“One of these days, Ferguson, you’re going to push things much too far. Much, much too far,” said the arms dealer, looking over from his chair. “Let him go.”
“Can I get a towel?” Ferguson pulled off his gear and sat in the empty seat across from Birk. He declined the offer of a cigar.
“They don’t make them as well as they used to,” complained Birk. “Standards have slipped since Castro got worried about lung cancer. Something to drink?”
“Water would be nice.”
“A bottle of Pellegrino for our guest,” Birk said. His brother-in-law scowled but went below to fetch it.
“I notice you hired a few new guards,” said Ferguson.
“Rough neighborhood. Why did you blow up Khazaal?”
“I didn’t. The Israelis did. They wanted Meles, and he happened to be nearby.”
“I might believe that,” said Birk. “But no one else will.”
“Did you pay the men for the trouble I caused?” said Ferguson as Brother-in-Law came over with the Pellegrino. He made sure his voice was loud enough for the others to hear.
“I wouldn’t cheat my men. Not very good business,” said Birk. He signaled that Brother-in-Law should leave them.
“So everyone thinks I killed Khazaal?” asked Ferguson when they were alone.
Birk shrugged. “What other people think, I couldn’t say. The Syrians are looking for Jewish spies. But they are always looking for Jewish spies.”
“The Syrians weren’t in on it, were they?”
“The Syrians and Israelis working together? That would be interesting. Very interesting.” Birk didn’t laugh.
“Was Khazaal here to sell or buy a Scud?” Ferguson asked.
“Bah. Neither, I would think. Obsolete equipment.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Ferguson, truly, if you want junk, talk to Ras.”
“You couldn’t get me a Scud if I wanted one?”
“I can get you a real missile.”
“How would I get a Scud?” Ferguson asked.
Birk sighed. “You wouldn’t.”
“If I wanted one.”
Birk studied his cigar. “I suppose that if you honestly and truly wanted one, it could be had.”
“From?”
“The Koreans. You could perhaps purchase a Scud-D SS-le, seven-hundred-kilometer range. The design is not actually the same as the Russian… I’m afraid I don’t retain details I’m not interested in.”
“Why aren’t you interested?”
“No one wants to buy such a missile. The liquid fuel is very difficult to obtain and to handle. The weapon I can get you, much better.”
“The Siren?”
“I have another buyer. You’ll have to act fast. The price is going up.”
Ferguson took this as a ploy and was annoyed. “I want a Scud.”
“Perhaps the Iraqis can help you. You should reconsider about the Siren. I have a genuine offer on the table. Five million.”
“Right.”
“But I would give you a very good deal for old time’s sake,” said Birk, deciding he would much prefer to sell to the American CIA. “Two million.”
“Three times too much.”
“Two million is a bargain.”
“What happened to one million?”
“One million,” repeated Birk. No, he decided; that was too much of a discount.
On the other hand, considering what the Israelis had done…
“Perhaps, for old time’s sake,” said Birk. “Perhaps for a million.”
“I need a few more days,” said Ferguson.
“Oh,” said Birk, genuinely disappointed now. But here was the consolation: he would make four million dollars more, and more than likely the Jews were buying it anyway. Yes, this must be so. They did not fool around the way the Americans did.
“Who’s your other buyer?” Ferg asked.
“Oh, there are always buyers.”
“Come on, don’t try and bluff me,” said Ferguson.
“I have other buyers,” said Birk. “You will see I am serious, Ferguson.”
“Right.”
“We’ll see then.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Birk. That’s your one flaw as an arms dealer.”
“It isn’t a flaw; it’s a reason to do business with me: I’m honest.” Birk once more looked at the tip of his cigar, frowning as if there were something wrong with the gray ash.
“Tell me about Vassenka,” said Ferguson.
“Again?”
“Who was he here to meet?”
“I didn’t even know he was here,” said Birk, protesting a bit. “You told me.”
“I’d like you to do me a favor,” said Ferguson, taking a swig from the bottle. “I’d like you to pass a message to him. Tell him I’m ready to make that deal.”
“To Vassenka? He would never talk to me.”
“Sure he would. Professional courtesy.”
“No. I doubt this.”
“Try. Tell him I’m ready to make that deal.”
“He’ll know what you’re talking about?”
“If he has a good memory. Tell him I can get him out of the country. Vouch for me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a great guy.” Ferguson rose.
“Are you sure he wasn’t killed?”
“I know he wasn’t killed, and I know you know every Russian in town, even though you hate their guts. Tell him my offer stands. And I’ll get him out.”
“If you need a Russian—”
“I need that Russian,” said Ferguson, pulling on his flippers. “I’ll check with you tonight, in your office.”
“I’m always there.”
9
Ravid said nothing the whole way to Cyprus, shaking his head and not answering when asked if he wanted anything to drink. He sat alone, walked the deck alone, and in general kept to himself. After watching him for a while, Rankin decided that the Israeli felt humiliated that he’d had to go to the Americans to escape. It was possible that something had gone wrong in the operation, as well: how had he gotten injured? But Rankin decided he wasn’t in the mood to question the guy. If he was going to be a jerk and not say anything, well, the hell with him.
Maybe if he’d been in the same position, he’d’ve kept his mouth shut, too. The boat that had picked them up was a nice-sized yacht, the sort of toy Rankin had seen a lot of in Miami and fancy places like that on vacation. The
