Red Tide, стр. 60
“Each guest suite is named after one of the family’s ships,” Nia explained, as she opened the door.
Ryson entered to discover that the room was beautifully furnished with a dazzling view of the bay. A white envelope with his name on it was waiting on the king-sized bed. “If you need anything dial zero and ask for me,” Nia told him.
“Thank you,” Ryson said. “I will.”
Nia withdrew and Ryson opened the envelope. The calligraphy was beautiful. “Lieutenant Commander Ryson … Please join George and Kelsey Parker at six for cocktails, followed by dinner, and entertainments. Formal dress is required.”
Ryson eyed his watch. It was nearly 5:00 PM. So there wasn’t enough time for a nap. He laid out his whites, took a long shower, and continued to towel off as he entered the bedroom. The window beckoned and there, waiting on the windowsill, was a pair of powerful binoculars. Just the thing for enjoying the view.
But Ryson had very little interest in the city. His gaze went straight to the Indonesian warships anchored in the bay. The flotilla consisted of the destroyers he’d seen earlier, plus two patrol boats, which Ryson recognized as Mandau-class missile boats circa 1977 or 78.
The boats were badly outmoded, but Ryson understood why they remained in service. With WWIII raging Indonesia needed every hull it had. And since the vessels were well armed, and could do nearly 43 knots, the boats could give a good account of themselves in a shootout with any adversary of their size.
But what Ryson found to be most interesting were the torpedo launchers mounted next to the Mandau superstructures. The tubes were in addition to a pair of missile launchers. Why?
So, they can duke it out with destroyers and frigates if necessary, Ryson decided. And do so at ranges where missiles don’t make sense. What about the Armindales? Could they be fitted with torpedo tubes? That would give us an option we don’t have now.
Ryson put the binoculars down and began the process of getting dressed. He hated parties. Especially parties thrown by VIPs for VIPs. Only the fact that Kelsey might attend prevented Ryson from descending into a bad mood.
Two Asian men, both wearing tuxedos, were in the elevator that delivered Ryson to the first floor. Servants were everywhere and one of them bowed. “Cocktails are being served in the Bay Room, sir … The door is over there.”
Ryson thanked him and followed a well-dressed couple through double doors and into a beautifully appointed lounge. The bar was an eye-catching combination of polished brass and Southeast Asian rosewood. A material so precious that poachers were stripping Thailand’s national parks of it. Did the Parkers know that? It seemed safe to assume that they did.
Ryson made his way over to the bar where he ordered a gin and tonic. “Empress 1908 if you have it please.”
“We do,” one of six bartenders answered. “With lime?”
“No. Thank you.”
The bartender smiled. “I agree.”
“I was looking for you,” a female voice said.
Ryson turned to discover Kelsey Parker standing there. Her hair was up. A large amethyst rested in the hollow of her throat. The skintight red gown fit perfectly. “You are very beautiful,” Ryson said.
“And you are very handsome,” Kelsey replied.
“We didn’t get to see each other following the rescue mission,” Ryson said. “I want to thank you. No one runs a ship aground the way you do.”
Kelsey laughed, and Ryson liked the sound of it. A voice came from behind him. “Your drink is ready, sir.”
Ryson turned to collect his drink and thank the bartender. “Follow me,” Kelsey said, as she took control of his free arm. “This is a meet and greet. So, let’s get to work.”
What followed was a seemingly endless round of introductions to people Ryson didn’t want to know, the inevitable questions about how the war was going, and complaints of wartime shortages. None of which were in evidence as waiters made the rounds carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne.
Ryson was still nursing the gin and tonic when George Parker emerged from the crowd. “There you are my dear … And who is this chap?”
“Commander Ryson, this is my father George,” Kelsey said. The men shook hands.
In spite of his perfectly tailored tux there was something elemental about George Parker. The bushy brows, the prow-like nose, and the thin lips were reminiscent of sea captains from a bygone era. And the shipping magnate’s voice was loud enough to hail the masthead lookout during a roaring typhoon. “Ryson is it?” George demanded.
“Admiral Nathan thinks very highly of you. I however, am of a different opinion, since you saw fit to send my daughter into harm’s way.”
Ryson looked at Kelsey and back to her father. “Is that what she told you, sir?”
George laughed. “I should have known! My daughter has a mind of her own. She comes by it honestly I’m afraid.”
The conversation was interrupted by the clang of a ship’s bell. “Dinner is being served,” Kelsey said. “And you’re sitting next to me.”
Ryson allowed himself to be led into a vast dining room where he wound up being seated between Kelsey and Admiral Nathan near the head of the table. “Mind the weather,” Nathan cautioned sotto voice. “You could be blown ashore.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ryson promised. “Who is the officer seated to Mr. Parker’s right?”
‘That’s General Haskell,” Nathan replied darkly. “The man who recently referred to you as ‘a sonofabitch.’”
Ryson was about to respond when George Parker stood, and began what turned out to be a long list of toasts. The first of which honored the Allied soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen killed or wounded during the attack on Okinawa, as well as the Japanese citizens who’d lost their lives as well.
That was followed by toasts to the Alliance, individual countries and