him.
“Rise and shine, Birk ol’ buddy,” said Ferguson from the foot of the bed. “Time to do some business.”
“Ferguson, how did you get onto my boat?”
“You invited me the other day, remember?”
“My guards?”
“Upstairs sleeping,” said Ferguson. “I keep telling you, Polacks guarding Polacks is never going to work. By the way, when are you going to hire a full crew? You have only four bodyguards on duty. That’s fine for the Syrians, but what if a real enemy came calling?”
“Undo my chains,” grumbled Birk.
“Just belts,” said Ferguson. “You’re a really heavy sleeper, Birk. You’re lucky I didn’t do something you’d regret.”
Ferguson nodded at Thera, who leaned over and undid them. Birk stayed motionless for a moment, then grabbed for her. Thera, prepared, had no trouble fending him off with a hard punch to the chest, calculated to stun rather than incapacitate. Birk fell back, blinked a few times, then rolled to the other side of the bed, grabbing for a weapon.
“I got it already,” said Ferguson, holding up the pistol. “So the Walther P1A1 has the arms dealer’s seal of approval?”
“A gun is a gun,” said Birk. “Why are you here?”
“I want to make a purchase.”
Birk’s face brightened and he sat up. “What do you want?”
“Is the missile still for sale?”
“Yes,” said Birk.
“When can we take delivery?”
“Three days. Or maybe four.”
“Three days?”
“I need a day or two to make arrangements. You know how it goes.”
“Is that how long it’s going to take you to get the missile for the Iraqi?”
Birk made a face. “What Iraqi?”
“Khazaal.”
“I told you, I’m not dealing with him.”
“You shouldn’t. It would decrease your life expectancy. And you see how defenseless you are.”
“I’m not dealing with him, Ferguson. I haven’t been invited to their party. I’m not trusted, and I don’t care to be. Not there.”
“Why is the Russian in town?”
“I don’t know. Honestly.”
“Are the Israelis involved?”
“Mossad? Here? You believe the stories that they are supermen. That is a myth they like to spread. They were powerful once. Those days are gone.”
“How much do you want for the missile?”
“A million. As I said the other night.”
“Three hundred thousand.”
“Be reasonable. I have others interested.”
“Oh really? Khazaal?”
“There is a good market for a weapon like this,” said Birk. “Someone offered me five tonight.”
Ferguson laughed.
“I can get two million,” said Birk, annoyed not that his bluff was called but that he had made such a halfhearted attempt. He was not at his best when first waking. “You must meet my price.”
“I don’t know how high I can go,” said Ferguson. “If you’re serious—”
“Very serious.”
“I have talk to the bean counters.”
“You were to do that the other day.”
“No, the other day I had to get clearance from my superiors. Now that I have it, I can see what’s in the piggy bank.”
“You’re becoming more like the Russians every day, Ferguson. This is not a good direction to take. What happened to the man I was going into business with? Where is the boldness?”
Ferguson smiled. “In the interests of goodwill, I’d like to buy some other items.”
“Not on credit,” said Birk.
“Considering that we’re doing business—”
“Not on credit, Ferg. No, no, no. You know better.”
“We can roll it into the other deal, with a little interest.”
Birk shook his head.
“All right. But I need to take delivery by this afternoon,” said Ferguson.
“It will be figured into the price. What do you need?”
“C4—”
“I have a Czech substitute. Very high quality.”
“Acceptable. I need something along the lines of the M252, the 81 nun mortar.”
“I can get you two of the British designs. Same weapon. How many rounds?”
“At least four good ones. High explosives. I’d like some training rounds and an illumination round or two.”
“Training rounds? Why?”
“I’m out of practice. I need some rifles.”
“M16s? Or will AK-47s do?”
“Well, what do you have?”
“Oh, we have many things,” said Birk, finally warming to his role as a dealer. “If you want a machine gun, I have these very nice H&Ks made in Mexico. I came by them just the other day.”
“Mexico?”
“Your army chose the Minimi over it, but I think the trials were rigged.”
“Yeah, but Mexico?”
“Labor is cheaper there. What can I say?”
“I’ll take two, but I need regular rifles as well. Kalashnikovs. Couple of thousand rounds. And something like a MILAN antitank weapon.”
“Now we are becoming serious,” said Birk. This was his way of saying that he did not have the item, but could find suitable substitutes. “Not RPGs?”
“I need something better. Longer range.”
“Battle tested.”
“Sure, if I don’t mind being flattened by the return fire.”
“Handled properly, there will be no return fire.” Birk knotted his brow. “I have a pair of older Gustavs. Good weapons. Hard to find ammunition.”
“How many rounds?”
“Just two. But I can let you take them very cheap.”
“I’ll bet.”
The Gustavs — M2 Carl Gustav recoilless rifles — were Swedish-built antitank guns. They fired an 84mm round to about 450 meters; the missile could penetrate up to eighteen inches of armor.
“Are you going to war with all of this?” asked Birk.
“More or less. I need some crappy radios, too. Something easy to intercept. Russian.”
Birk rolled his eyes. “As you wish.”
They haggled for a bit over price after Ferguson finished giving him the shopping list. The mortars were very expensive: the list price on the versions that the U.S. used was just a shade under $25,000, and while Birk couldn’t get quite that much for a used British model, he held out for more than half. Ferguson got some throw-ins, including
