World War III

Bufford took him on a tour of the rooms — two bedrooms, a kitchen with all built-ins including a microwave oven, a living room and a small den. The beds were made, the bathroom was furnished with towels and complimentary medicine-cabinet items, the pantry shelves were lined with canned goods and the refrigerator was stocked with the usual things, including a six-pack of beer.

The sergeant’s tour ended in what was meant to be the master bedroom. It didn’t have a separate bathroom, and without windows it seemed much smaller than it really was. Caffey sat on the edge of the bed. “Very nice, Sergeant Bufford.”

“Well, it isn’t North Carolina, Colonel, but I think you’ll be comfortable.”

“Where on earth did those come from?” Caffey pointed to a vase of fresh flowers on the dresser.

“Flowers? Up here?”

“Oh, well, they’re from Mrs. Roberts, sir. The general’s fixed her up with a hothouse in their quarters… artificial lights, special soil…” He shrugged. “She sends them around to most of the offices here, sir.” His mouth hinted at a smile. “Every day.”

Caffey nodded. “I see.”

“General Roberts is expecting you at 1800 hours, Colonel. In his quarters. He’s having several of the officers over for an informal wel—”

“Yes, I know.”

“Shall I have a driver standing by, sir?”

“Where are the general’s quarters?”

“Sub Block A1.”

“Which number?”

“There isn’t any,” Bufford said. “I mean, SB-A1 is his quarters.”

“The whole block?”

“Yes, sir.”

Caffey lay on the bed. He closed his eyes and put an arm over his forehead. “Yes, please have a driver, Sergeant. And a map of the post, if there is one. If not, draw one up. I want to know where everything is and how to get to it. After today I won’t need a driver or a jeep.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is my office in one of these caves?” He smiled, glancing up at the sergeant.

“Yes, sir.”

Caffey nodded. “Fine.”

“You’ll get used to it, Colonel. Anyway, there isn’t much to see even if you could look outside.”

“I’ll adjust.”

Bufford pointed out the phone on the end table beside the bed. “My extension is three-nine-six, Colonel. If you need anything—”

“No, thanks. I’m going to take a nap, then have a hot shower.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant turned to leave, stopped and turned back. “Oh, I almost forgot, Colonel.” He reached inside his parka. “This came for you about two hours ago.” He handed Caffey a folded telegram envelope.

Caffey slit it open with his fingernail, read it, then nodded to himself.

“I hope it isn’t bad news, sir,” Bufford said. His face registered genuine concern. “You’ve had enough of a shock for one day.”

“No,” Caffey said. “Not bad news. Nothing unexpected, anyway.”

Bufford nodded. “We are glad to have you with us, Colonel. When I saw the orders that you were coming, sir, well, I…” He ducked his head slightly, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s good to have an officer of your experience and background. You’ll find these are good men here at the one-seventy-first, Colonel Caffey. The best.”

“I didn’t expect otherwise, Sergeant,” Caffey said with a smile. “Thanks for the moral support. I’ll be fine once I’m settled in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Caffey waited to hear the door close before he read the telegram again.

DIANE AND I NOT MOVING ALASKA. SURE YOU UNDERSTAND. CALL WHEN CAN. DON’T

EXPECT TO CHANGE MIND. DIANE SENDS LOVE. (SIGNED) NANCY.

He wondered how long it had taken her to compose it. That she sent a telegram rather than tell him face-to-face didn’t surprise him; Nancy never was good at confrontations. But she was thrift-minded; the telegram word count came in at under the maximum allowed before the rate changed. He looked at the message again. Those twenty-one words effectively characterized the state of his marriage.

Caffey put the telegram back in the envelope and set it on the table beside the telephone. He lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, shit,” he said in a low voice.

Brigadier General Gard Fitzgerald Roberts was a man Nancy could identify with, Caffey thought, when he arrived at the general’s quarters. Although restricted by the architectural limitations of underground living, it looked like a general’s home. It still had that distinctive air of army issue about it — that Spartan look of assignment-living that you knew could all be packed up in half a day if necessary — but it had the feel of a general-grade officer’s residence. There were lots of framed photographs of Roberts at different ranks with high-ranking officers and politicians; one was with the Army Chief of Staff taken obviously in a Pentagon office, and another, in a large brushed-metal frame, with a large group of officers posed around President Nixon — Roberts was fourth from the president, on the right.