RainStorm

quest for perfect intelligence becomes an
    excuse for a failure to act. The situation seemed manageable for the
    moment, but it could easily change. I didn't want to delay any
    longer.
    I took two deep breaths and switched back to Dox's channel.
    "You ready?" I asked.
    "Sure I am. Been waiting on you, that's all."
    "Start with Belghazi. Then the white guy who came with him.
    Then the two white guys from the Lexus. I think they might be
    Russian. They look military to me, harder targets than Belghazi's
    usual retinue."
    "Roger that."
    "Take out as many as you can. The ones you don't drop are going
    to figure out the general direction the shots are coming from.
    Their only cover is the vehicles. When they move around the vehicles
    to get away from you, their backs will be to me. I'll close the
    pincer."
    "Sounds like a plan, buddy. Here we go."
    At that moment, Belghazi, Hilger, and the Russians moved
    around to the back of the van. I heard Dox say, "Damn, lost my shot."
    "Hold on, I can still see him. They're just talking. Belghazi is
    gesturing to the inside of the van. I think they're talking about
    transport arrangements, something like that. Give me a second, I'm
    going to switch over again."
    "Roger that."
    The Russian was nodding his head as though satisfied with
    whatever Belghazi had explained to him. I watched Belghazi take
    out his satellite phone. I switched channels in time to hear him say,
    "We're ready for the cargo, please. Thank you."
    He must have been talking to his contact inside. This wasn't
    what I had been expecting. I had thought the meeting would be
    just to inspect whatever the cargo was, confirm its contents, and
    exchange money. The port guy would take care of bills of lading
    and country of origin certifications and the other minutiae of Kwai
    Chung's EDI, then send the cargo off to its ultimate buyer. But it
    seemed that the goods were going to change hands right here.
    And Belghazi had arrived with the van. I had assumed that he
    would be selling the cargo. Now I wondered if tonight he wasn't
    the buyer. I was fine either way. But I did want to know where that
    damn money was.
    The Russians, it seemed, shared my concern. "You have the
    cash?" one of them asked Belghazi.
    Belghazi nodded. He said something in Arabic to his driver, who
    walked over to the back of the Mercedes, where he retrieved a large
    black duffel bag from the trunk. He carried it back behind the van,
    set it on the ground, and unzipped it. It was stuffed with greenbacks.
    "Would you like to count it?" Belghazi asked.
    The Russian smiled. "It would take a long time to count five
    million dollars."
    Holy shit, I thought, what are these guys selling?
    "I doubt you would find it boring, though," Belghazi said, and
    they all laughed.
    Come on, fuckers, move out from behind that van, I thought. But
    they all stayed put.
    Five minutes went by. They all watched the gate. No one spoke.
    I switched back to Dox.
    "They're still behind the van," I said.
    "I figured. I'd have seen them if they'd gone anywhere else."
    "Did you see that duffel bag?" I asked.
    "Sure did. What's in it?"
    "I'm reluctant to tell you. It might affect your shooting."
    "Partner, nothing affects my shooting. When I'm looking
    through this scope, I could be getting a blow job and perineum
    massage from midget twins and I wouldn't even know it."
    "Excuse me for a second. I need to drive a hot poker through
    my mind's eye."
    He chuckled. "Well, what's in the bag?"
    "Five million U.S., it sounds like."
    "Well, that's good," he said. His tone was soft and even, and I
    realized he was telling the truth: when he was in sniping mode, he
    wasn't going to be distracted by anything not directly related to the
    task at hand.
    A Chinese man on a powered hand truck was pulling up to the
    gate. Four large metal crates were stacked across the vehicle's tines.
    "They're going to open the gate," I told Dox. "But I don't think
    anyone is going inside. They're going to load those crates into the
    van. Then the Russians are going to pick up the duffel bag and
    everyone will go back to his car. That's our moment."
    "Roger that."
    The gate opened and the hand truck came through. The driver
    lowered the crates into the van, backed out, then stepped off the
    vehicle. Belghazi and one of the Russians climbed into the van.
    "I think they're inspecting whatever's in the crates," I said. "I
    can't see inside the van. Shouldn't be much longer."
    "Roger that."
    A minute later, Belghazi and