was damn good. Just look at them. They’ll pay whatever I want . . .
Sudden disgust filled him. Syed and his group wanted to use the warheads to kill Americans and their allies, to spread their extremism through terror and murder. And he was helping them do it . . .
Calm down. Remember the mission. Play the part. Be the part.
Be Toradze.
I am Toradze.
If his brief crisis of conscience had shown on his face, none of the others noticed. Syed finally tore his gaze from the rocket. ‘How many do you have?’
‘At the moment, only ten. But I will be able to get another fifty in the next two weeks, and maybe as many as three hundred in the month after that.’
Caution tempered the terrorist’s anticipation. ‘If they are still experimental, how can you get so many?’
‘I said they are technically still experimental. But that only means they have not yet been approved for field use by the Russian army. They are in full production ready for export sales – and I have a pipeline into the factory.’
Syed nodded. ‘And . . . the price?’
Be bold, be firm. They want them. I can tell.
‘Per warhead? Two thousand US dollars.’
The Pakistani visibly flinched. ‘Two thousand dollars?’ he erupted. ‘But we can buy anti-tank rockets for only two hundred dollars!’
Adam had anticipated the objection. ‘Rockets that bounce off tanks. Rockets that cannot even break through the slat armour on a Stryker. Malik, my friend . . .’ He gave Syed a broad smile. ‘An Abrams tank costs over six million dollars. You can kill that tank for just two thousand. It is a bargain.’ He’s considering it. Keep pushing. ‘And if you want proof that they really work, then the three warheads here? They are yours, for nothing. My free sample.’
Syed considered the offer. ‘Will they work?’ he said eventually. ‘Are they as good as you say?’
‘I will bet my reputation on it,’ Adam said proudly.
The terrorist leader stared at the warhead. He’s hooked. I’ve got him. ‘Okay. I will accept your . . . gift. If they work, how soon will you be able to deliver—’
The door buzzer sounded.
The other terrorists raised their guns in alarm. Suspicious eyes glared at Adam. But Syed waved a hand for them to remain still. He thumbed the intercom button and spoke in Pashto.
‘Muhammad,’ came the reply. Syed buzzed him in. His men lowered their guns. The terse response was probably a form of code, Adam decided, remembering that Umar had done the same. Saying anything more than their name would warn those inside that the new arrival was there under duress.
Syed turned back to his visitor. ‘How soon will you be able to get us more rockets?’
‘As I said, I can have fifty in two weeks. I will need a down payment – half the money in advance. Then all I need to know is where and when to deliver them.’
‘One hundred thousand American dollars? It is a lot of money.’
Adam shrugged. ‘It is a lot of firepower. But you can test that for yourself, hey?’ He put the rocket back in the case. ‘If you get three hits, you will get three kills. I guarantee it.’
For the first time, Syed’s expression became something other than grim mistrust, the corners of his mouth crinkling upwards with malevolent anticipation. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘I thought you would.’ Got him. I’ve got him! Champagne to celebrate, once I’m out of this backwards alcohol-free country! The part of him that was Toradze revelled in his success . . . while the rest struggled to conceal his loathing at his actions. Syed’s group now had three devastating anti-tank weapons; while they would never receive any more, no matter how events played out – Toradze’s contact at the weapons factory would soon be arrested – it was still three too many. The men in Washington who had authorised the mission had deemed the risk worth it. Adam didn’t necessarily agree.
But his opinions were irrelevant. He had a job to do. Follow orders. Complete the mission.
Syed picked up one of the rockets, admiring it. ‘After we test them, what then?’
‘I will come back to Pakistan to collect my down payment,’ Adam replied. ‘Then we will arrange delivery.’
Syed nodded, then looked round at a knock on the door. Two quick, a pause, then two slower taps. Guns were raised again. Marwat, nearest the entrance, opened the door slightly to check who was outside, then let him in.