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“Turning now to the program,” said Delaford, nodding at Dog, “our next phase of study adds autonomous modes and more stealthy communications techniques, useful for submarine applications. And, of course, the warhead launching modes. We’re confident we could put a fully suitable version, based on the test article, into production immediately. Using this propulsion system and the communications-link technologies Dreamland has developed, the production model would be controllable from fifty to seventy-five miles, either by airplane as we’ve demonstrated, or small surface craft. The submarine version is a little further behind, due to the detectability issues. We’re confident, though, of eighteen-month viability. That’s a year and a half from the word ‘go.’ ”

“Budget line,” said the admiral.

Delaford, who was unpracticed in the art of winning funds, hesitated and then lost his way, trying to argue for the project rather than simply giving Allen a number.

“Well, as a whole, compared to previous projects, say the probes for the Seawolf, the UUVs, it—”

“How much?”

“That would depend on the configuration, sir. And in, um, perspective—”

“What I think Commander Delaford is trying to point out, said Dog, who thought the program was worthwhile even though it belonged to the Navy, “is that you have to compare the cost to an entire weapons system. The fact that its intended to be expendable means the low per-unit cost ups the overall budget. Still, in a combat situation, the cost per engagement would be very low, since it would, by definition, be replaced.”

“Is it worth two nuclear submarines?” asked Allen.

“Well, that’s your call, Admiral,” said Dog.

“It’s not my call,” said the admiral. “But if It were, I’d take the submarines.”

“Actually, sir, at three hundred and forty million for the whole project,” said Delaford, regaining his balance, “it’s considerably less than a submarine. And tactically, it can do the job of a submarine without the exposure of, uh, risk, as the tests off Hawaii show.”

“I’m well aware of the results of the tests,” said the admiral.

Danny Freah, standing behind the admiral, suppressed a smile. Colonel Bastian belatedly realized what the visit was all about.

“Yes, the results were impressive,” continued Allen. “But once countermeasures are employed, the device will be easily countered.”

“Hardly,” said Rubeo, characteristically choosing the most undiplomatic moment to butt in. “Face it, Admiral, large ships are obsolete.”

Allen snorted. “That’s been said since galleys ruled the ocean. Colonel—I’d like some lunch.”

“I’m told it’s ready when you are,” said Dog.

“Yes,” said Allen. “I’m sorry, the colonel and I are meeting alone,” he added, as if Delaford and the others had actually volunteered to accompany them. “I’ll be back.”

“We’ll wait,” said Rubeo.

Fortunately for the scientist, Allen either didn’t hear what he said, or had a tin ear when it came to go acerbic irony. Dog led Allen back to the elevator, Captain Freah trailing behind him.

“Do we need a shadow?” the admiral asked as they got inside the car.

“I’m afraid close security is the order of the day here,” said Dog. “All visitors, no matter how high their rank.”

“Even a theater commander.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dog. He could have told Danny to make himself scarce; the orders to shadow Allen were his own. But he was a bit ticked at the surprise visit, and even more so now that he suspected Allen had come to lobby him on the report. Allen seemed to mellow ever so slightly, and in fact his mood visibly improved fifteen minutes later in Cafeteria Two, a private dining area known as the Red Room because of the décor, when the airman serving them told him that Thai-infused salmon headed the menu.

“I don’t want sushi,” said the admiral.

“No, sir, of course not, sir. It can be cooked to your specification.”

“Medium then, but still moist.”

“To drink?” said the airman, with the precise intonation of a waiter in a high-class restaurant.

A true achievement, since the man was a bomb ordie on special assignment. Dog marked him down mentally for a weekend pass.

“Water,” said the admiral.

“Evian, or perhaps Dolmechi?”

“Dolmechi?” said the admiral. “The Italian mineral water?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” said Allen. “I haven’t had that since I visited Naples.”

The waiter—who had obviously been heavily briefed by Ax—turned toward the colonel.

“I’ll have a burger,” said Dog. “And a Coke.”

“Yes, sir. Captain?”

Danny glanced at Dog. “I was thinking I might catch up on some items,” said Freah. “Since we’re not in a secure area.”

“Very good, Danny.”

“Admiral.” Danny nodded, getting up to go.

“Just a second.” Allen rose and stuck out his hand. “Some of my Marines made sure I heard about what you did in Iran for them. Good work, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Danny.

“You ever think of switching commands, remember the Pacific,” said Allen.