Colonel Robert Hightower lost no time in accosting Fretello. Even before the major had an opportunity to lay his notebook on the long, well-polished table, the group commander started speaking. "Major, do you have any of your notes from that little jaunt you took to Washington last month?"
Ignoring the fact that Colonel Hightower spit out the word "Major" as if it were an annoying bone that had been caught in his throat, Fretello found himself trying to make a connection between the subject of the war game in which he had participated at the Pentagon and the coming disaster. It took him a moment to appreciate the fact that the Russian early warning system might not be able to recognize the impact of an asteroid, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the man-made nuclear horror. Shaking his head, as if clearing a child's play slate, the planning officer looked his commander in the eye. "As is their custom, sir, the staff of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Special Operations retained all my notes and briefing papers. I was also required to sign a statement that I would not discuss the subject of that exercise with anyone who had not been involved in it."
Having expected this from his high-strung subordinate, Hightower picked up a paper and flung it across the table toward him. "Here's your authorization. Now take a seat and tell us everything you know. And remember, Major," he added, "the clock is ticking."
In the time it took him to take his seat, Fretello had managed to merge what he knew about the pending disaster and the mission he guessed he was about to be tasked to plan for. Without waiting, he began to push for more information. "What does that give us? Two days to prepare, coordinate, and war-game an operational plan?"
Hightower's eyes narrowed. "Wrong, mister. As of noon today, we have twelve hours to be wheels-up and headed for our overseas staging areas. So how about we gel down to the issue al hand."
As much as Patrick Hogg wished he could duck into another room while taking the call from Thomas Shields, he was trapped. With his wife glaring at him from across the small London hotel room. Hogg turned his back on her and did his best to speak as softly as he could. "But sir," he pleaded. "I did leave an address and phone number with the duty officer before I signed out."
Hogg could almost see on the other end of the line the pinched expression on his commanding officer's lace as he fumed. "Yes, yes. I'm sure you did. But right now, 1 don't have time to sort out how this got messed up. Nor have I time to go into any specific details as to what we've been ordered to do. The bottom line is that I need you here, right now, no questions asked."
Hogg paused as he tried to figure out which option would be best-suited for this sudden and unexpected recalclass="underline" train or plane? When he had decided that catching a flight would probably be the faster way out of London, he announced this decision to Shields, followed quickly by the caveat that it would take some time to make the arrangements.
"Don't bother," Shields snapped. "As we speak, the sergeant major is on the line to MoD there in London. The arrangements to get you back here will be handled by them, including a lift to the airport. Just make sure, Captain, that you're standing in front of your hotel, ready to go, in ten minutes."
Though Hogg knew better, he had to ask about his wife. "Sir. what about Jenny? She's here with me," he. Whispered.
Already flustered by the complexity of the mission he had been given, and the ludicrously short lime in which to prepare for it.
Shields snapped, "Patrick! Jenny's a big girl. Neither you nor I have time to tend to such trivial concerns, not when we have been handed the mother of all nightmare scenarios and not near enough time to prepare for it. Now, get down to the street and back here. Understood?"
Realizing that the situation had to be critical, for Shields seldom lost his temper over anything, Patrick Hogg murmured a quick, "Yes, sir," and hung up.
For several long seconds, Hogg stared down at the phone. That this emergency recall was related to the news that had been blaring from every source for the past few hours was without doubt. What he and his NCO's could do about it was quite beyond him. Riot control, perhaps. Or more likely than not, they would be sent in to deal with the nut cases that saw this as a biblical Armageddon and went off the deep end. Already, half a dozen hostage scenarios, from storming Westminster Abbey to abducting the Archbishop of Canterbury were running through Hogg's troubled mind.
From behind him, the impatient tapping of a shoe on the thin hotel carpet reminded the SAS captain that he had a more immediate problem. He had no idea of what he would tell his wife, who was already seething in a silent rage over this untimely interruption. Unable to delay the inevitable, Hogg turned to face Jenny.
With all the practice of a woman who has endured the abrupt termination of far too many private moments by a phone call, Jenny Hogg all but growled, "Well?"
Patrick Hogg was a professional soldier, a member of Britain's elite Special Air Service. He was known as being tough and uncompromising, characteristics that had earned him a slot at Hereford. Prior to that, his knack for making the tough jobs look easy had placed him in high demand and led to frequent overseas deployments. Even when he wasn't engaged in an active operation, the training cycle of the SAS meant that he was in the field more often than not. While he was quite content with this sort of life, Jenny found it intolerable. Had Patrick Hogg been a barrister or a corporate type, tied to a more traditional community and a schedule honoring the conventions that saw him working by day and at home at night, their marriage would have been the stuff that generations of English poets romanticized about. But Patrick Hogg was not cut out to wear a suit and tie, or to lead a well-ordered, time-clock life, no more than Jenny had been raised to be a soldier's wife.
"You can't say no, can you?" she snapped.
Though he had expected a scene, he was quite taken aback by this sort of thinking on the part of a woman who knew better. "For God's sake, Jenny, I'm a soldier."
"And I'm your wife!" she countered. "I wouldn't mind if the times you had to drop everything and run out were disproportionate. Christ, I'd be bloody happy if I managed to win one conflict in ten. But I've never won, Patrick. Never!"
Like a fighter who has been hit too many times and finds that he no longer has the strength to lift his fists to protect himself, Hogg's shoulders drooped as he looked over at his wife with sad, sheepish eyes. He wanted to plead with her to be patient one more time. He wanted to implore her to try to understand that this mission was important, that he couldn't possibly turn his back on his regiment. He so wanted to cross the space that separated them and to embrace her, to tell her that everything would be different after this, that he would never again leave her side. But he couldn't do that. It would be a lie. And while he had lied to his wife on numerous occasions before, he found that he no longer had the will to do so again.
"Jenny," Hogg finally muttered, "I've got to go."
When he offered no excuse or made no effort to offer up a lie, Jenny knew she had lost. As she took a moment to control her breathing, her chin dropped down and her expression of rage fell away. "I know that you love me, Patrick," she whispered with a gentleness that surprised Hogg. "Maybe even more than I love you. But I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing. I need more than a picture on a mantel and a ring on my finger to remind me I'm married." Looking up, Hogg could see tears welling in her eyes. "I know now that you were never mine. Perhaps I've known that for a long time. For years, I thought I could beat the Army, that I could win out over this obsession that possesses you. But I was wrong. You're not my husband, not really. You're Captain Patrick Hewitt Hogg, of His Majesty's Special Air Service. Though five tried, I simply can't trump the sort of odds the Army's thrown at us. So I'm not even going to try anymore."