“Because you think he wants to make them part of the record in case you do dismiss them and it blows up in your face?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it. But let’s face it, Tom. Neither one of us may like him very much, but that doesn’t make him an idiot. Basically, he’s arguing that if we want to keep the pressure on the Manties, we have to be a bit more explicit about the steel fist inside our silk glove.”

“If you’re about to say he still wants to announce the existence of the CLACs,” Theisman broke in, “I’m still firmly opposed. Shannon’s people have managed to get nine more of them into commission, with complete LAC complements. The longer she has to get still more of them commissioned—and to work up the ones she has—before the Manties know they even exist, the better.”

“I understand your position, Tom,” she said patiently. “And I told him I wasn’t going to override you. But that doesn’t mean I can completely ignore what he was saying. I’ve done just about everything short of hitting Descroix over the head with a club, and she still doesn’t seem to realize we’re serious. It’s going to take something fairly drastic to get through to her, I think. The sort of language diplomats don’t usually use with one another.”

“Is that really wise?” he asked.

“I don’t know whether it is or not,” she said snappishly. “I only know that if I’m going to continue to pursue any sort of diplomatic resolution with people so damned stupid they don’t even recognize the kind of danger they’re walking straight into—and taking the rest of us into with them, whether we want to go or not—then I need a big enough hammer to get their frigging attention!”

Theisman managed not to wince visibly, but it wasn’t easy. Pritchart’s growing exasperation with both Giancola and the Star Kingdom had worried him for months. Which, he admitted, had been just a little hypocritical of him when he’d been even more exasperated with both of them than she’d been. But as she’d just pointed out, she was the President. He wasn’t. In the end, her anger was far more dangerous than his.

“If we’re not going to announce the CLACs,” he said carefully, “then just what sort of hammer did you have in mind?”

“I’m going to tell them it’s time to fish or cut bait,” she said flatly. “I want at least some concession, some forward movement, out of them. And if I don’t get it, then I intend to recall our negotiators from the so-called peace talks for ‘consultations’ here in Nouveau Paris. And I’ll keep them here for months, if I have to.”

“That sounds just a little drastic,” he observed. “I’m not saying it’s unjustified, or even that it might not be a good idea, in the long run. But if you do it, especially in the wake of how recently we’ve admitted Bolthole exists, it’s really going to ratchet up the pressure. Maybe further than anyone wants it ratcheted.”