RainStorm

and closed, as though trying to
    burn off some surfeit of energy that would otherwise consume
    him. "Did you send that French piece of shit to Macau?" he said to
    the bodyguard. "It was you, wasn't it."
    The man nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belghazi, very sorry. But you
    were the only reason these men wouldn't sell us the Alazans."
    Alazans? I thought.
    " 'Us.' Who is us?"
    The man shook his head.
    Belghazi threw up his hands and laughed. The laugh sounded
    dangerous, almost mad. "You're right, it doesn't matter! Because I
    would have sold you the Alazans! All you had to do was ask!"
    The man shook his head again. "These are special, you know
    that, you know you would have quadrupled the price. Also you
    would have sold them off in small numbers to many buyers. But we
    need them all. We had to buy direct, and you were in the way. I'm
    sorry."
    Belghazi said, "How are you going to move this merchandise off
    Hong Kong without my help, hmm?"
    The bodyguard nodded almost sympathetically, as though he regretted
    putting his putative employer in such an embarrassing position.
    "We have made our own arrangements for the Alazans.
    Everything is taken care of."
    Hilger said, "Achille, what are 'Alazans,' please? Are there missiles
    in that crate?"
    Belghazi shrugged. He said, "Jim, don't ask me questions you
    don't want answered, all right?"
    "You told me this was another small arms shipment," Hilger
    said, more to himself than to Belghazi. I could imagine the workings
    of his mind: Five million sounded like way too much, I should have
    known right there something was rotten in Denmark. Damn it, these guys
    are trying to move some very bad shit. I've been had.
    The bodyguard turned his head to the Russians and, keeping his
    eyes on Belghazi, said, "We don't want the money. You can keep it,
    it's yours. It's the same amount we would have paid you, if you had
    trusted us. Maybe you will be able to trust us next time, because
    now we have 'done business,' as you say."
    "We keep money?" one of the Russians said.
    The man nodded. "All we want is the Alazans. And, for next
    time, your goodwill."
    I wondered if the man was telling the truth. He might have
    been bluffing, holding out hope for the Russians as a way of persuading
    them to acquiesce in what was happening. Even if he was
    sincere at the moment, though, the Russians would have been
    fools to trust him. The psychology of a criminal who suddenly
    realizes his total dominion over another human life is rarely stable.
    His ambitions grow, his original aims change. A nervous armed
    robber, seeing his victims cowering before him, realizes that not
    only can he rob these people, he can do anything to them, and what
    started as a simple armed robbery escalates to sadism, often to rape.
    So if this went on for another minute or so, I could imagine the
    bodyguard thinking, Why shouldn't I take that five million? It's for a
    worthy cause ... at which point he might also decide that it would
    be best not to leave witnesses, or anyone who might bear a grudge.
    Hilger was watching the bodyguard carefully, his expression
    somehow dubious, and I thought he might be as acquainted with
    these less savory aspects of human psychology as I. In which case, I
    doubted he would remain passive for too much longer.
    Also, he had seemed distinctly unhappy to learn that this shipment
    contained something other than small arms. I wondered if he
    had decided to try to do something about that.
    The Russians started talking to each other, and I realized I had
    been right: they were using Russian. But again I wasn't sure of the
    accent. Were they Ukrainians? Belorussians? Or of some other
    group in the region?
    I watched through the binoculars, amazed. With just a little
    luck, this really could go perfectly. The bodyguard executes the six
    men. Dox drops him as he goes to get in the van. Or they all start
    shooting at each other, and Dox and I take out the "survivors." I
    grab the duffel bag and we drive off.
    But even as I imagined it, I knew it was too good to be true. Because
    I saw a new complication: a silver Toyota Camry, approaching
    from the south end of the access road. Now what? I thought.
    The bodyguard glanced over at the approaching car, then back
    to the men in front of him. He didn't seem surprised; in fact, I
    thought I saw a little relief in his expression. I had a feeling the occupants
    of the car were his compatriots, perhaps having been signaled
    by the bodyguard through some electronic