you everyone. We’ll reconvene in one hour.”
    After they filed out, he sat back down again, gazing absently into the middle distance, smoking his Marlboro down to a bright orange coal. He’d never felt so lost and alone in his life.
    THE WHITE HOUSE SOUS-CHEF LOOKED beat.
    It was almost midnight on a Friday night and, for Chef Tommy Chow, it had already been a very long week. First thing Monday morning, Matt Lauer and the whole damn Today show crew had shown up early for a live broadcast and wanted breakfast. Then the lavish state dinner for the prime minister of England, the Rose Garden luncheon the First Lady held annually for the Daughters of the American Revolution, and on and on, no rest for the weary.
    And now he’d gotten a last-minute call from the ranking West Wing staffer saying the president had invited a few of his closest cabinet members for an impromptu breakfast in the morning. Talk about China and North Korea, Tommy imagined. Hell, that’s all they ever talked about lately.
    “Go home, Tommy,” one of his guys said. “You look exhausted. We can finish the prep by ourselves.”
    “No. I insist. You guys head out. I promised the boss man I’d take care of this breakfast thing and I’m going to do it. Seriously, get the hell out of here and go home to your families, okay? I got no family. Not here in Washington anyway. Leave the graveyard shift to me. Okay?”
    “You got it, boss. Have it your way,” the pastry chef said, and they all bolted for the exits.
    Chow waited until the last one had left before he began prepping tomorrow’s cabinet breakfast. Huevos rancheros, the presidential favorite, home fries, frijoles refritos with melted Monterey Jack,