Siro David Ignatius (best e ink reader for manga TXT) 📖

James says you have some friends who are shipping guns across the Iranian border into Azerbaijan. Is that right?”

“Yes. I tell that to nice lady.”

“If you say ‘nice lady’ one more time, I’m going to cut your dick off and stuff it down your throat. So stop saying it! It bothers me.”

Ascari reached protectively for his crotch. “Very sorry. Please.”

“Now, tell us about the guns.”

“What you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“We buy guns. We take them across border. We leave them in Azerbaijan. That is it.”

“I want the details, dipshit.”

“Excuse me, please?”

“I said I want the fucking details.”

“What is in this for Ali?” asked Ascari, sensing that the eagerness of this crazed American for information might give him some momentary bargaining leverage.

“Money,” answered Hoffman.

“How much?”

“That depends on whether you deliver. If you do, a lot.”

“What does that mean?”

“Fuck you. You know what ‘a lot’ means.”

“Maybe I not interested.”

“Oh, you’re interested. You just want to jerk me around. But you gotta understand, my friend, I’ve been dealing with assholes like you for most of my life.”

The Iranian crossed his arms. “Ali not so sure he want to do business with you.”

“Don’t push your luck,” said Hoffman. He scooped up the Greek passport from the table and leaned toward the telephone. He quickly screwed the mouthpiece back on and began dialing.

“Hey. What you doing?”

“I’m calling a Greek friend of mine at the Ministry of the Interior. He’ll be mighty interested to know that an Iranian con man is traveling on a phony Greek passport.”

“You are bluffing.”

“Oh yeah?” said Hoffman. “Try me.” He held up the phone so Ascari could hear it ringing. A voice answered, speaking Greek.

“Hello, Mikos? This is Frank. I’ve run across something that might interest you.”

Ascari, convinced now that Hoffman was not bluffing, stood up suddenly and looked as if he might bolt for the door. Anna moved to block his exit, but Hoffman was quicker. He put one hand over the phone and removed a pistol from its shoulder holster with the other.

“Sit down, asshole,” he said. Ascari backed down into his chair, and Hoffman resumed his conversation.

“Mikos, you still there? Here’s the deal. I’ve heard about a guy who’s traveling on a false Greek passport. He sounds like a pretty suspicious character. Gunrunning, smuggling. That sort of thing.”

Ascari was making frantic hand motions, but Hoffman ignored him for the moment.

“That’s right. A phony Greek passport.… No, I don’t know where he got it.… What’s his name?”

He looked at Ascari.

“Stop!” whispered the Iranian. “No more bullshit.”

Hoffman gave him a wink, and then resumed the conversation. “Sorry, Mikos, but I don’t know the guy’s name yet. That’s my problem. I just wanted to know if you’d be interested. If I find out, I’ll get back to you right away. Okay? … Right. Bye. Ciao.” He hung up the phone.

“No more fucking around, please,” said Hoffman. “Because as you have just discovered, I have got you firmly by the balls. And I would take genuine, personal pleasure in turning you over to the Greek police.”

“We be friends, please,” said Ascari. “I play ball game.” He looked genuinely shaken.

“Hey, listen,” said Hoffman, reaching over and putting a meaty hand on Ascari’s shoulder. “I’m not really a prick. I just act like one sometimes. You’ll like me when you get to know me better.”

“Will you put gun away now, please?”

“Sorry. I forgot.” Hoffman returned the pistol to its holster.

Ascari relaxed slightly. “Thank you. You worry Ali a little bit. I thought CIA men play by rules, but you not playing by rules.”

“You got it. I have one big advantage over my colleagues, which is that I’m crazy. I don’t give a shit about the rules. So watch it.”

“I hear you. For sure.”

“Good. So let’s start again, about the guns.”

“Yes. I am ready to talk.”

“Honey,” said Hoffman, turning to Anna. “Leave us alone for a while, would you? This next part is agency business.”

Anna nodded. Her departure was part of the scenario they had worked out earlier. They had agreed that once Hoffman had established control, she would check out—in the hope that this might help preserve at least a small shred of cover. She didn’t like having to leave the conversation just when they were finally getting down to business, but there was one consolation. With luck, she would never have to see Ali Ascari again.

“Okay, pal,” said Hoffman when Anna had left. “Let’s take it from the top.”

“Ali know too many things. What you want to know, exactly?”

“The whole shooting match. We want to move some things across the border, and we think maybe we’d like to piggyback on what you’re doing. So tell me the whole thing.”

“Not much to tell. Most smuggling is run from Tabriz, in the north. Some of it go through Khvoy, into Nakhichevan. Some go through Ardebil, across mountains to Astara and Masally and Pushkino. Some go by boat on Caspian Sea, from Bandar-i-Anzali to secret ports in Azerbaijan.”

“How do they get across?”

“This depend. Most smugglers just simple tribespeople. Half of family lives on one side of the border, half on the other side. They come and go, all the time. All of them are Azeris, so what is border to them? They hate Russians and they hate Iranians. Same difference.”

“Do they get caught?”

“Not so often. They know special routes in mountains, special hiding places, special ways to escape KGB border patrols. They been smuggling long time. Sometimes this is business of family for many generations. They leave some cousins in Azerbaijan as part of family business. But these ones are the little smugglers.”

“Who are the big smugglers?”

“Big crooks. They do it a different way.”

“How’s that?”

“Money. They pay off Soviet officials. They pay off border guards, or commander of border guards, or local KGB official who runs border guards, or local party official who is big boss of everybody. Once in a while they catch somebody, to pretend they are doing job. This is big business. I am telling you.”

“I like the little guys, the family operation.