Baghdad, Green Zone, US Joint Tactical Command Center.
Colonel Kote slammed the satellite phone onto the table, and the expensive encrypted device bounced a few times on the oak surface before finally slipping onto the carpet, leaving a spiderweb-like crack on the screen.
"That damn yellow-skinned monkey!"
He growled in a low voice, his face flushed red, veins bulging on his neck.
The staff officers and civilian personnel in the command center instinctively lowered their voices, focusing on their documents or screens, afraid of becoming the target of the Colonel's wrath. Only Kote's adjutant, Major Allen Miller, had the nerve to step forward and pick up the satellite phone from the floor.
"Sir, did Song refuse?" Miller asked cautiously.
"Refused? Ha!"
Kote sneered, stepping out from behind his desk, pacing the command center like a beast trapped in a cage.
