"Major del Ponta, Sir."
The man behind the desk looked up. "At ease, Major."
Major Ali ben del Ponta relaxed and waited.
The man behind the desk finished scanning the sheet of micro-paper, marked something on it with a stylo, stuck it in the pneumatube on the corner of his desk, and pushed the button to close his desk drawer. He looked up at Major Ali ben del Ponta.
"Well?" He put his hands together, fingers touching.
"It has begun, Prefect Lamberti. All over the world our local men are leading their followers in attack. Captain Abram Mazzoli has sent in his report from Tel Aviv. The city is in his hands. Captain Mahomet DiSanto's 'Raiders' have complete control of the Sahara. Captain Arnaldi's forces are firmly entrenched in the old Washington area of America. He will move northward to meet Colonel Magnani's forces from Canada and Commander Campisano. They—"
"Campisano's airborne ready to roll?"
"Yes, Sir. Arrangements have been made. The drop will be just outside New York."
"Alright. Then everything has gone off as scheduled?"
"Yes, Sir."