"But there is no soldier who loves Russia more," the Colonel General spoke up gravely. "Nor one who would sacrifice more for his homeland."
The silence that followed the Russian officer's words seemed to say, "Amen," to that. Then a moment later the Colonel General motioned for them all to sit down, and took a chair for himself.
"There is a decision for us to make," he said bluntly. "A decision forced by bad news. But no! That is not correct. A decision because there has been no news at all."
"Agent Jones!" Dawson breathed softly, as he leaned forward on the edge of his seat. "I've had a feeling!"
Colonel General Vladimir shot him a sharp piercing look, and then nodded.
"You are correct, Captain Dawson," he said, tight-lipped. "No news of Agent Jones since he left Baghdad, in Syria, twenty-four hours ago. His plane was to land at Baku, in the south Caucasus, but it has not arrived."
A profound silence settled over the room as the Colonel General's words died away to the echo. Then Freddy Farmer broke it with a single word question.
"Weather?"
The Russian officer shrugged, and sighed heavily.
"Perhaps," he grunted. "My reports say that it has been very bad in that section for several days. True, he may have been forced down, and will continue as soon as weather permits. But—but it is also possible that other things may have happened to his pilot and plane. Who is there to tell? Our enemies have ears and eyes, as we all well know. They also have guns, and know how to use them. So the truth may be one of many answers."