Read Online The Gulf by David Poyer - Free Book Online

Israel, the Purchasing Commission trip. The ridges and blasted flats of the Sinai, the crump and flare of shells against the hush-hush explosive armor of the new Merkava tank. This time, it was the outskirts of a city. In the distance, vibrating like a wine hangover, she could make out white buildings and spires. Beyond that was a clear and tremulous blue. She stared out at it, wondering whether she absolutely had to spend the afternoon on the second floor of the local Navy headquarters. She’d brought the new swimsuit, just on the off chance …
    Then she curbed her mind. She was here on business. A whirlwind tour, Bankey had said. Check it out and tell me what to do about this mess. Be back next week. No, that didn’t sound as if she had time for the beach.
    â€œThere he is,” squeaked the lieutenant, sounding relieved. She dropped her eyes. A dusty-looking military sedan was edging through the concrete barriers at the gate. As she watched, Marines surrounded it, rifles at the ready. One circled it, inspecting the chassis with a mirror. They’d done that to Trudell’s car, too. Then they fell back, snapping up their hands in salute as the Reliant rolled into the compound, the blue starred flags stirring flaccidly in the hot, still air.
    A few minutes later, Hart was pressing her hand. He smelled of sweat and oil. “Good afternoon, Ms. Titus, and welcome. Sorry I’m late. Did you have a good flight?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow’s Bankey? I met him two years ago when I was at the Joint Chiefs. Fine man, very impressive grasp of naval matters.”
    Said with the proper condescension of a military man toward a politician, Blair thought. “The Senator’s well,” she said.
    â€œHis health holding up? You know what you hear—”
    â€œI wouldn’t know what you hear, Admiral,” she said. She never discussed Talmadge’s drinking, nor did she stay around when it got out of hand. “He’s busy, as usual, but doing well.”
    â€œHow long have you been with him?”
    â€œThree years.”
    â€œWell, again, sorry I was delayed … damn, we have got to get this air conditioning fixed. Jim, you should have taken her down to the exchange. You know we have a perfume shop right here in the building? There’s a company in town makes concentrated perfumes, essences they call them, smells like any brand you want—”
    â€œAdmiral Hart.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI’m not here to shop,” she said coldly. “My time is limited and there’s a great deal I have to see. Could we start the brief, please?”
    Hart looked blank for just a moment, then turned to the lieutenant. “Get the guys in here. Top staff only. Let’s get moving; Ms. Titus doesn’t have much time.”
    *   *   *
    The briefing officer was a dark-complexioned colonel—no, Navy ranks, she corrected herself, captain—in beautifully tailored khakis. When the last of the staff were in the room, he asked for a closed door. The blinds came down, and Blair settled in in front. She crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and took a Sony out of her briefcase. A woman with a notebook equaled a stenographer. And a recorder allowed her to give full attention to what was being said—or, usually more important, was being left out.
    â€œGood afternoon, Miss Titus, Admiral Hart, gentlemen. I’m Captain Jack Byrne. This will be a high-level brief on the situation in the Gulf today. Its classification is secret.” He looked at the recorder, and at Hart; the admiral winked. Byrne cleared his throat and asked for the first slide.
    â€œSixty percent of the world’s oil reserves lie on the shores of the Persian Gulf—or, as we call it now, the Arabian Gulf. Very little is consumed here. Most of it goes out by tanker through the Strait of Hormuz to the U.S., Western Europe, and Japan. Our naval and air