B.E.R.T., Part 3

Tom sat down to a large breakfast.  His children had just left for school, a quiet little elementary school in their suburban Virginia neighborhood, and Tom stretched his legs beneath the table while his wife read the newspaper.

"Pass the syrup, would you, dear?"

As Mrs. Randle passed the bottle to her husband, she read,  "A glut of calls floods Chesapeake Bay area."

"What kind of calls?" Tom asked.  "Like the one we got last night?"

His wife sipped at her coffee and replied, "It doesn't say.  Oh, wait a minute."  She read to herself for a bit and then aloud again, "telemarketers have been waking cold call customers at all hours of the night."

"Must be some new scheme."  Tom mused.  "Maybe WalMart has gotten into telemarketing."

The phone rang and Mrs. Randle got up to answer it.

"Hello?"

Tom finished the last of the eggs on his plate.  His wife listened for a few seconds and quickly hung up the phone.  Tom took the last half a pancake and gulped it down in one bite.

"Who was that, honey?"  He asked.  She did not answer.  Tom look up.  "Sarah?"  She was staring into space, her eyes were glazed over as though she were in shock.

"Sarah!"  Tom yelled.  She shook out of the stupor.  "Who was that?"

"Another telemarketer."  She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.  And then she continued, still in a whisper, "selling AIR-2 Genie tactical nuclear missiles."