"Who, sir?"
"Never mind," Jacobs said, dismissing the thought momentarily.
"Go on."
Jacobs arrogantly leaned back in his executive chair, closed his eyes and folded his hands over his barrel chest. This was his way of telling subordinates to talk, spill their guts.
"The real worry about cheap HERF is what it can do in the wrong hands." The aide obliged the ritual. "One transmitter and antenna in a small truck can wipe out every computer on main street during a leisurely drive. Cash registers, electric type- writers, alarms, phones, traffic lights . . .anything electronic a HERF is pointed at, Poof! Good as dead. What if someone used a HERF gun at an airport, pointing up? Or at the tower? From up to a distance of over a kilometer, too. Ten kilometers with better equipment."
"So it works," muttered Jacobs so softly under his breath his aide didn't hear.
"It's reminiscent of drive-by shootings by organized crime. In this case, though, the target is slightly different."
"I see." Jacobs kept his eyes closed as the aide patiently waited for his boss to say something or allow him to return to his family. "I gather we use similar tools ourselves?"
"Yessir. Very popular technique. Better kept quiet."
"Not any more. Not any more."
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