The clock on the wall pointed to six twenty, the second hand ticking away, each movement like a countdown.
The Pentagon, E-742 Meeting Room.
The time was nine o'clock in the evening in Washington, four in the morning in Illiguo.
The meeting room had no windows, and the lighting was a perpetually cold white.
The air was permeated with the scent of disinfectant and caffeine — the former from daily scheduled cleaning, the latter from the concentration in everyone's blood present.
On the curved wall made up of twelve screens, real-time situations in sixteen global hotspots were displayed.
Titrick occupied the third screen from the bottom left, not large, yet it drew everyone's attention at this moment.
The image of Colonel Kote appeared on the main screen.
He stood before the map in the "Outpost" command center, busy staff members behind him, yet everyone deliberately maintained a low volume, as if afraid of disturbing the call.
