Telephone

On the very twitch of midnight Thea's telephone began to ring. Thea didn't move. She didn't even hear the first ring, or if she did, she gave no response.

In the darkened house the phone rang again.

It might have been a friendly call from someone on the Committee, or from Harley or Miles Macarthur or even Urquhart; it might have been any number of old friends from back east calling to share the war shock; it might have been just a wrong number. But somehow Thea was convinced this call would be none of the above. Some deeper sense told her this call was trouble.