“I’m sorry, ma’am. You misunderstand me. It wasn’t one of our bomber planes.”
Pushing back her chair, she stood up, and shot him a curious, incredulous smile. “Not one of ours. Then whose was it?”
“Germany’s, ma’am. And it gets worse. Preliminary reports from our team on site suggest the aircraft was carrying a primitive nuclear bomb.”
“Good God!” she said, taking in the full ramifications of the statement. Forgetting historical relevance and significance, she turned her focus on the immediate problem. “Has a team been tasked to secure the nuclear waste?”
The General looked away, crestfallen. “It appears someone has beaten us to it in the past twenty-four hours since the hikers located the wreckage.”
“What are you saying?” She met his eyes. “Did someone try and steal a nuclear weapon?”
The General swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “What I’m telling you, ma’am, is that we currently have a Broken Arrow, right here in Washington D.C.”