The Tin Man by Dale Brown Page A

Inc.’s gadgets as much as Jon liked making them.
    Masters rolled his eyes in exasperation. “C’mon, Hal,” Masters said. “I didn’t present this project to the military or to any national-Security agencies because I know it will go ‘black,’ get buried in a top-secret classification for twenty years. No one elsewill be able to take advantage of this technology. BERP can save thousands of lives, Hal.”
    “Looks to me like you barely got away with keeping your own,” Briggs pointed out wryly. He studied the digital replay on the big computer monitor on Masters’s desk. “It works, Doc. Congratulations. You might have a few kinks to iron out, but it works. Very cool.”
    “Thanks, Hal,” Masters said. “But I still don’t want—”
    “Dr. Masters, you’ve already presented BERP to the industry leaders,” Briggs interrupted. “The cat’s out of the bag. You’ll eventually put BERP on every major airliner in the world, and that’s cool. But you know your technology can save the lives of ISA agents who put their own lives on the line for our country. All I’m asking is give us a chance to take advantage of your breakthrough.”
    “I don’t know, Hal,” Masters said. “I really wanted to make BERP the first thing I built that can preserve lives, not help destroy them.”
    “Believe me, I can think of a bunch of ways BERP can help save
my
narrow black ass,” Briggs chuckled. Wohl shook his head in exasperation. He was quite accustomed to his commander’s tone and attitude but irked by it too. “But we’re not trying to stop you from deploying your system—we just want you to give us first dibs on it.” When Masters still hesitated, Briggs added slyly, “Remember, Doc, it’s a new fiscal year. ISA has got plenty of bucks to spend. I know the money’s not as important to you as public safety, but I’ll bet you all the memory chips in Silicon Valley that you could use a little seed money. And you’ll be doing my and Gunny’s boys a world of good. What d’ya say, Doc?”
    Masters had truly not thought about making a profit by deploying BERP; he had actually beenthinking of ways to
require
the world’s airlines to support placing BERP systems in poorer countries’ aircraft, in exchange for his granting free licenses to the technology. But he had no such compunctions when it came to the military or to government agencies like the CIA. They had bucks to spend on whatever sneaky black covert ops they were involved in, and Jon saw it as his duty to his company’s shareholders to get as much of that money as possible.
    “Well, since I’ve scared off all the major airplane manufacturers and the FAA,” he said with a shrug, “I might as well help you out. Exactly how much money are we talking about here, Hal?”
    Briggs and Wohl were still watching the replay on the screen. When they saw the aftermath of the explosions and then looked at the man who had sat atop 150 pounds of TNT and
survived
, they were astounded. “Name it, Doc,” Briggs said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Show us a way BERP can help my guys in the field, and you can name your price.”
    Jon Masters was smiling broadly now. “Patrick and Wendy have been working on a few interesting items,” he said. “Patrick calls it his Ultimate Soldier program. All based around this.” He withdrew the piece of BERP material from his pocket and held it out for Briggs and Wohl.
    “This is it?” Chris Wohl asked. “This is BERP?”
    “That’s it,” Masters acknowledged. He felt Wohl’s black battle-dress uniform and Wohl scowled in irritation. Masters withdrew his hand quickly, as if he (had touched a hot stove. “About the same thickness as your fatigues there, Gunnery Sergeant.”
    “It’s too shiny, too slick,” Wohl said. “It’ll make noise when you move. Doesn’t breathe like cottoneither. It’ll be hot as hell in a desert environment and cold as hell in cold weather.”
    Masters hit the keyboard on his