'The explosive line clears a path over a metre wide through the minefield, simultaneously detonating all mines close to die line and those that are tripwire-activated. In less dian one minute our platoon has two metre-wide paths through the minefield.'
The two men picked up the haversacks and their Ml 6s and jogged along the cleared paths to the other side of the prepared field. At die far end they turned and waved their weapons above their heads.
Freeman turned back to the observers. 'And that, gentlemen, is the MIDAS touch.' He smiled to show that he knew it was a bad joke. The Arabs looked at him blankly so Freeman quickly continued. 'Several of the systems can be used together to provide a path for vehicles, or to clear airfields that have been immobilised. The MIDAS system comes complete widi markers to define the cleared padi, and a dozen lightsticks so that it can be followed at night.'
He looked across at Anderson to see if there was anything he hadn't covered. Anderson nodded his approval. Freeman clasped his hands together at waist level as he addressed the visitors. 'I can confidently say that our mine clearance system is more effective, more economical and more portable than any produced by our competitors. In addition, we can guarantee immediate delivery on any order up to five hundred units and our production line is capable of assembling new units at the rate of one hundred a week.' One of the military officials put up a black gloved hand to stifle a yawn and Freeman realised that it was time to draw the presentation to a close. 'If there are any questions, we'd be more than happy to answer them.'
The Arabs looked at each other, but no one had anything to say. Five minutes later they were in their limousines, heading for the airport.
'What do you think?' Freeman asked Anderson as they watched them go.
'Piece of cake,' his partner said.
'The military guys seemed bored.'
'That's just their way. They don't want to appear too keen, that's all. Their order will be on my desk before the week's out.'
He sniffed and pinched his nose.
'Are you okay?' Freeman asked. Anderson's eyes looked red, as if he'd been rubbing them.
'Head cold,' Anderson said. 'I've got some medicine back at the office.'
'Hell, you should take the rest of the day off. You've earned it. Go to bed with a couple of whiskies, sweat it out.'
'Yeah, maybe I will,' Anderson said. 'You can hold the fort?'
Freeman pulled a face. 'What's to hold?'
Anderson held up an admonishing finger. 'I won't listen to this. You're turning into Mr Gloomy again.'
'Go home, Maury.'
Anderson slapped him on the back and went over to the car park where he'd left his white Corvette.
Freeman went over to the field where Alex Reynolds was patiently disarming and digging up the smoke grenades that hadn't been detonated during the demonstration. 'You did a good job, Alex,' he said.
'It's a great system. They'd be crazy not to buy it,' Reynolds said. 'What do you think?'
Freeman looked across to the car park, where Anderson was over-rewing his Corvette. 'I don't know, just keep your fingers crossed.'
He spent the rest of the afternoon in his office deciding whether or not to book exhibition space for an arms show that was being organised in Berlin later in the year. It was important to keep the product on display – advertisements were all well and good, but they produced little in the way of hard orders. The arms shows were where the buyers went with their cheque books and shopping lists, and there was even an element of impulse buying among some of the Third World countries, especially once they realised that Freeman's company wasn't averse to paying 'commissions' to middle-men. But the shows were getting increasingly expensive, and there was no shortage of exhibitors.
Following the break-up of the Soviet Union, dozens of new suppliers were flooding the market with products, some of them military surplus but much of them new equipment at prices well below those of Western manufacturers.
Far Eastern manufacturers were also trying to capture a bigger share of the market, and as most of them were subsidised they happily paid the extortionate charges the organisers were asking.
Freeman's company didn't have the luxury of a government hand-out, and every penny counted. The smallest exhibition area at the Berlin show cost more than three thousand dollars a day, and that was before travelling and hotel expenses, plus the cost of shipping their equipment across the Atlantic. He read through the glossy brochure and studied the layout of the exhibition hall.
On the back was a list of exhibitors who had already signed. The big boys were all there – multi-billion-dollar corporations from the United States and Europe such as McDonnell Douglas, General Dynamics, British Aerospace, Plessey, Thompson CSF, and Deutsche Aerospace – and dozens of firms from all over the Far East were represented. Mitsubishi Heavy Industries had taken out a huge stand close to the refreshments area, a shrewd move. Chinese firms had already pre-booked five per cent of the space, and Freeman recognised one of them as being a rival manufacturer of mine clearance systems.
He knew that he had no choice, so he pulled out a company cheque book, made a cheque out for the deposit, and filled out the application form, requesting a small stand close to the main entrance. He dropped the envelope in his out tray and picked up his briefcase.
He drove home, his brow furrowed. His mind wasn't on the road and he almost clipped a car as he switched lanes on the highway. He waved an apology to the driver, a blue-rinsed old woman who was eating a hamburger as she drove with one hand, and forced himself to concentrate. It wasn't easy. The firm's financial problems kept creeping back into his thoughts, insidiously at first, a nagging worry at the back of his mind that wouldn't go away, but kept on growing until all he could think about was the negative cash flow, the salary bill and the lack of orders. He began to have imaginary conversations with possible buyers, his bankers, and with Anderson, and before long he was talking to himself out loud. He caught a truck driver looking at him and realised how it must look, a mumbling middle-aged man with a face like thunder. He turned the radio to a station playing classical music, hoping that would calm him down, and hummed quietly as he drove the rest of the way home. {Catherine's Toyota wasn't in the garage but the back door was open so he guessed that Mersiha was home. He dropped his briefcase on his desk, then called up the stairs, asking if she was there. She came running down the stairs and hugged him, then grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. 'Do you want a beer, or a soda?' she asked.
Freeman said he'd have a Coke and she took a can from the refrigerator, poured it into a glass for him and then sat down with him at the kitchen table. 'How did it go?' she asked.
Freeman reached over and ruffled her hair. It always amused him how much interest she showed in his business. 'No way of telling,' he said. 'We pulled out all the stops and they made appreciative noises, but the only thing that counts is if they come through with an order.'
'When will you know?'
'When the order arrives. Until then we just have to wait.'
'They're being inscrutable, huh?'
'It's the Chinese who are inscrutable. The Arabs are just impossible to read. Speaking of reading, how did the English test go?'
'It was a breeze.' She switched into a halting mid-European accent. 'Now I speak English good, yes?'
'Mersiha, you never spoke English like that, not even when I first met you.'
She switched back to her normal voice. 'Yeah, now I'm the all-American girl. Do you think I have an accent?'
Freeman shook his head. 'Only when you lose your temper,' he said.
'I do not!' she laughed.
He drained his glass. 'I'm going to shower,' he said. On his way out of the door he noticed that the red light was flashing on the bottom of the phone. He pressed the playback button.
The message was from Nancy in Dr Brown's office. She asked if Katherine would call back as soon as possible. Freeman thought she sounded close to tears. He turned to look at Mersiha. 'Any idea what that's about?'
Mersiha shrugged. 'My appointment isn't until the day after tomorrow. Do you want me to call her?'
'No, that's okay. Tell Katherine when she gets back.' As he headed up the stairs he heard Katherine's car growling down the drive. 'There she is now,' he called down to Mersiha.
Five minutes later, as he was soaping himself in the shower, Katherine came into the bathroom. He saw her through the rippled glass screen as she leaned against the sink. 'Do you wanna join me, Kat?' he called. When she didn't reply, he slid the glass partition open. Katherine was deathly pale, her hands either side of her face, her steepled fingers covering her nose as if stifling a sneeze. 'What's wrong?' he said. A sudden fear gripped his heart. 'Is Mersiha all right?'
'It's Art Brown. He's been shot.'
'Shot? Is he okay?'
'He's in Johns Hopkins.'
Freeman got out of the shower and grabbed a towel. Water pooled around his feet as he went over to his wife. 'What happened?'
'Nancy said it was a prowler. Yesterday morning. He must have been in the house looking for something to steal and Art disturbed him. I can't believe it. What is this country coming to?'