Carlotta nodded, handed him her glass, and moved across the room. In her mind she went over the shopping list of arms she had prepared for Ali Maumed Kashmir, the merchant of death.
"Hadley, are you in place?"
"Right. I'm with Chris, about a mile out from the gate."
"Good. Barzoni?… Hal?"
"Barzoni here. I'm on the left perimeter. I can see right down into the compound."
"This is Hal. I'm in place on the right and on the hill."
"Check," Carter replied. "She's inside. Step down and rest easy. It's probably going to be a long night."
The replies squawked back at him through the small hand-held radio. Carter snapped it to "receive," belted it, and turned to the other three men in the launch.
Two of them were in black rubber wet suits like himself. The third man was dressed in dungarees, a black shirt, and a dark jacket. He was the pilot of the launch that now bobbed in the middle of Great Bay. His name was Harris, and like the launch, he had been borrowed from the Coast Guard for the operation.
"Ted, Marko… have you both got it, or do you want to go over it again?"
"Not much to it, really," replied the taller of the two men. "Marko and I take the marina and perimeter guards, while you go for the power source to shut off the fence."
Carter nodded. "Don't waste anybody unless it's an absolute necessity. We don't want a bloodbath if we can help it."
"What makes a necessity?"
"Anybody who tries to give an alarm," Carter replied, then stepped through the launch's hatch into the small cabin.
It had originally contained a galley, a table, and a couple of bunks. The galley remained, but the bunks and the table had been removed and replaced with communications equipment.
One small receiver between two larger ones glowed with a pulsing green light. When Cariotta Polti had word from Kashmir that the order could be filled, and the pickup and payment was cleared, that light would shift to red.
It was their signal to go.
Carter lit a cigarette and sat down to watch and wait.
"This is a very long and involved list," Kashmir said, looking over the notes he had made in an undecipherable scrawl. "Are you planning on overthrowing the entire government this time?"
"You merely broker the arms, Ali. You and I know that you don't give a damn what we do with them once they are paid for."
"Touché."
"Can you supply?"
His attention returned to the notes. The eyes were cold now, calculating profit. Gone was the sneering, practiced smile of the playboy jet-setter.
"The sniper rifles, the L39AIs…"
"Yes?"
"They are extremely difficult to come by, especially in these quantities."
Cariotta inhaled deeply on a cigarette and let the twin spumes of smoke shoot from her nostrils before replying. "Then I suppose they will be more expensive."
"Quite," he replied with a thin-lipped smile. "Would the new British Parker-Hale .222 do, if they are available? It has the same velocity but without the overpenetration."
She seemed to think a great deal on this. Actually, the quantity and the nature of the arms made very little difference. They would only be used as bait and pawns anyway, and, like the earlier shipment from Kashmir, they would never make their way into the hands of La Amicizia di Liberia Italiana.
Of course, she did not want Kashmir to know that.
"Yes, we would prefer the AIs, but we would accept the Parker-Hales as substitutes."
"The plastique, the submachine guns, and the fitted laser sights will be no problem." Kashmir looked up, his eyes boring into hers. "Do you have your own end-use certificate, or do I supply one?"
"That would depend on the place of delivery."
"I would prefer Amsterdam. Brussels is very dangerous right now."
"Then we will need a certificate."
He nodded. "You will take delivery personally?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Now… payment."
"Half on contract, half on delivery. The first half through Swiss accounts, the second half in cash."
"Swiss francs?"
"If you so desire."
"I do," Kashmir said, uncoiling from his chair and coming around the desk. "It will take about an hour to get a reply. In the meantime, why don't you rejoin the party?"
Carlotta stood and walked with him to the door.
"My chauffeur tells me that you brought down your bags with you."
"Wasn't that your suggestion?… That I stay the night?"
"Of course. I'm just rather surprised that you have decided to do so. The last time we met, I must say you were rather cold toward my… suggestions."
He had stopped, turning her body to his. Now he was slowly running his hands up and down her back and gently moving his lower body against hers.
Carlotta felt a shudder of revulsion begin its surge through her from his touch, and suppressed it.
"That was last time, Ali. This is this time."
His dark eyes flashed. "I am elated. With a client so beautiful, it will be a joy to mix a bit of pleasure with business."
She met his gaze evenly. "Just don't forget that the primary purpose of this visit is business."
"Of course. Perhaps later, once our little transaction is concluded, we could indulge in a little moonlight swim?… Nude, of course."
"Hardly," she said with a chuckle. "I don't make a spectacle of myself, and I'm not interested in orgies."
"You mean the other guests?"
"Yes."
Kashmir laughed. "There is a simple solution to that. My little party will break up early, and they will all be sent home."
Carlotta forced herself not to let the relief register on her face. If everything went according to plan in the wee hours of the morning, it was imperative that there be no innocent, legitimate people around to muddy up the waters.
"Well?"
"I think a midnight swim — nude, of course — would be exciting."
"Excellent!"
He let her out the door and quickly walked back to the wall behind his desk. A deft twist of a small piece of molding, and a panel in the wall slid open just wide enough to let him pass through.
The room was small, just large enough for a computer, a desk, and a telephone setup.
Kashmir activated the machine, and when it was warmed up sufficiently, dialed the special Manhattan number. When the modem clicked in, he began to send.
Naomi Bartinelli rarely drank. By the light from the lamp on her night table, she saw that she had already consumed half of the bottle of sherry next to it.
It had been four nights since she had wantonly given herself to the tall, handsome man she had met in the Oak Room of the Plaza Hotel. He had departed the next morning, saying that he wouldn't be able to see her for at least a few weeks, some flimsy excuse of a business trip.
She knew it was a lie. She would never see him again. It was the story of her life.
Oddly, she wondered if the almost two million dollars in her accounts would have impressed him as much as her body had obviously impressed him. Bodies were transitory; money was solid.
No, she would never see him again, and it was a shame. He had been a wonderful lover. But perhaps it was just as well. How would she ever explain to him the source of her wealth?
That was why Naomi had dipped so deeply into the bottle of sherry. Once again she was envisioning herself as a lonely, rich old lady one day.
She clicked the tiny, concealed switch on the light that would trip the breaker so the bulb would stay lit and moved through the living room to her office.
It took her a couple of minutes longer than usual to work the locks. Her eyes didn't seem to want to focus.
At last she was in the room and the equipment was humming. Seated, she typed in a "GO AHEAD," and the word «JASMINE» appeared on one of the screens.