Read Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) for Free Online Page A

the hell did you say to him? He looks like he saw a ghost.”
    “Told him tonight he might get a chance to see what drowning was really like.”
    “You’re cruel.”
    “Just like to give them something to think about.”
    “You doin’ the interrogation?”
    “I’m going to ask to sit in. I don’t know who they’ve got aboard to do it. If they’ve got an Arabic speaker who knows his ass from his elbow maybe they’ll be okay.”
    “Uh-oh,” Groomer said as they stepped through the hatch into the island. Several people were obviously waiting for them, including the captain of the ship.
    “Are you Kent Rathman?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Yes. I’m Captain Larry Hogan.”
    “What can I do for you, sir?”
    “You got Duar?”
    “Yes, sir. We did.”
    “We’d like to hear the details of the operation.”
    “Yes, sir. I have to send a message to my boss first, then I’d be glad to give you all a debrief.”
    Hogan frowned. He wasn’t used to being put off. “How long will it take you to complete your message?”
    “Not more than twenty minutes, sir.”
    “Fine. Come to my wardroom when you’re done, and we can talk about it. Have some breakfast.”
    “Very well, sir.”
    “You know where it is?”
    “I’m sure I can find it, sir.”
    “Good. I’ve asked Petty Officer Brady to escort you and make sure you’re taken care of. See you at breakfast,” Hogan said, returning the way he’d come.
    Rat turned to a sailor standing nearby. “Can you direct me to the comm center?”
    “It’s kind of hard, sir. I’d be glad to escort you there.”
    “Let’s go,” Rat said.
    He and Groomer finished the message to Don Jacobs—the head of the CIA Counterterrorism Center, the CTC—in fifteen minutes. Rat noticed the sailor had not only escorted them there, he had waited for them. “You still here? You spying on us?” Rat asked, pulling his chain.
    “Not at all, sir,” the sailor said, his face reddening.
    “We’ve got to go to the captain’s wardroom. Can you get us there?”
    “Yes, sir.” He hurried out of the comm center. “Right this way.”
    They were there in less than three minutes. Brady opened the door for Rat, and he and Groomer, the only other officer on the team, stepped into the beautiful, carpeted room where the captain ate his meals and had staff meetings. It could comfortably seat twenty. There were five mess specialists in crisp white jackets serving breakfast to the officers around the table.
    As soon as Rat smelled the bacon his mouth began to water. He realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten anything since boarding the C-17 the night before. The Air Force had offered some mysterious packaged food while they were circling over the desert, but Rat had passed. He didn’t want stomach cramps as he dived out of a jet at twenty-five thousand feet.
    Rat saw the captain sitting at the head of the table. He was directly under one of the many spotlights in the overhead that gave the room its special look. His bald head reflected the spotlight like a mirror. Rat tried not to laugh.
    “Rathman! Come in!” Hogan yelled. “Sit right up here at my table. What’s the name of your other man?”
    “Ted Groome,” Rat said.
    “Both of you, sit here. You must be starving. What’ll it be? They’ll fix you anything you want.”
    Rat took a deep breath as he let his imagination run away with him. He looked at the mess specialist who waited expectantly for this oddly dressed American to decide. “Can you fix a waffle? A big, fat, Belgian waffle with maple syrup?”
    “No problem, sir. Want some bacon and scrambled eggs on the side?”
    “Absolutely,” Rat replied. “Thanks.”
    “You, sir?” he asked Groomer.
    “Same,” Groomer said.
    “Coffee?” the captain asked as he passed the silver coffeepot down the table.
    Rat nodded and extended his cup.
    Hogan spoke loudly over the din. “Attention, everyone. I’d like everyone to keep quiet, while Mr. Rathman here tells us how the