Oath of Office

The Russians looked at each other.

“All right,” Vladimir said. “How you move the cargo makes no difference to me, so long as it gets moved. The buyers will take possession as soon as it reaches Iranian soil.”

“We have not discussed money,” da Rocha said.

“That is true,” the Russian said. “We have not. There are two… parts… to this cargo. We estimate the wholesale price of each one to be fifteen million American dollars.”

Da Rocha blinked hard to try and mask the growing twitch in his eye. The incessant demand and uncertainty of supply of weapons in the black market often made for exorbitant prices. Buyers paid a handsome premium so someone else would run the risk of going to prison. A two-hundred-dollar Bosnian Kalashnikov could go for over two thousand in Mexico. Still, he had a hard time picturing a deal where he could come out on top after laying down thirty million dollars on the front end.

“That is a great deal of money for me to pay for something sight unseen,” da Rocha said. “I am not even sure what the buyers have agreed to.”

Vladimir raised an open hand. “You must excuse my understanding of English. ‘Wholesale’ was not the correct word. My employer would pay you, not the other way around.”

Da Rocha struggled to remain composed. “You will pay me to take these items off your hands? What is the benefit in that?”

Vladimir rubbed his eyes. “The benefit is of no concern to you, my friend. Let us just say that my employer wishes to assist the cause of a friend without becoming personally involved.”

“I see,” da Rocha said, though he did not — not quite, anyway. He’d learned years ago when running women and drugs for Ochoa that product never went out for free — something was always expected in return.

“We pay you to move the items,” Vladimir said. “To act as a go-between. To be the… face… of the transaction.”

Da Rocha leaned on one arm, trying not to slip on the plastic with his sweating hand. His legs were getting sore from sitting sideways on the floor. “I have many shipping routes and mechanisms,” da Rocha said, turning up the bravado like the salesman that he was. “I can move anything from palletized crates of rifles to the largest helicopter gunship. Whatever your cargo is, it will be no problem, but how will I know the retail price if I do not know what I am shipping?”

Vladimir took a quick breath through his nose. “Two things, Mr. da Rocha. The retail price is also set at fifteen million per item. So you will be paid twice.”

Da Rocha tried to remain impassive, but he was certain that the notion of sixty million caused his eye to twitch even worse. For a time, he’d thought he might be dealing with some rogue separatist group, but only states dealt in that kind of money, and not for conventional weapons. “Forgive me for being blunt, but is this cargo… nuclear in nature?”

Vladimir looked down his nose. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” da Rocha said honestly. Death was death. He might as well sell nukes as sarin gas or computerized guidance systems.

“Outstanding,” Vladimir said, raising his hand again. “You will be well paid, but I cannot stress enough the importance of your discretion. Without it, there can be no future business.”

Future business, da Rocha thought. That was a promising sign. “You will not be disappointed,” he said. “That French fool Gaspard was fond of whispering into the wind to make himself feel more successful. It was from him that I first heard of your interest in doing some sort of business.”

Vladimir smiled serenely, sickeningly so. “Then we are both fortunate.” He pointed toward the doorway. “You should begin immediately. Please provide your account information to Gregor on your way out. He will give you the details.”

Da Rocha clambered to his feet on wooden legs, numb from being in the same position too long. He reached down to help Lucile, but she ignored him, not out of spite, but as a practical matter, to keep her own hands free.

She asked, “When will the cargo arrive in Muscat?”

“It is there now,” Vladimir said. “This transfer must occur quickly.”

“I will make arrangements tomorrow, then,” da Rocha said.

“Tonight,” the Russian said.

“There were two things?”

“Ah,” Vladimir said, standing alongside the other Russians. “I must tell you the other reason my employer is willing to pay such a great sum. There is a high likelihood this particular route of yours will eventually be discovered by the authorities.”

“Discovered?”

“Yes,” Vladimir said. “Exposed. Burned. Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all,” da Rocha said, his pocketbook feeling heavier already.

28

Midas left for da Rocha’s hotel first, leaving Jack to pay for the tapas and beer. He would follow up two minutes later, watching for any sign of countersurveillance.