Cliff Ryder - The Powers That Be

Theodore, on the other hand, accomplished the unusual task of dining while barely looking at his plate. His manners were impeccable, and his dishes were as clean as if he had once served time—which Jonas expected he had—and wasn’t about to waste a single bite of food ever again.

Jonas attempted to draw him out in conversation, as well, but his replies were polite but closed. He apparently considered himself still on duty. He did not drink in Karen with his eyes, as most red-blooded men did, but observed her dispassionately, as another possible threat to his employer.

He also kept a close eye on the servers every time a course was presented or cleared. Between the two men, Jonas was more concerned about projecting the right image to Theodore—that of a successful black market businessman.

He figured Theodore had most likely traveled in circles closer to Heinemann’s, and therefore would also probably be more suspicious than Castilo. His overall impression, like at their first meeting, was that Theodore would be a good one to watch your back. That could make things prob-lematic down the line if he really was as good as he appeared to be.

The sun had long disappeared by the time they had finished, and Castilo patted his stomach in contentment.

“Thank you for an excellent meal.”

Jonas patted the armrest of his chair. “When my crew brings her over from the Mediterranean, I always make sure that a top chef is aboard, as well. Now, how about an after-dinner drink?”

Castilo’s eyes lit up. “That would be excellent.”

“I’ll join you,” Karen said, rising.

“Not this time, I’m afraid, my dear. Rafael and I have some business to discuss, and you would be so dreadfully bored,” Jonas said.

She pouted, the expression doing delightful things to her full lips. “Someday, I swear, I’m going to make you go a whole day without discussing business.” She stepped over and gave Castilo an expansive hug. “It was a pleasure seeing you again. Please give my regards to Javier. I do hope I will have the chance to see her again.”

“I’m sure she would enjoy that, my dear. You are, as always, enchanting to the last. Buenos noches. ”

“Good night.” She pecked Jonas on the cheek and flounced into the saloon, the sarong swirling around her legs.

The three men watched her go, Castilo with a sly smile curling his lips. “She appears to be quite a handful.”

Jonas smiled. “Sometimes my dear Joanne requires both, but she is nothing I cannot handle.” He motioned to the stairs behind them. “Shall we?”

He led the two men to the upper saloon, now softly lit by recessed lighting. On a low table in the center of the room sat a long olive-green aluminum box with rounded corners, with the metal security bands intact. It was stamped with Rocket Ammunition With Explosive Projectile on the top and the letters FRD on the end.

Castilo’s eyes widened when he saw the case. Jonas smiled. “Would you care for something from the bar?”

“In a minute. Our business has waited long enough.”

Jonas walked to the table and stood in front of the case.

“Rafael, before I show you what I have to offer, I want you to know one thing. I meant what I said yesterday. My business may seem motivated simply by greed, and on the whole in-different to the suffering of humanity, but I view my services as providing necessary equipment to people. I do so in the hope that, should they have to resort to using force, the munitions I supply may shorten, or even prevent a conflict if possible.”

Castilo listened to his words with a slight frown. “I have met many businessmen, each with their own reasons for doing what they do. However, this is the first time I’ve ever met an arms dealer with a heart of gold.”

Shrugging, Jonas walked over and picked up a small wire cutter, offering it to the other man. “As you can see, these haven’t even been taken out of their shipping crates. I thought you’d like to do the honors so you can see for yourself that everything is intact.”

While Castilo eyed the long metal box with interest, he shook his head. “I will confess that I do not have your experience in these matters. If you please?”

“My pleasure.” Jonas walked to one side of the box and pointed to a hexagonal metal disk at the end. There was a circle inside the disk divided into four blue sections by two crossed black lines. “As you will see, the humidity indica- tor shows that this box has not been tampered with. That shows that this system has not been opened or repackaged.”

“Perhaps, but the true proof is in seeing what’s inside with my own eyes,” Castilo replied.

Jonas unlocked the heavy metal padlocks on each closure and removed them, then broke the wire seal between the lid and the bottom of the case and opened it. Nestled within was the finned tube of a missile launcher. “Gentlemen, this is the FIM-92A Stinger-RMP Block I surface-to-air missile. Approximately fifteen and a half kilograms when loaded, with a speed of Mach 2.2 plus, a ceiling of three miles and a range of eight miles, it is suitable for engaging all types of low-flying air- or rotorcraft.”

Castilo and Theodore walked over to the case and stared at the innocuous length of metal and plastic inside. Theodore broke the silence first. “Where are the gripstocks? Normally those are shipped separately.”

Jonas nodded. “If you’ll check under the table, there is another case that contains the gripstock with its integral Identify Friend or Foe circuitry. Each weapon system is sold with five missile rounds apiece, along with the necessary instructions for use.”

Theodore pulled on a pair of thin black leather gloves and slid out a smaller green metal case, opening it to verify Jonas’s words. “And the battery systems are fully operational?”

“Absolutely. However, I hope you’ll excuse me if I do not propose a demonstration at this time.”

“What about end-user certificates?”

Jonas frowned. “That would be interesting. I don’t think the mujahideen really cared where these went. They were just happy to receive payment for them once these items were no longer needed.”

Both of the men looked up at Jonas. “Is that where these came from?” Castilo asked.

Jonas spread his hands. “I’m afraid I cannot say anything more. If a nation is interested in purchasing these, then I’m sure something could be worked out. However, I didn’t know you were representing a country at this time.”

Castilo straightened from where he had leaned over to get a better look at the missile system. “I do represent a country, even if it does not know that yet. If we were to assume that I could put you in touch with a buyer, what would the total cost be?”

“Due to their proven effectiveness and relative scarcity, I would have to charge a serious buyer a quarter of a million dollars for each set, consisting of the weapon system and five missile rounds.”

Castilo looked at Theodore and nodded at the double doors. The bodyguard slipped out the entryway, standing outside as if guarding access to the room. “I think I’ll have that drink now, if you please.”

“Of course.” Jonas crossed to the bar. “Rémy Martin?”

Rafael waved a hand in assent, his gaze not straying from the boxed Stinger launcher. Jonas poured two snifters of the cognac. He approached the other man slowly, holding out the crystal snifter. “Join me?”

Castilo nodded, accepting the glass and walking over to a set of armchairs arranged around a small low table in the corner. He sat down and swirled his drink, sniffed apprecia-tively, then took a slow swallow.

Jonas sat back and did the same, letting the silence draw out. There was nothing to be gained by trying to force the conversation—if there was one thing Jonas knew about the other man, it was that he would talk when he was ready. It really is a shame what has to happen here, he thought. It is rare enough to find another person to enjoy a companionable silence with in the first place. However, now that he might be on the cusp of finally getting what he was here for, he wasn’t about to jeopardize that for anything.