By the time she had reached the phone, her older boy was there too, trying to pry the phone out of his brother's hands. Fay ended the fight by taking the phone and sending them back to their room. They marched off, protesting, and closed the door behind them. Fay sat before she put the receiver to her ear and answered with a simple "Yes?"
Holding the receiver pressed against one ear, and with his free hand covering his other ear in an effort to block out the noise of the war room, Dixon answered. "Fay, listen. I don't have much time and I can't explain everything to you, but you need to get yourself and the boys over to the embassy immediately—"
Fay cut in, asking why.
"Fay, they're going to announce the evacuation of all Americans from Egypt, probably within the hour. Once they do, it'll be a madhouse there."
Again Fay interrupted, asking why now, when the threat to Americans was winding down.
Dixon was losing his temper. He managed, however, to control himself. He knew Fay would be one of the wives who would resist. As he collected his thoughts, he looked up. An intelligence major who worked across from Dixon was staring at him with a look of horror on his face. No doubt the major thought he was giving away state secrets. Ignoring him, Dixon told Fay about the Russian intervention and their chemical attacks that morning. Dixon looked back up at the major. His mouth hung open in shock. Dixon was pleased with himself. He enjoyed getting a rise of the intel weenies.
On the other end of the line, Fay was silent. Dixon asked if she was still there. When she answered, he came on strong, telling her in no uncertain terms that she had to get herself and the children out of Egypt, now. Fay didn't respond. As he waited for her to do so, Sergeant Major London tapped him on his shoulder. Dixon pulled the receiver from his ear. "Colonel, the people are ready in the conference room."
Dixon told London that he'd be right there, then put the receiver back to his ear. "Fay, you still there?"
"Yes, Scott, I'm here."
"Listen, Fay, I have to go. And so do you. Leave everything. You know the drill. One blanket for each of you, enough food for three meals, and some warm clothes. That's it. Leave everything else. Do you understand?"
Fay sat there silently. It was really happening. She looked around the small apartment, lost in thought.
"Fay, did you hear me? Get going — now!" She didn't answer. Slowly she put the receiver back on its cradle. Folding her arms tightly across her chest, she sat there for a moment, looking at the floor. Then it struck her: Jan might not know. Grabbing the phone, she dialed Jan's number, letting it ring until Jan, in a groggy voice, answered. Excited, Fay blurted out the news to her friend and boss. "Jan, the Russians have intervened!"
Disgusted, Dixon slammed the receiver down. The intelligence major was still staring at him, a stem look on his face. "Colonel, do you know what you have just done?"
Dixon, lost in his thoughts, looked at the major. "Excuse me?" The major repeated the question. "Colonel, I said, do you know what you just did?"
Dixon didn't understand. He just stared at the major with a quizzical look.
Seeing that Dixon did not understand the gravity of his offense, the major explained. "Sir, you just passed classified information over an unsecured phone."
Dixon looked at the major, shook his head. "Huh? What classified information?"
In a self-righteous tone the major pointed out that Dixon had mentioned that the Soviets had intervened and used chemical weapons. The phone, he said, might be tapped.
Dixon's quizzical look turned to one of disgust. "For chrissakes, Major. Don't you think the Russians know what they're doing? Who the hell do you think gave the order to use chemical weapons?"
Pushing his way through the crowd gathered about the map board, Neboatov tried to steady the cup of tea he was bringing to the general.
He wasn't succeeding. Half of it already had spilled over his hand and down his tunic. The operations center was a madhouse, far worse than it had been the night before. It seemed to Neboatov that every Soviet officer in Africa was in the operations center, using a phone or carrying on a conversation. Only around the map, where General Uvarov stood, was there any semblance of calm. Finally reaching his general, Neboatov reached his hand with the cup of tea around in front of Uvarov.
Uvarov took the cup without looking or saying anything. His eyes and his mind were riveted to the map board. The front chemical officer, alternating with an intelligence officer, was bringing the general up to date on what he knew of the situation. It wasn't very much, or very good, for either the Egyptians or the Soviet forces. The only information the staff had at front headquarters had been obtained from its own intelligence sources. Most of that had been gleaned from monitoring both Egyptian and Libyan radio nets.
Nothing, to date, had been provided by the Libyan high command. There had been, in fact, no communications with Colonel Nafissi's headquarters all morning. Uvarov's chief of staff explained that when they could not reach their own liaison officer at Nafissi's headquarters outside of Tobruk, he had dispatched another officer in a helicopter. As the helicopter with the new liaison officer approached, it was warned to stay away. The voice on the radio claimed that the area around the headquarters was contaminated. As the liaison officer had no way of telling, and since there was no chemical detection kit on board, he turned back.
The chief of staff, hearing this, sent a second helicopter before the first had even returned. It had a chemical survey and monitoring team on board. As it approached Nafissi's headquarters, it too was warned to stay away. The officer in charge got on the radio and explained that he had a chemical team on board and was there to help. The Libyans responded that they did not need any help, that the situation was in hand. When the officer in charge ordered the helicopter to continue and insisted that he be allowed to land to evacuate Soviet personnel from the bunker, warning shots were fired at the helicopter. Not knowing what to do, the second helicopter returned without accomplishing its mission.
Uvarov was convinced that Nafissi's headquarters had not been attacked. He was equally convinced that the Soviet government had been duped into intervening. But neither STAVKA nor the Politburo understood that yet. Uvarov's personal appeal to halt further advances by Soviet units had been denied: no such order, STAVKA stated, could be given until the situation had been clarified. As they listened to the briefing, the only thing that Uvarov and his staff were sure of was that outside of the Soviet and Cuban units assigned to the North African Front, they had no idea what was going on.
For a moment Uvarov's mind wandered off. The situation he and his command faced was appalling. The allied army he was supposed to be supporting was refusing to communicate with him. In fact, there was the real possibility that the Russian personnel attached to that headquarters for that purpose were being held hostage, or worse. That same allied army had without any warning initiated chemical warfare, a decision that only the Politburo in the Soviet Union could make. Even worse, the chemical attacks had been timed and located in such a manner that the connection between them and the Soviet attack could not be helped. It seemed, to Uvarov, as if the Libyans were intentionally setting the Soviets up. But for what? And why? And if so, what next?
He had no answers to anything. Instead, he imagined himself to be a man tied to a railroad track, watching a locomotive thundering down on him. He could see it coming, and he knew what would happen when it reached him, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Sooner or later it would crash into him — and when it did, there would only be darkness.