RainStorm

the Russian came out of the van.
    They were smiling. Belghazi reached inside his jacket and handed a
    large envelope to the hand truck driver. The man bowed, got on
    the hand truck, and went back through the gate, which closed behind
    him.
    One of the Russians picked up the duffel bag and zipped it shut.
    He shouldered it, then extended his hand to Belghazi. They smiled
    and shook. Everyone seemed to relax: the deal was done, money
    exchanged for merchandise, no unpleasant surprises.
    Everyone, that is, but Belghazi's driver, the bodyguard who had carried the duffel bag over from the Mercedes. He was fidgeting,
    looking from one face to the next. Despite the coolness of the
    night I could see beads of perspiration on his forehead through the
    Zeiss binoculars.
    No one else seemed to notice. They'd all been worried about so
    many things--betrayal, the law, problems with the merchandise,
    problems with payment--none of which had happened. It was natural
    that their guards were down now, if only for a moment.
    Belghazi noticed first. He glanced over at the bodyguard, and
    his brow furrowed. He said something. With the earpiece switched
    to Dox I couldn't hear what. For a second, maybe less, an electric
    tension seemed to build.
    I could see Belghazi getting ready to do something, his center of
    gravity dropping, his legs coiling beneath him. His instincts were
    excellent, perhaps dulled just slightly this one time because the
    source of the problem was a bodyguard, a direction from which he
    hadn't expected trouble to come.
    Hilger looked over at the bodyguard, too. And, possessing a set
    of sharp instincts of his own but without the personal relationship
    that had perhaps fractionally slowed Belghazi's own reaction, he
    shot his hand toward the inside of his jacket.
    But too late. The bodyguard had started his own move a second
    earlier. By the time Hilger's hand had disappeared under his jacket,
    the bodyguard had reached into his rear waistband and withdrawn
    a pistol. He pointed it at Hilger and said something.
    Everyone froze. Hilger slowly removed his hand from inside his
    jacket. It was empty.
    Belghazi was looking at the bodyguard, his expression incredulous.
    He shouted something.
    "Holy shit," I said to Dox. "The bodyguard just pulled a gun on
    Belghazi."
    "Say what?"
    "I think the inside job we were going to simulate is happening
    for real."
    "I'll be damned."
    "I want to hear what they're saying. But if Belghazi shows his
    head, make sure you drop him. No more chances."
    "Roger that."
    I switched over. Belghazi was yelling at the bodyguard in Arabic,
    cursing him, from the tone. The bodyguard was yelling back,
    gesturing with the gun, pointing it from man to man. Everyone
    else seemed frozen.
    "Achille, can you tell me what he's saying, please," Hilger said to
    Belghazi, the words slow and calm. "I don't speak Arabic."
    "Yes, what in fuck is going on here!" one of the Russians added
    loudly.
    "Take out your guns!" the bodyguard shouted. "Slowly! Put
    them on the ground! Slowly, slowly, or I will shoot you!"
    Belghazi never took his eyes from his man. His lips had pulled
    back from his teeth, and his body was coiled like a panther about to
    pounce. It seemed that only the gun prevented him.
    "He says that he is stealing the shipment," he said. Then he let
    out another hot stream of Arabic.
    "Guns on ground!" the bodyguard yelled. "This is the last time
    I ask!"
    The men did as he said. Each of them removed a pistol from a
    waistband or shoulder holster and slowly placed it on the ground.
    "Now hands in the air! Hands in the air!" the bodyguard yelled.
    Everyone complied.
    "Now kick the guns forward. Kick them!" Again, everyone
    complied.
    The bodyguard turned his head to the Russians, but didn't take his eyes from Belghazi. "I am very sorry about this," he said in
    heavily accented English. "Very sorry. We tried to buy the missiles
    from you. But you wouldn't sell them."
    "Who in fuck is 'we'?" the Russian spat.
    "It doesn't matter," the bodyguard said. "What matters is, we
    offered you money, and you told us you already had a buyer-- Belghazi. We offered to pay you more! But you wouldn't listen."
    "Because we know this man, we have business with this man,"
    the Russian said. "With motherfucker we don't know, bullshit like
    this! You see?"
    Belghazi let out another stream of Arabic abuse. Hilger said,
    "Achille, please, I need to know what's going on. Did he say
    'missiles'?"
    Belghazi flexed his hands open