"Well, jeepers," said Harrison, "I understand all that, and I understood our position at the summit, but I'm confused about what's going to happen here. What are we going to do?"
Colonel Anderson, a heavy-set mustachioed fellow, kept his eyes locked on the terminal in front of him. He nodded once. "Just wait."
Leaning forward on the desk, Harrison very consciously ran a hand back through his closely-cropped hair and sighed. There were no mirrors in the room but Harrison was fairly sure the motion made him look dashing and perhaps rakish. He wished that cameras were around to immortalize his moment of handsome narcissism.
The two men looked at the screen. It read: seven.