Читать книгу Damage Control - Gordon Kent, Gordon Kent - Страница 46

Admiral Pilchard banged his secure phone into its cradle and opened a desk drawer and then slammed it shut with all the force he could muster. He buzzed. “Get the flag captain in here!” he shouted.

He tried to do paperwork while he waited, but he couldn’t, and she was there in thirty seconds, anyway. When she came in, he stood up and put his fists on the desk and said, “Washington knows! I just got my ass chewed by the President’s personal political cocksucker because I didn’t inform them first about the Jefferson!” He banged a fist on the desk and took two strides away. “Not a word about the danger to the fleet—not a word about the kids who may be dead or dying—!” He swung into a vicious parody of Southern smarm. “‘Don’t you ri-uh-lahze the po-li-ti-cal potenshee-al foah damage heah?’ He’s reading me out because I didn’t call him personally so he can do political damage control!” He stared at her. “Well?”

“Well, sir—” She spread her hands. “I think we’ve got somebody who’s leaking top secret information.”