had tired eyes and a crick in her neck. A soak in a hot tub was an inviting prospect. It was more likely to be a quick shower. This was a working trip.
'What's the brief?' she said. Dana was the more cerebral of the pair. She handled the paperwork. Texas tried to focus on the action.
'The hotel is an open rectangle,' said Dana. 'The main block houses reception area, restaurants, and the actual conference center. Two wings at the back house the rooms. Between the wings there is a heated pool.'
Texas groaned. 'What I wouldn't give!'
'We should be able to work it out,' said Dana. 'Special security has been drafted in for the run of the exhibition, and the entire hotel is restricted to exhibitors and invited guests for the duration. There is going to be more firepower concentrated here for the next few days than the 82 ^ nd can deploy. If there is one place where our clients should be safe, it is here.'
'So what do we do?' said Texas cheerfully. 'Soak up a few rays and maybe connect with a paratrooper or two?'
'We keep a general eye on things,' said Dana, 'but we focus on Kathleen Fitzduane. She's only here to be with Hugo, and I've got a hunch al this high-tech killing hardware will pall. She will want to do a little touring, and where she goes, at least one of us will follow.'
'What do you think of Kathleen?'
'Nice lady,' said Dana, 'and very dishy. More the homemaker than the feminist. A good match for Hugo.'
'More is the pity,' said Texas.
Dana and Texas looked at each other and grinned. Both fancied Hugo.
'Amen to that,' said Dana.
Fitzduane inserted the key in the elevator lock.
They were staying on the fifth floor. Without the special key, the fourth floor was as high as you could go. Well, that was the theory. It was not the social norm to quiz everyone else in the elevator as to their floor entitlement. So, from a security point of view, the special key helped – but not too much.
Out of curiosity, Fitzduane had checked the fire stairs access and that had been thought through. You could get down the stairs but not back up. The security door clicked shut behind you, and that could only be opened from the inside. Unless you had a passkey, which every cleaner was equipped with.
Security, like most things in life, was a compromise. Perimeter security was much tighter. Yo could not get in or out of the hotel without a special pass that bore your photograph and thumb print. Armed guards enforced the edict. It was reasonable. There was a great deal of very dangerous hardware inside.
Kathleen had accompanied Fitzduane for all of the first day of the exhibition. Now she was tired and said little. It had indeed been a busy day. From Fitzduane's point of view, it had been fascinating. As to Kathleen's reaction, he was not so sure. Or maybe he was and did not want to admit it. Kathleen was unhappy; in fact, she was downright disturbed.
She lay back down on the bed without switching on the light. Some light from the general hotel illumination outside percolated through the blinds, but otherwise the room was in darkness. Fitzduane knew the signs. When Kathleen behaved like this she did not want to be held and caressed, and her thoughts brushed aside. She wanted to think and talk the issue out in her own time.
He sat in an armchair beside the window and waited. Sounds floated up from the illuminated pool below.
Kathleen spoke when she was ready. He had no idea how long it took. It was not important. Her hands were loosely clenched in and rested on her eyes. He could smell her perfume from where he sat. Her long legs gleamed in the ambient light in contrast to the prevailing darkness.
'How many booths are there?' she said. 'Three hundred, four hundred? And all devoted to the business of killing. Sniper rifles; grenade launchers; anti-tank weapons; laser range finders; radio-detection devices; silencers; night-vision equipment. It is all about the taking of human life, and here we are bringing another small life into the world. I don't understand it. If frightens me. I just can't work it out.
'God knows, I have been on the receiving end of terrorism, but still, I can't make any sense of it. Surely we can find a better way? Is violence the only answer? Are we making a little baby just to have it blasted into oblivion by one of these terrible devices, or maybe it will just be maimed? It is all incomprehensible to me.
'And then, when I meet the people who supply all this lethal equipment, many friends of yours, I find them so nice and charming. They are not horrible warmongers. They are just ordinary people
like you and me. And that is truly terrifying. THESE FRIGHTENING PEOPLE, THESE KILLERS – THEY'RE US! THEY'RE YOU AND ME, HUGO!'
Kathleen's words cut like a knife through Fitzduane. Their real effectiveness stemmed from the fact that these were the very thoughts that he harbored himself.
'I love you, Hugo,' continued Kathleen, 'but sometimes you make me despair. You're the kindest, gentlest, sweetest man and the most loving father – and yet when I see you with these people talking about the techniques of killing, I feel I have married a monster.' She gave a small sad laugh. 'I'm in love with a monster. I'm bearing a monster's child. And I have no regrets.'
Fitzduane lay down beside her and put his arm around her. They had had this conversation before and he had run out of answers. Fundamentally, there weren't any. Kathleen was right. But in the real world, being right was not enough.
Kathleen snuggled into him. Then she reached out with her hand and caressed him. Soon, none of it mattered.
Don Shanley, manager of Magnavox's Electro-Optical Division, watched with mixed feelings as the six special forces troopers left.
They had been drinking beer and telling war stories for the past three hours, and it had been good fun. But it had been a long day, and now all he really wanted to do was have a shower and put his feet up. Exhibitions were hard on the feet. You were standing working all day, and standing around socializing in the evening, and it just was not the way, in his opinion, feet were designed to be used. They were useful appendages and really should receive more care and consideration.
Shanley stripped and stood under the shower, the pressure turned full up. The water needled into him and he could feel the layers of fatigue being stripped away. It was just as well. It was after eleven, but his day was still not finished. An exhibition meant a sixteen-hour day, sometimes more.
Tomorrow, he had additional work to do. He was starting the day with a demonstration of the MAG-600 for a cadre of the 82 ^ nd Airborne. The good news about that was that he would not lose any time at the stand, because the paratroopers started so goddamn early. The bad news was that he was not going to get much sleep. All equipment, no matter how inherently reliable, had an amazing knack of letting you down at sales demonstrations. Doubtless, it was the gods playing games.
But interestingly, he reflected, they seemed to play them much less often if equipment was checked out thoroughly and methodically in advance. It was doubly important if the devices had been fiddled about with all day on the exhibition stand. It was impressive how much several hundred pairs of untrained hands could fuck up the most soldier-proof of devices.
Laymen thought you designed equipment for performance. That was the easy part. The hard part was making it stand up to the average soldier's activities in the field. That was not so easy. The military had strange habits. They liked mud and rain and sand and grit and extremes of temperature and humidity. They jumped out of airplanes and helicopters and rattled around armored fighting vehicles. People shot at them with sharp pieces of metal and dropped explosives on them.
All of this was not conducive to good electro-optical performance. No, ‘Mil-Spec’ was not just an arbitrary list of standards. The military were really rough on things.
