A Few Good Men - II
Daniel Kaffee, Lieutenant, USN, eyes still closed, head pounding, reached over the sleeping form beside him, groping for the phone. It had been ringing for a solid two minutes and Daniel had finally accepted the fact that no one else was going to answer it.
The digital clock read 4:30AM in luminous green.
Phone calls at this hour rarely produced good news.
His searching hand knocked an empty champagne bottle off the nightstand which bounced on a small rug with a thump and rolled under the bed. A small lamp followed suit. A glass wasn't as lucky. It missed the carpet and shattered on the floor.
He groaned.
The lump under the covers stirred slightly.
He finally seized the handset and lay back on his side of the bed. Kaffee tried to speak, but the all that came out was a croak.
"Hello?...hello?!", a man's voice inquired, agitated.
He rubbed his temple with his free hand, cleared his throat and tried again.
"Who the hell is it?", he managed.
"Kaffee!" The voice demanded.
His mind screamed Jessup. But that was impossible. The Colonel was in the brig at Quantico, no longer a threat to four thousand Cubans trained to kill him. His hand fell away from his head.
Perhaps he needs representation.
He laughed out loud at the irony.
But it wasn't Nathan Jessup, Colonel, USMC.