New Haven, Connecticut

Two weeks later:

             McCoy turned over in bed as his wife grumbled next to him.  The phone on the nightstand was ringing.  The red numbers on the clock said that it was three in the morning.  Rubbing his eyes, the retired General knew that only a handful of people had the number to the landline in his home.  If he was being called at this time of night, it was for a good reason.  Probably someone needing him to fix a problem in another time zone.

“Hello,” he said answering the phone.

“Come downstairs,” a voice whispered over the phone.


“Don’t bother trying to call the police.  You won’t be able too.”

“Who is this?”