managed, “Sir.” He’d used up all his daring and bravado for one night, making two unauthorized calls on the private line to the right-hand man of the President of the United States.
“Follow me,” said the Admiral, to anyone who might be listening, which included the two Secret Service agents who were with him at all times, four White House agents, and Jimmy. And, line astern, they set off in the wake of the Admiral, who never walked; he kind of pounded along the carpet, chin out, shoulders back, dead upright. If a regular wall had suddenly appeared in front of him, he would have crashed right through it, like a Disney cartoon, leaving just the outline of his silhouette. He conducted the business of the United States of America along very similar lines.
At the big wooden door to his office he came to a halt, and his commands were sharp…. “Get me a competent secretary to sit in Mrs. O’Brien’s chair right now. Tell someone to bring us coffee…. You hungry, Jimmy?”
“Yessir.”
“Chicken sandwiches for the Lieutenant…and make sure someone’s attending to my phone exclusively at all times…Aside from that, my regular agents take up positions right here…and have the hot line to the President on high alert…I may have to speak to him in a major hurry.”
Everyone nodded. Admiral Morgan glared; turning to one of his regular agents, he barked, “No bullshit, right, Bobby?”
Bobby snapped to attention. “No bullshit. Sir, nossir.”
It was a well-practiced routine, and everyone laughed.
“Okay, gentlemen, that’s it. Lieutenant, let’s get to work…and tell ’em to hurry up with the coffee in case we both fall asleep.”
Inside the office, Jimmy spread his chart out on the Admiral’s big desk. Arnold Morgan stared hard as the key spots were pointed out to him…the missiles, the Global Bronco , the stricken VLCC, currently pumping oil into the strait.
“Okay, Lieutenant, first things first. I want to know what the master of that ship actually saw. I guess if they slammed into a mine…What was it, a contact PLT-3 from Russia?”
“That was what the Chinese ordered, sir. So I’m assuming that.”
“So’m I. Well, they make a pretty big bang in the water. The Captain must have heard something.”
“I agree, sir. But the guy I spoke to in the Omani public affairs office was giving nothing away. It took me all my time to get him to tell me where the ship was.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I may have to kick a little ass. Hard. Do we know the name or the nationality of the ship?”
“Nossir.”
“Okay. Well, the news guys will have that very soon. Meantime I’m gonna get the Royal Navy in London to do our work. The Brits are well in with the Omanis, havebeen for years. Just about every warship they own is British.”
He picked up the telephone and ordered the new secretary, “Get me Admiral Sir Richard Birley on the line in Northwood, England. The numbers are in my big blue book, top right-hand drawer…. He’ll be at home, right near the base. He’s head of the Royal Navy’s submarine service.”
Less than two minutes later, the Admiral’s old friend from London was on the line. The two men exchanged greetings, and the English submarine chief instantly agreed to have someone call the Omanis and find out precisely what was going on, who owned the ship and what the Captain had to say.
“I’ll be back inside the hour, Arnie…. By the way, may I ask why you’re treating this so urgently?”
“Not right now you can’t.”
“Well, you always have to wonder in those waters, hmmmm ?”
“You always have to wonder. Talk to you later, Dick.”
The Admiral turned back to Jimmy Ramshawe, and he said quietly, “Lieutenant, I want you to listen very carefully. Only two people in this country believe the Iranians and the Chinese may have put a minefield across the strait. That’s you and I.
“We may be wrong. But I think not. Your straight line on that chart is just
“Follow me,” said the Admiral, to anyone who might be listening, which included the two Secret Service agents who were with him at all times, four White House agents, and Jimmy. And, line astern, they set off in the wake of the Admiral, who never walked; he kind of pounded along the carpet, chin out, shoulders back, dead upright. If a regular wall had suddenly appeared in front of him, he would have crashed right through it, like a Disney cartoon, leaving just the outline of his silhouette. He conducted the business of the United States of America along very similar lines.
At the big wooden door to his office he came to a halt, and his commands were sharp…. “Get me a competent secretary to sit in Mrs. O’Brien’s chair right now. Tell someone to bring us coffee…. You hungry, Jimmy?”
“Yessir.”
“Chicken sandwiches for the Lieutenant…and make sure someone’s attending to my phone exclusively at all times…Aside from that, my regular agents take up positions right here…and have the hot line to the President on high alert…I may have to speak to him in a major hurry.”
Everyone nodded. Admiral Morgan glared; turning to one of his regular agents, he barked, “No bullshit, right, Bobby?”
Bobby snapped to attention. “No bullshit. Sir, nossir.”
It was a well-practiced routine, and everyone laughed.
“Okay, gentlemen, that’s it. Lieutenant, let’s get to work…and tell ’em to hurry up with the coffee in case we both fall asleep.”
Inside the office, Jimmy spread his chart out on the Admiral’s big desk. Arnold Morgan stared hard as the key spots were pointed out to him…the missiles, the Global Bronco , the stricken VLCC, currently pumping oil into the strait.
“Okay, Lieutenant, first things first. I want to know what the master of that ship actually saw. I guess if they slammed into a mine…What was it, a contact PLT-3 from Russia?”
“That was what the Chinese ordered, sir. So I’m assuming that.”
“So’m I. Well, they make a pretty big bang in the water. The Captain must have heard something.”
“I agree, sir. But the guy I spoke to in the Omani public affairs office was giving nothing away. It took me all my time to get him to tell me where the ship was.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I may have to kick a little ass. Hard. Do we know the name or the nationality of the ship?”
“Nossir.”
“Okay. Well, the news guys will have that very soon. Meantime I’m gonna get the Royal Navy in London to do our work. The Brits are well in with the Omanis, havebeen for years. Just about every warship they own is British.”
He picked up the telephone and ordered the new secretary, “Get me Admiral Sir Richard Birley on the line in Northwood, England. The numbers are in my big blue book, top right-hand drawer…. He’ll be at home, right near the base. He’s head of the Royal Navy’s submarine service.”
Less than two minutes later, the Admiral’s old friend from London was on the line. The two men exchanged greetings, and the English submarine chief instantly agreed to have someone call the Omanis and find out precisely what was going on, who owned the ship and what the Captain had to say.
“I’ll be back inside the hour, Arnie…. By the way, may I ask why you’re treating this so urgently?”
“Not right now you can’t.”
“Well, you always have to wonder in those waters, hmmmm ?”
“You always have to wonder. Talk to you later, Dick.”
The Admiral turned back to Jimmy Ramshawe, and he said quietly, “Lieutenant, I want you to listen very carefully. Only two people in this country believe the Iranians and the Chinese may have put a minefield across the strait. That’s you and I.
“We may be wrong. But I think not. Your straight line on that chart is just
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