The rain lashed against the tall windows of the White House, casting streaks across the glass as if nature itself wept for the state of the world.
A fire crackled in the hearth, attempting in vain to warm the heavy silence that hung in the room like a funeral shroud.
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt sat with his back to the door, hands resting firmly on the supports of his wheel chair staring intently at a large wall-mounted map of Europe.
Pins marked key cities in Spain, with red lines tracking the rapid advances of the Royalist forces. Barcelona remained untouched, but for how long?
Across the room, Prime Minister James Ramsay MacDonald of the United Kingdom sat in one of the deep leather chairs, coat still damp from his arrival. His cane rested against the arm of the chair, untouched.
He wore the look of a man who had traveled across the Atlantic not out of diplomacy, but out of desperation.
Roosevelt finally turned.
"I assume you've seen the Valencia reports?"
