The Weapon by David Poyer Page B

and maneuverable, well defended, and heavily armored, that nothing short of a wave of supersonic cruise missiles, or a nuclear weapon, could achieve a serious probability of kill. But being hit with three, or two, or maybe even one of these warheads—he’d have to run the numbers, discuss this with Monty—even the newest carrier would be crippled, if not destroyed from within by unquenchable fire and the toxic smoke and fragments that had made U.S. ordnance so effective against Saddam’s tanks.
    He tuned back in to the translator as she announced it was possible to upgrade existing contracts for earlier versions to the new K version, for only a modest additional sum. And that one customer had already done so. Dan wondered who. China? Iran? This was sounding worse and worse.
    â€œWe’re gonna have to crunch some numbers on this thing,” Henrickson muttered. “This could really be—this could really be something.”
    Dan just nodded, aware, as Henrickson probably was,too, of all the nearby ears. From the murmurs around them, the same conclusion was dawning on other minds. Minds not well disposed to America.
    He stuffed the flyer into his pocket. Threading among the earnestly talking buyers, he plowed toward the gangway down to the barge. Behind him he heard de Cary. “Commander! Wait.” But he didn’t slow, just kept on. He got to the brow and was halfway down it before one of the overcoated heavies caught up. He shook the guy’s hand off and kept going.
    But not for long. Strong arms seized him. “Stop, you. Wait in line,” one of them growled in his ear.
    And it was true, a queue was forming. A sign-up line, it looked like. Aboard the barge the guys in orange suits were getting a chance at the vodka. They looked relieved as they tossed back shots. A few feet from the brow, flanked by more guards, stood several older men. One was Academician Dvorov.
    De Cary, at his elbow. He murmured, “We operate carriers, too.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI said, we operate large-deck carriers, too, Commander. In the same waters of the Mediterranean and the Middle East. What threatens your Nimitz-class ships threatens
Clemenceau
and
Foch,
and will shortly threaten
De Gaulle
when we commission the first non-American nuclear-powered carrier. This is as much a threat to us, as it is to you.”
    He looked at the Frenchman, understanding now exactly why he was here. The British had backed off fixed-wing carriers years before, going to the lower-capability, but cheaper, Harrier-operating ski-jumps they’d fought the Falklands War with. The Russians had almost gotten there, then their economy had fallen apart. The Italians, the Indians, Argentina, Spain, and a few other nations operated older, smaller classes; but only the U.S. and France fielded modern carrier task forces, able to travel great distances, defend themselves, and project air power inland from the sea.
    Any possible enemy would love a weapon tailored to neutralize that capability.
    Which explained the lengthening line behind them, a line that even involved some shoving. Looking back, he saw nearly every spectator in it. And looking forward, that he was being ushered forward, up to the waiting phalanx.
    â€œCommander Lenson,” said Dvorov dryly, before he had a chance to speak. “Have all your questions been answered?”
    He cleared his throat. “A very impressive demonstration.”
    â€œThank you. And now, as you see, we have others who wish to—”
    â€œYes sir; I do see. But I’d like to make some arrangement, that we meet privately.”
    â€œYou wish to discuss a purchase?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œThen we can meet, yes, but I warn you, we will discuss details of purchase only. Not of the system itself. You pay the price, you receive what you buy. And not until then. And now, these others behind you—”
    The overcoat beside him had his arm, but Dan shook