can only be met through conquest—therefore, war. Imperial Germany is the only choice, Fraulein, for Lakewood Industries. It is your only choice, Fraulein.”
“You’re so forthright in your thinking and your speech, Baron von Staudenmaier! Are you as forthcoming with funds?”
“You are an incredibly lovely woman, Fraulein. That means, of course, that I should doubly distrust you.” His voice was low, musical, flowed like honey.
After a moment’s pause, Bethany asked, “And shouldn’t I distrust you, Baron?”
“We have a commonality, then, lovely lady. Our relationship is based on mutual distrust.”
“Do we have a relationship, Baron?”
Von Staudenmaier smiled, the action lighting his face, it seemed, accentuating the aquiline nose and strong jawline. He bowed slightly, the twinkle in his dark eyes ever-so-slightly masked beneath the shadow from the bill of his officer’s cap. “I would hope that we might have a relationship.”
“Field gray becomes you, Baron,” Bethany said, glancing at him and then turning her eyes away when she realized that she was being unintentionally coy.
“Your gown—maroon, is it not?—is quite fetching, Fraulein, quite fetching indeed, but, somehow I think you would look your very best in flesh tones.” Von Staudenmaier took a step back from her, looked her up and down, then said, “You will have to forgive me, Fraulein, but I was indulging my imagination for a moment. And, indeed, flesh tones—that’s how I would love to see you.”
“Perhaps that can be arranged, Baron. Tell me. Are you truly an expert in artillery, or are you a spy?”
“I am only expert at certain types of artillery, of the more personal kind,” he responded, smiling again. “I am not a spy, but rather concerned with military intelligence. I have indulged that interest ever since my arrival in America, more than eighteen months ago. And you, Fraulein. Are you someone only interested in vast sums of money, or more in the power that such funds afford?”
“Both—of the more personal kind.”
Von Staudenmaier laughed softly.
Bethany glanced at her anachronistic wristwatch.
“I noticed that before. What a fascinating way to carry a watch,” Von Staudenmaier remarked.
“We do lots of fascinating things in the future. I could show you some of them if you were truly interested.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You are forward for a woman of culture and position—and, by Heaven, I like that.”
“We’re about to begin . . . the demonstration.”
“Oh, I see.”
In the next instant, a half-dozen men in surplus Soviet battle gear, most with AK-47s in their hands, rose up out of the sand and raced forward. Von Staudenmaier reached for the flap-holstered weapon at his hip, starting to draw a long-barreled, strange-looking automatic pistol from its confines. “That won’t be necessary, Baron; trust me.” She thought that she heard him chuckle softly as she raised her voice so that all around could hear her. “Please! This is just the beginning of the demonstration.”
The six armed men, as if they weren’t being watched at all, ran to a cluster of rocks some twenty yards away. As each man settled into position, suppressive fire was begun against orange painted reactive target panels that were popping up at ranges from fifty to one hundred to one hundred fifty yards distant. The leader of the squad of six men spoke into a radio handset, but a microphone amplified his voice, making it easily heard over the gunfire through the same speakers that a moment earlier had carried the strains played by a string quartet.
“Fire team Alpha to Command Post, come-in!”
The answering voice boomed back. “Sit-rep, Alpha. Over.”
“Encountering heavy enemy resistance.” And the “commercial,” as Bethany liked to think of it, began. “Our Lakewood Industries AK-47 fully automatic thirty caliber assault rifles are working just great, but we need more firepower. We’re unlimbering the Squad Automatic Weapon now, Command Post. Over.”
Two of the men, one an operator and the other a helper, manned a machine gun. Bethany didn’t know what kind and didn’t care. She pressed the cupped palms of her hands over her ears as her eyes flickered over the crowd of onlookers. One of the uniformed Frenchmen actually drooled; all of the men, regardless of national allegiance, were enraptured—except for Baron von Staudenmaier, who seemed certainly interested, but equally amused. “Good theater!” Von Staudenmaier remarked as their eyes met for an instant.
“I thought so when I planned it.”
The voice of the fire team leader could be heard again. “Requesting airpower to knock out last of enemy resistance, Command Post. Over.”
“Stay on your Lakewood Industries two-way radio battlefield communication system, Alpha, so you can precisely direct the