Krieger was thinking, Now’s when you say, “Do you have any idea how many sailors are under my command?”

“Do you have any idea how many sailors are under my command?” Tighe barked.

Mapes touched a button, and a screen descended to Tighe’s right. The office lights dimmed automatically. Another touch and a video began. It was a scene from the MacArthur Suite at the Manila Hotel. The video quality was excellent. Three slender Asian girls naked on a king-sized bed. Tighe naked, too, except for his admiral’s cap. The underage girls expressionless as they worked on Tighe. A girl on her knees allowing Tighe to do things to her. “Allowing” too strong a word . . .

“All right. Point taken,” Tighe said, returning to his seat. “Turn that garbage off. Fat Anthony. Yeah, I know him.”

Krieger could not get over how easily powerful men, men who should be leaders, could be led. Tighe had been altering the itineraries of the Seventh Fleet to patronize ports operated by Gatt, who then compensated Tighe in sex. Not millions of dollars and sex. Not hundreds of thousands of dollars and kilos of coke and sex. Just quality girls any creative petty officer could have secured for his commanding officer, no strings attached. The George Washington to Phuket when she should have been in Singapore. The Blue Ridge to Kota Kinabalu instead of Kuala Lumpur. Tighe moved the entire Seventh Fleet, including submarines, around the triangle that was the South China Sea all for a slice of high-end trim.

Being a man was about learning to channel one’s drives, Krieger thought. Sure, he’d done the Four Floors of Whores in his day. But he’d been young then. Business was his woman now. To spread the world’s legs and assert himself was his objective. When he needed to blow off extra steam, he didn’t whore; he picked up his rifle and hunted.

Tighe was wounded—Krieger could see that—but wounded was not enough. “I don’t judge your reasons, Admiral. Men have appetites. But when your business conflicts with mine, yours must end. And so, beginning today, you will cancel all outstanding contracts with Core F. You will control your appetites.”

“You little punk. You think you can jerk my chain?” Tighe gestured toward the screen. “A little fucking R&R. There is not a single—”

“Anthony Gatt,” Krieger interrupted, “was selling your ship movements to the Russians. To the Chinese! Don’t tell me you didn’t know. That’s treason, Admiral.”

Mapes laid a sheaf of papers in front of Tighe. “Comms between you and Gatt,” she said.