the Spy (2010) by Cussler Clive (early readers .txt) 📕

Fascinating. The man she was watching had stopped to peer through a break in the scaffolding that revealed the ship's long armor belt. Captain Falconer? How many men will crew the Michigan?

Fifty officers. Eight hundred fifty enlisted.

She uttered a thought so grim that it shadowed her face. That is a terrible number of sailors in one small space if the worst happens and the ship sinks.

Modern warships are armored coffins, Falconer answered far more bluntly than he would with a civilian, but their conversations last night had established an easy trust between them and left him in no doubt of her superior intelligence. I saw Russians drown by the thousands fighting the Japs in the Tsushima Strait. Battleships went down in minutes. All but the spotters in the fighting tops and a few men on the bridge were trapped belowdecks.

Can I assume that our goal is to build warships that will sink slowly and give men time to get off?

The goal for battleships is to keep fighting. That means protecting men, machinery, and guns within a citadel of armor while keeping the ship afloat. The sailors who win stay alive.

So today is a happy day, launching such a modern ship.

Captain Falconer glowered at Marion under his heavy eyebrows. Between you and me, miss, thanks to Congress limiting her to 16,000 tons, Michigan has eight feet less freeboard aft then the old Connecticut. She'll be wetter than a whale, and if she ever makes eighteen knots in heavy seas, I'll eat my hat.

Obsolete before she is even launched?

Doomed to escort slow conveys. But if she ever tangles with a real dreadnought, it better be in calm waters. Hell! he snorted. We should anchor her in San Francisco Bay to greet the Japanese.

A petite girl wearing a very expensive hat secured to her red hair with Taft-for-President Possum Billy hatpins stepped up. Excuse me, Captain Falconer. I'm sure you don't remember me, but I had a wonderful time at a picnic on your yacht.

Falconer seized the hand that she had offered tentatively. I remember you indeed, Miss Dee, he grinned. Had the sun not shone on our clambake, your smile would have made up for it. Marion, this young lady is Miss Katherine Dee. Katherine, say hello to my very good friend Marion Morgan.

Katherine Dee's big blue eyes got bigger. Are you the moving-picture director? she asked breathlessly.

Yes, I am.

I love Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight! I've seen it four times already.

Well, thank you very much.

Do you ever act in your movies?

Marion laughed. Good Lord, no!

Why not? Captain Falconer interrupted. You're a good-looking woman.

Thank you, Captain, Marion said, casting a quick smile at Katherine Dee. But good looks don't necessary show up on film. The camera has its own standards. It prefers certain kinds of features. Like Katherine Dee's, she thought to herself. For some magical reason the lens and the light tended to favor Katherine's type, with her petite figure, large head, and big eyes.

Almost as if she could read her mind, Katherine said, Oh, I wish I could see a movie being made.

Marion Morgan took a closer look at the girl. She seemed physically strong for one so petite. Strangely so. In fact, behind Katherine's breathless, little-girl manner, Marion sensed something slightly peculiar. But didn't the camera also often transform peculiarities into characteristics that charmed the movie audience? She was tempted to confirm whether this girl indeed had qualities the camera would love, and an invitation was on the tip of her tongue. But there was something about her that made Marion uncomfortable.

Beside her, Marion felt Lowell Falconer plumping up again as he did whenever he saw a pretty girl. The woman approaching was the tall brunette who had been making eyes at Isaac earlier.

Lowell stepped forward and extended his hand.

Marion thought that Dorothy Langner was even more striking than the descriptions she had heard. She thought of a term uttered by her long-widowed father now that he was finally stepping out in late middle age: A looker.

Dorothy, I am so glad you came, said Falconer. Your father would be very proud to see you here.

I'm proud to see his guns. Already mounted. This is a splendid shipyard. You remember Ted Whitmark?

Of course, said Falconer, shaking Whitmark's hand. I imagine you'll be a busy fellow when the fleet replenishes at San Francisco. Dorothy, may I present Miss Marion Morgan?

Marion was aware of being carefully measured as they traded hellos.

And of course you know Katherine, Falconer concluded the introductions.

We came up together on the train, said Whitmark. I hired a private car.

Marion said, Excuse me, Captain Falconer, I see a gentleman Isaac asked me to meet. Nice to meet you, Miss Langner, Mr. Whitmark, Miss Dee.

THE POUNDING OF THE WEDGES suddenly stopped. The ship was fully on her cradle. Isaac Bell headed to the stairs for a final look below.

Dorothy Langner intercepted him at the top of the stairs. Mr. Bell, I was hoping to see you.

She extended her gloved hand, and Bell it took it politely. How are you, Miss Langner?

Much better since our conversation. Vindicating my father won't bring him back, but it is a comfort, and I am very grateful to you.

I am hoping that soon we will have definitive proof, but, as I said, I personally have no doubt that your father was murdered, and we will bring his killer to justice.

Whom do you suspect?

No one I am prepared to discuss. Mr. Van Dorn will keep you appraised.

Isaac-may I call you Isaac?

All right, if you want.

There is something I told you once. I would like to make it clear.

If it's about Mr. Whitmark, Bell smiled, be aware he's headed this way.

I will repeat, she said quietly. I am not rushing into anything. And he is leaving for San Francisco.

It struck Bell that a key difference between Marion and Dorothy was how they regarded men. Dorothy wondered whether she could add one to her list of conquests. Whereas Marion Morgan had no doubt she could conquer