The Cruiser: A Dan Lenson Novel Read Free Page A

long struggle with the Parthians … who seemed to be related, in some way not quite clear, to the Pathans or Pashtuns he, Dan, had fought in Afghanistan. The Persians seemed to be involved too, but later in the story.
    Eventually, trying his cell every few pages, he managed to get through to Blair. His wife sounded depressed. She’d been fighting the blues for a long time now, after being injured in the Twin Towers collapse. She’d gone through bone infection, burn problems, and trouble with the autografts to her face and ear. “How’s it going, honey?” he said. “It’s me.”
    “I know. But why’s your voice so raspy?”
    He debated telling her about the firebombing, but decided that would serve no good purpose. His skin still itched where the corpsman had applied an antibiotic ointment. He shivered. After getting badly burned on Reynolds Ryan, and so narrowly escaping from the Pentagon on 9/11, he was really starting to fear fire. “I don’t know. Do I sound different?”
    “Maybe not. Where are you now? Italy?”
    “Correct. Naples.”
    “I’m sitting here watching them start another TV war. Are you aboard your ship? Savo Island , you said?”
    “No, I’m at the Navy Lodge. I can’t take over until they relieve the previous CO.”
    “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
    He lay on the bed, BlackBerry pressed to his ear. The news was on the television, an Italian channel, sound muted, but a long shot panned the length of a beached and helpless warship, lingered on the U.S. flag, then pulled back to show the harbor. A commentator spoke in the foreground, ending with a smirk and a shake of the head. Dan closed his eyes. “So, how’s the ear?”
    “Looks horrible, but the swelling’s going down.”
    “And the fund-raising?”
    “I feel infected after every meeting. But Checkie says it’s got to be done. He’s been a big help. He advises me before every sit-down.”
    “That’s good, hon. But I can’t believe you need much hand-holding.” Checkie Titus was her father, a retired banker. Blair was from one of the oldest families in Maryland, and a former undersecretary of defense. Dan didn’t think she’d actually have much trouble raising enough cash to run for Congress, though he wasn’t sure he wanted her to win. That, of course, had to go unvoiced. Like maybe a lot of things between husbands and wives.
    “I wish you didn’t have to deploy again.”
    “I wish I could be in two places, hon. How about this. Maybe you can take a break and fly over. How’s Crete sound? The ruins of Minos. Or maybe Athens?”
    “I’ve been to Athens, but Crete … hmm. That’d be new.” Her voice changed, gained what sounded like anticipation. “Can you let me know your schedule?”
    “Not sure just yet. And I couldn’t tell you over the phone anyway. I’ll give you the name of the port-calls guy at Surflant.”
    When he hung up he lay watching the muted images flicker shifting shadows on the ceiling of the darkened cavelike room. He hadn’t seen his daughter in nearly a year. Wouldn’t see his wife for months. Neither would any of the others aboard the ship he might shortly call his own.
    Why did they do it? When they could all make more money ashore? Be with their families. Have actual lives. Instead, they were part of a crew.
    Part of a crew.
    Yeah.
    Maybe that was explanation enough.

2
     
    THE next morning Mills took him to the Spina, a bricked courtyard with a Subway, a Navy Federal Credit Union office, and a Navy College storefront. Admin Two’s long, wide, light-filled corridors smelled of cappuccino. They were floored with glossy white callacatta veined with writhes of cinnabar. The slick hard marble felt strange underfoot; he was used to buffed tile or terrazzo.
    Across a desk, a woman who’d always made him nervous was giving orders over her cell. They’d shaken hands when he came in, her small palm slightly sweaty; then her phone had chimed. Intense, skeptical Jennifer Roald, a