Ramius slammed his fist down on the conference table. "What do you mean, the Americans won't go in?" he roared.
Admiral Bickerson sat at his usual seat. "They say that there will be too much collateral damage. Plus the fact that their main fleet is busy with the whole Iraq fiasco."
The rage on Ramius's face was apparent. He was on the verge of blowing a major fuse. "Margaret, what does the NSA have to say for themselves?"
"Same as usual," Margaret said, calm as ever despite one of her superiors doing a fair impression of Mount St. Helens 1981. "We didn't see it coming." Her face softened. "None of us did."
Ramius sat there, his head in his hands. "I can't just sit here and do nothing," he grimaced.
Jordan, at the other end of the table, turned to his friend. "Are you sure she was actually on the island?"
"No reason to think she wasn't"
Jordan hesitated, "Have you considered that she may be…."
"Don't. Even. Think that." Ramius snarled.
Silence fell upon the conference room. A dark, smothering silence. A silence that was shattered by a ring-tone. All eyes fell on Ramius as he just sat there, singing softly with the theme. "Anchors aweigh boys, anchors aw……"
He grabbed for his phone. "Lisa?" he yelled.
Thousands of miles away, a girl coated in mud and leaves stood on top of a mountain, her eyes closed in relief. "Ramius, thank god," she cried. "Terrorists took over the island. I'm trapped. WHAT'S GOING ON?"
Ramius wiped the tears of relief from his eyes. "Lisa. You're not hurt?"
"No, but there are troops everywhere. Their vehicles have some kind of red eagle on them. Who are they?"
"They're a group called Global Anarchy. It's on the news."
"Oh God," Lisa moaned. "I'm trapped here. Is there help coming?"
Ramius looked up. "She's alive, but she can't stay free for long. Admiral?"
Bickerson stared into the distance. Then he nodded. "Do it," he said curtly.
Ramius turned to the phone. "Lisa, can you stay hidden for a week or so?"
Lisa looked around. In the brush, she spotted an opening. Crawling over, she pulled back the branches. There before her was a wide, deep cave. She turned back to her phone. "I can try."
Ramius stood up, a new fire in his eyes. "Lisa," he said, "turn off your phone, and don't turn it on again for one week." He gazed around his friends. The Admiral was looking at his computer, Margaret was watching him. Jordan, suave as ever, was cleaning a trombone mouthpiece he'd found in his pocket. He looked up, raised his eyebrows. Ramius smiled, turned to his phone "Keep your head down. I'm coming to get you."
Lisa straightened. "I don't know why, but I believe you," she said. A new confidence crept into her voice. "See you in a week then. Goodbye," as she hung up. She looked into the cave, her home for the next week. She sighed. Then smiled. For some reason, she knew that help was on the way.
Ramius put down his phone. The room was silent. Then the Admiral spoke. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you want the fleet?"
Ramius smiled. "That would be slightly useful sir."
Margaret turned to her computer. "OK," she said, "I'll send the signal to prepare the Dark Trident, the Katana and the Messernacht for immediate sailing." She glanced up. "Admiral, three ships seems an awful small fleet to fight an awful big war."
The Admiral looked thoughtful. "If I know those two," he gestured towards Ramius and Jordan, "They'll find a way." He turned to the two. "Your crews will be waiting for you at the base. I'll send a message to any governments that may be able to contribute forces. I'll join up with you later." He saluted the two men. "Good luck gentlemen."
Ramius and Jordan saluted back. "Thank you Admiral," Ramius said.
Jordan turned to Ramius, a serious look on his face. "You know," he said, "I hear the weather in the South Pacific is great this time of year".
Washington D.C. The American Secretary of Defence opens the door to his office. He looks around briefly, before spotting a faxed message on his desk. Reading it quickly, he screws it up and tosses it into the bind by the door. It misses. "Bloody crackpots," he muttered.
Moscow. The Russian Secretary of Defence finds a similar fax on hid desk. He picks it up, reads thoughtfully. He then picks up the phone.