"They offer a solution to the problems we face," Gabovich said. "An opportunity for us to break out of the stagnant cesspool we find ourselves being dragged into."

"Indeed? And what sort of things are your.. . 'principals' working on in Fisikous?"

Voshchanka asked.

"The future," Gabovich said. "The state of the art in Soviet aerospace weapons. Antimissile and aircraft systems unlike anything in the Commonwealth's inventory. Cruise missiles that rival anything in the West, let alone the Commonwealth." He paused to make sure that the old fart Voshchanka was following him.

"But the best thing of all," Gabovich continued, "is that we have an operating breeder reactor-a facsimile of an efficient German model, not a Soviet one-capable of producing small amounts of weapons-grade plutonium. Once we return to full production, we can produce three hundred thermonuclear warheads per year, all with a yield of over one hundred kilotons."

The old general's eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth dropped open. "Three.. .

hundred.., nuclear warheads?"

Gabovich knew that the Byelorussian general would be impressed. "They are only very small nuclear warheads, weighing perhaps.., oh, sixteen or seventeen kilos." He knew that was about the size of a 100-millimeter artillery shell-small, easy to transport, easy to store, and adaptable to almost every kind of delivery system-which, Gabovich calculated, should make Voshchanka's mouth water even more. "Electronically adjustable yield and detonation triggers, a quite soldier-proof design. As I said, it is state-of-the-art. But when Fisikous is closed, all those weapons and all that technology will be either destroyed or sold- by the Commonwealth.

They keep the money or the weapons. I doubt if Belarus will see one kopek."

Voshchanka sat staring at General Gabovich, a slow, sly smile spreading across his face.

The implications hung in the air like a thick, heavy fog. A twinkle sparkled in Voshchanka's eyes, his mind casting about the possibilities, all exciting, all dangerous .. . "What is it you want to do, Comrade Gabovich? My government does not have the money to buy the Fisikous Institute, and I seriously doubt if we will be permitted to buy any of these weapons ourselves. We probably couldn't even afford one of your scientists."

Gabovich nodded sympathetically, but shrugged. He was going to let out a bit more line before reeling this one in. "Yes, funds are scarce everywhere, General Voshchanka. The price of reform, no? Belarus is spending billions of rubles on building its own military-why, you must be knee-deep in requisitions for boots and socks alone . . . forget any modern weapons of war."

Voshchanka's eyes flared at Gabovich, his cheeks a flash of red. "How dare-"