a pair of white phosphorous rounds, but he was not in a position to haggle and probably wouldn’t have gotten a much better deal elsewhere in the city if he had been. Birk claimed to be taking a beating by selling the Gustavs for only five thousand dollars apiece, which was actually a fair deal, especially as an RPG-7 (the basic lightweight Russian rocket-launched grenade) would have cost about the same. The total — as Ferguson had predicted several days before — came to just under a hundred thousand dollars.
Thera, tiring of the back and forth, went topside to check on Monsoon. He had removed the mesh from the two guards at the bow and stowed it in a canvas bag. Though it covered about ten square feet, the thin filament filled the space of a large skein of yarn.
One of the men moaned. “Think he needs another shot?” Monsoon asked Thera.
“Nah, we’re out of here. You can OD on that stuff.” She could tell from Monsoon’s expression that he didn’t think that would be a particularly bad thing; in his eyes, an arms dealer’s goon was as much of a scumbag as a terrorist was. “Killing him would be counterproductive in the long run,” Thera explained. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“He’s not going to be happy when he wakes up anyway.”
“Ferg’s call.”
By way of conversation when the deal was concluded, Ferguson asked Birk what other gossip he had heard about the meeting. Birk mentioned some minor terrorists as he dressed.
“What about Meles Abaa?” asked Ferguson. “I hear he’s at the Riviera.”
“Another person I would not deal with.”
“Why not?”
“The Israelis would not like it. It doesn’t pay to anger them.”
“I thought you said there weren’t any Mossad agents in town.”
“That would get back to them. They do not like Meles. That is the difference between you and the Jews, Ferguson. You say you do not like someone, and you watch what he is doing. The Jews,
“I should be more like them, huh?”
“I don’t tell anyone how to run their business.”
Up top, Birk looked over his bodyguards and shook his head. “I can’t even fire this one,” complained the arms dealer, kicking the biggest one. “Tomanski is my brother-in-law.”
“You’re married?” said Ferguson.
“My sister’s husband.”
“You don’t look like the type to have a sister,” said Ferguson. He pulled out a wad of Syrian bills. “I’ll leave this to cover their medical expenses, will they get to spend it or will you?”
“Tell me how much it is, and I’ll dock it from their pay.”
“Fair enough. I don’t feel like swimming back, so I’m going to borrow your boat. I’ll take your brother-in-law with me. He can bring it back when he wakes up. When will things be ready?”
“In the afternoon. Three o’clock.”
“I’ll meet you. Where will you be?”
“The Versailles, but…”
“Not a problem,” said Ferguson, understanding that Birk would be doing business. “I’ll just call. Same number?”
Birk nodded.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” Ferguson bent down and picked up Brother-in-Law.
“Not him!” yelled Thera. “He’s almost conscious.”
It was too late. Whether awake or in drug-induced sleep, the man grabbed Ferguson’s neck in his arms. Ferg leaned forward, spun to the side, and when that failed to release the stranglehold, pushed off the boat, taking Brother-in-Law with him.
The cold water revived the bodyguard enough to panic, and he tightened his grip rather than loosening it. Ferguson jerked his elbow hard against the man’s side, expecting that would release him, then kicked upward. His progress upward could be measured in micrometers. Brother-in-Law was a real meat and potatoes kind of guy, with emphasis on the potatoes; he weighed a hundred pounds more than Ferguson.
“Cover him,” Thera told Monsoon, gesturing at Birk as she dove off into the water to help Ferguson.
By now Ferguson had decided he actually needed air and so took extreme measures, bowing his head down and ramming Brother-in-Law into the side of Birk’s boat. That did the trick: Brother-in-Law’s grip didn’t loosen but the rest of his muscles sagged, and Ferguson was able to kick them both upward to the top about a half second before his lungs would have imploded. Thera fished for the back of Brother-in-Law’s shirt, grabbing it as Birk threw a line down into the water.
“He weighs a ton,” complained Ferguson, ducking back down and finally extricating himself from his grip.
“Keep him,” said Birk. “Get him out of here.”
“Is he alive?” whispered Thera as they pulled Brother-in-Law into the small skiff.
“Don’t check until we’re out of Birk’s sight,” said Ferguson. “He’ll add the funeral to the bill.”
Brother-in-Law was alive and managed to open his eyes a few minutes later as they headed toward Latakia’s commercial port area.
“Sorry I had to hit you,” Ferguson told him.
Brother-in-Law said something in Polish. Polish wasn’t one of Ferguson’s languages, but it didn’t sound much like “have a nice day.”
“You speak English, or do I have to speak Russian?” Ferg asked.
Brother-in-law spit. “Speak Arabic before Russian,” he said in English.
“I’m going to make up for getting you in trouble with Birk but not for slamming you against the yacht; that was self-preservation,” said Ferguson.
The next sentence was in the universal language: he took out five American hundred dollar bills and held him in front of Brother-in-Law’s face. “I need a little help onshore. Nothing you’ll get in trouble for.”
“What?”
“I need some bicycles and a pair of trucks. I can’t drive the trucks at the same time. One bill now, the rest later.”
Thera stared at Ferguson. Was he crazy? How could he trust this guy when he had just about killed him ten minutes before?
“OK,” said Brother-in-Law reaching for, the bills.
Ferg gave one to him.
“Where are we buying these trucks?” Thera asked.
“I wouldn’t use the word
“You think a toy store’s dangerous?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Ferguson, who actually didn’t want them seen by Ravid. “I saw a remote- controlled car there. Get as many of those as you can. Even better would be an airplane. If you see one, grab that, too. But make sure it’s good one; the cheap models’ll only go to seven hundred and fifty feet. We want the high end. Twenty-five hundred if you can.”
“What about a boat?”
“Only if you’re planning on taking a bath,” said Ferg. “After you go shopping, take a nap. You need all the beauty rest you can get.”
Birk’s brother-in-law turned out to be unusually adept at jumping cars and even relished the idea of victimizing the Charitable Brotherhood, which even he knew was nothing more than a collection of slimes masquerading as concerned citizens. Ferguson had him follow in the second truck as he drove across town, first
