Laser Curtain

Chapter One
W.W. III

There as a small pond of light in the middle of the pitch-black desert. It was rather frightening -- hundreds of millions of dollars, the richest gambling houses, hotels, the biggest shows in the world, and the best restaurants confined within a little shiny speck called Las Vegas. From an airplane, it seemed that if someone could stoop over, pick up this glistening crumb and put it in their pocket, the night instantly would coat the place with its shroud of darkness, reassuring that no one should ever notice the theft.
Of course, it is only a product of wild imagination; but on the other hand, the center of everything is in the middle of nothing. Funny, but that's why a thought like this can cross someone's mind. Although one will change this opinion, after staying in Las Vegas for only one night, the new visitor would realize that a place like Las Vegas cannot disappear, no matter where it is located or how small it is.
And even if such an incident could take place, the entire world would search for it. That's how special this little place is -- Las Vegas.

Jack Lomar, promoter of the MGM shows, was rubbing his hands as soon as he hung up the receiver. The deal was clenched, another major triumph in his life. He would be on the top again. Now he was going to get those big bucks back, pay the losses, and the heck with everything else.
Stupid fools, thought Jack. They almost made me lose my confidence, but now I am going to show them who I am.
He lit the cigar and puffed on it. His small brown eyes instantly watered and bloated cheeks turned red. He started to cough.
"Rotten skunks," he growled through coughing, "and those cigars are not any better." He stood up and quickly walked toward the closet. Jack threw on half of his jacket, and irritably began to fish for the second sleeve. Finally, after a short barrage of the "lukewarm" expressions, the French-cut dark gray jacket was on. Jack glanced in the mirror and grimaced. His obesity still gave him that repulsive look.
No big deal, Jack appeased himself. He knew that there were two things he had going strongly -- his sharp brain and intuition for money, which was much more important to him than the looks, although the good looks couldn't have possibly hurt him, but the absence of them...oh, well, there was nothing he could do about it, except grimace every time he looked in the mirror.
He was on his way to present a deal to the people who ran the hotel. The deal that could only cross his mind, the deal that couldn't lose and would make the MGM show famous this year, a nationwide hit. Of course, he wouldn't be forgotten, either.
Jack walked out of his office, adeptly wedged himself across the hall, busy with the commotion of the slot machines and the gambling crowd. He turned around a corner, proudly pushed a small white button on the wall and waited, notoriously glancing at passing individuals. Soon the luxurious elevator split its doors before him and within minutes he stood in front of the executive director of the MGM Hotel operations.
Jack Lomar smiled pleasantly. "Yes, sir," he addressed the executive, "may I propose my plan to you...and if you approve it," he paused, digging into his attaché, "here is my proposal. Although the contract from the Colorado Air Force Technical School will arrive shortly."
"From the Air Force Technical School?" repeated the executive.
"Yes, that's why I thought that it would be better if I first explained verbally." He paused again. "If you will allow me, of course, it won't take more than three minutes."
"Go ahead, Jack," said the executive. "Today, you are too polite for me not to allow you to talk." He then emphasized, smiling, "Especially when it's no more than three minutes."
Jack forced a pleasant expression, then began modestly. "It concerns a show about the earthquake destruction -- that I promoted last year which, however, was a total financial disaster." Jack stopped, doggishly lifting his eyebrows.
"Are you trying to confirm that it is still a financial disaster?" asked the executive.
"No...no, sir, not so at all. I have an idea how to save the show and, not only that, to make it a nationwide success." Jack's small eyes began to dart with excitement. "First, we have to change the name from The Earthquake to World War III."
The executive stroked his chin and, for the first time, looked at Jack. "Hmm, that is interesting."
"Interesting?" exclaimed Jack. "Never heard of! And listen to this -- it won't be difficult to improve the special effects and a stage decor, they are very similar to those of The Earthquake. Also, we would add to the show, computerized miniature airplane dogfights, which could be delivered from Reno. I already spoke with a stage manager there. And the gimmick for attracting everyone's attention is to open the premiere and the season with a real F-16 dogfight -- the air show. They call it the Blue Angels Air Display. I just clinched the deal with the Colorado Air Base, General Martinez. If you approve, of course, he would send nine of his best pilots -- and they do it for free!"
"Free?" exclaimed the executive.
"Yes!" Jack almost shouted, but restrained his composure. "They always do it free," said Jack, calming down. "For some reason, their authorities believe that those shows help the Air Force with recruiting. Well, I don't know about the Air Force, but it surely should help us. All we have to do is to bring in the audience."
"And we will bring the audience, right, Jack?" Suddenly smiled the executive.
"Absolutely! The hotel is chock full of people, with a little promotion, that's it." Jack stretched his arms.