The air in the London Command Center was heavy, as if soaked with mercury.
The enormous electronic map on the wall was like a glowing wound, with the Mediterranean region deliberately magnified. The crimson route markings resembled a poison snake, winding its way from Israel's homeland, piercing deep into Northern Darfur—the predetermined flight path of the "Hawkeye" F-15I squadron.
Time ticked away silently in every corner, engraving itself, with less than forty-eight hours until the bombing window opened.
M Lady's figure was frozen in front of the holographic projection table like a reef carved by a storm.
On the screen, the rusty and blurred satellite image of the "Seagull" ship was like a stubborn stain, firmly anchored at Alexandria Port.
