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The Boeing CH-47 Chinook flew its precious cargo along the coast to the prearranged site. The evacuation order had cleared the coastal community, making life simpler. The collateral dangers of the weapon meant that no one could be near it when it was fired, but, added to that, the weapon was highly classified. Civilian witnesses were not an option.

The Chinook landed. The three technicians, assisted by three more army engineers, rolled out a trailer, struggling in the wind and rain. They needed line of sight, and by their calculations they should get that in twelve minutes—time enough for them to secure the kit and get the hell out.

They maneuvered the trailer into place, and carefully they unwrapped its cargo: a large object that looked like a TV-shaped lens at the front. It was about two meters long by one meter wide. It was mounted on the front of a similarly shaped box about three meters long. This was in turn mounted on a remote-controlled pan. The engineers worked quickly in the torrential rain, securing the equipment with steel halyards they drilled into the tarmac of the empty road. The technicians consulted their mobile radar screens and identified the yacht Zephyr, approaching from the north. They programed in its coordinates, and the unit tilted like a giant camera.

“Time to go!” called out the commander.

Quickly they all ran back to the Chinook, jumped in, slammed the door, and strapped in. The helicopter lifted off, crabbed up sideways into the throbbing air. In three minutes they were out of harm’s way.

One hundred and fifty miles away, in the weapons control center of the warship USS Comstock, moored off San Diego, the commands were input and the directional energy weapon was fired. It zeroed in the beam of energy on the yacht Zephyr. It blasted it for thirty seconds. Then the beam was switched off and the Chinook flew back to retrieve the delivery system.