Craig Kreident #2 Fallout by Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson

forward, hinting at more skin than they actually showed, to place translucent white screens around the empty cage.   As the music reached its crescendo, fire exploded in the background.   The cloth screens fell away, and the lean dark-haired magician appeared out of nowhere.   To thunderous applause, David Copperfield took a bow.
    Through the stage lights, Waterloo looked to see the Russians delighted at the lights, the spectacle, the sex.   Gauzy wisps of costumes and flesh-toned leotards made the beautiful assistants look nearly nude as they swirled around Copperfield’s dusky handsomeness.  
    This was why the Russians had come to America in the first place — not to work, not to go through the tedious requirements of the disarmament routine, not to prepare for a summit meeting.   But to experience the American flash and dazzle.
    Waterloo recalled how the Russians had been displeased with Nevsky staying behind to work in the DAF.   If he had only gone with them back to the Rio for the international buffet, rather than putting in extra hours, Kosimo Nevsky would be alive today.   It seemed ironic that the only inspector actually interested in the job had suffered for that fact, paid with his life.
    Not that the job was anything glamorous, but at least Nevsky had been dedicated to it. . . .
    When Waterloo and the other On-Site Inspection Agency workers had finally reached their destination — a military base and weapons stockpile in the city of Sarny — he at last began to feel that he was ready to accomplish the task for which he had left his beautiful and spacious Southwest.
    The OSIA team began a routine that continued for the next three weeks.   Breakfast at 0800, departure for the work site promptly at 0850, work itself at 0900 sharp.   The first day it poured down rain.   Waterloo stood with the others wearing identical parkas and OSIA baseball caps, watching the step-by-step procedures.   Russian escorts followed them suspiciously at every turn.  
    The SS-20 missiles slated for destruction were huge, fifty feet long and twelve feet high.   The Russians used only hand tools for the job — wrenches, hammers, hand saws.   Conscripts did all the work while officers supervised.
    Waterloo watched one conscript having difficulty removing a hydraulic line because he was turning the wrench the wrong direction.   Forbidden to interfere with the work, Waterloo could say nothing, only watch, as the conscript tried one hand, then two hands, then a hammer to break the nut free.   When all else failed he cut the line off with a hacksaw, though never once did he attempt to turn the wrench the other direction.
    Papers were signed by Russians and Americans, verifying completion of the treaty-mandated work, and then the team returned to watch the process all over again.
    The OSIA inspectors lived in a rectangular compound surrounded by a twelve-foot-high concrete fence topped with electric wire.   The paper-thin walls readily passed every annoying noise from the outside, at all hours of the night.   Water dripped in pipes that ran through the wall next to his bed.   The wallpaper had begun to peel in large sections.
    It took them a week to discover the hidden microphones, one in each bedroom, several in the day room, another in the hall.
    Wonderful Russian hospitality , Waterloo thought now.   Not quite like what we’re showing them. . . .
    On the Circus Maximus stage, a blond woman went through a seductive dance with Copperfield, using cloth strips to tie his wrists to the headboard of a simulated bed, which was then surrounded by screens and raised up out of reach.   The blond picked up another loose bedsheet, swirled it around herself, draped it over her body — and suddenly Copperfield himself tossed the sheet away, having miraculously switched places with her.   When the bed came back down to stage level, the woman lay tied in the same position.   Copperfield released her, then launched into further