"Estimated combat duration: ____ weeks."
The last line was crudely crossed out with a black marker. But O'Brien keenly noticed that the blacked-out section was quite long. It definitely wasn't a single-digit length. It was a double-digit number. At least dozens of weeks.
O'Brien felt his throat go dry. He closed the magazine and stood up.
"Excuse me for a moment, General. I need to use the restroom."
The major general smiled and nodded, continuing to read his documents.
O'Brien stepped into the cramped restroom and locked the door. He turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water mask any noise he might make. Pulling out his notebook, he quickly jotted down a few words with his pen: Lincoln, Ford, 800, dozens of weeks, THAAD Qatar. Then, he took out his phone and snapped a photo of the page. Opening an encrypted messaging app, he sent the picture to a contact labeled 'P'.
Sent successfully.
He let out a long breath, pressed the flush button, and walked out.
