Finally, the digging was over. Thirty-three graves in one night. It was a new record.

“What’s the haul for this evening, gentlemen?” Cigar embers gave Mason’s face a demonic red glow.

“Twenty-seven wedding rings, thirty fillings, two gold teeth, five watches, twenty-two slightly used tuxedos in various sizes . . .” Giraldo monotonously rattled off the list.

Mason grinned, chewing slightly on his almost nonexistent cigar. “Excellent.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it’s worth all the effort of digging up graves,” Malarkey, one of the new guys, grumbled as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

A large meaty hand latched onto Malarkey’s throat. Mason’s eyes twitched, “Do you know how much they get you on tuxedo rentals nowadays? It’s highway robbery!”

“Okay, okay,” Malarkey gasped, “Sorry I said anything.”

“I detest robbery,” Mason continued, “It’s disgusting what people will do nowadays for just a few more bucks.”

“You point it at a group of people and it’ll obliterate everything in its path.” A gleam of jubilant self-satisfaction shone across Doctor Bradbury’s dark brown eyes and a crooked smile formed as if it were his first such attempt. That’s what he had been hiding behind his cold stoic demeanor all these years. It made me sick.

I considered the ramifications of this- this device. I gulped for air. “And how many of these did you say you made?”

“Forty thousand thus far,” Bradbury said, “Fifty thousand by the end of the week, and after that a production capability of twenty thousand more each week thereafter.”

“With a capability of destroying-” the words caught in my throat. I was getting dizzy.

“Thousands,” the gleam came back to Bradbury’s eyes, “Hundreds of thousands in the right hands.”

“The right hands,” I said turning the device around in my hands. “The right hands.”

“Aren’t you pleased?” Bradbury said. “This will end the war.”

“No, Doctor,” I said pointing the device at his crooked smile. “I will end the war. Right. Now.”