I’m still livid with fury when Sharipov returns to reclaim his phone. As he approaches my bed, I sit up and glare at him. “A f*****g error, huh?”
Raising his hand, the colonel rubs the bridge of his nose. “We’re questioning the officer responsible right now. It’s not yet clear whether—”
“Take me to him.”
Looking taken aback, Sharipov lowers his hand. “I can’t do that,” he says. “This is a matter for our military.”
“Your military f****d up big time. You had a traitor in charge of your missile defense system.”
The colonel opens his mouth, but I forestall his objections. “Take me to him,” I demand again. “I need to question him myself. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to assume that others in your military or your government were involved in the missile strike.” I pause. “And maybe ev
