Executive orders - Tom Clancy [400]
And we have large trade relationships with both, the President noted. We want to prevent that, don't we? I'm afraid it's looking like we have to move that carrier, Robby. Let's get some options put together, and let's try to figure out what the hell the PRC might be up to.
CLARK WOKE UP first, feeling quite miserable. But that wasn't allowed under the circumstances. Ten minutes later, he was shaved, dressed, and heading out the door, leaving Chavez in bed. Ding didn't speak the language anyway.
Morning walk? It was the guy who'd brought them in from the airport.
I could use a stretch, John admitted. And you are?
Marcel Lefevre.
Station chief? John asked bluntly.
Actually, I am the commercial attaché, the Frenchman replied-meaning, yes. You mind if I come along?
Not at all, Clark replied, surprising his companion as they headed for the door. Just wanted to take a walk. Any markets around here?
Yes, I will show you.
Ten minutes later, they were in a street of commerce. Two Iranian shadows were fifty feet behind them, and obvious about it, though they did nothing more than to observe.
The sounds brought it all back. Clark's Farsi was not all that impressive, especially since it was over fifteen years since he'd practiced it, but though his speech might not have been terribly good, his hearing clicked back in, soon catching the chatter and bargaining as the two Westerners passed stalls on both sides of the street.
How are food prices?
Fairly high, Lefevre answered. Especially with all the supplies they shipped to Iraq. A few grumbles about that.
There was something lacking, John saw, after a few minutes of contemplation. Passing half a block of food stalls, they were now in another area-gold, always a popular trade item in this part of the world. People were buying and selling. But there wasn't the enthusiasm he remembered from before. He looked at the stalls as he passed, trying to figure what it was.
Something for your wife? Lefevre asked.
Clark tried an unconvincing smile. Oh, you never know. Anniversary coming up soon. He stopped to look at a necklace.
Where are you from? the dealer asked.
America, John replied, also in English. The man had picked out his nationality at once, probably from his clothes, and taken the chance to speak in that language.
We do not see many Americans here.
Too bad. In my younger days I traveled here quite a lot. It was actually rather a nice necklace, and on checking the price tag and doing the mental calculation, the cost was reasonable as hell. And he did have an anniversary approaching.
Perhaps someday that will change, the goldsmith said.
There are many differences between my country and yours, John observed sadly. Yes, he could afford it, and as usual he had plenty of cash with him. One nice thing about American currency was that it was damned near universally accepted.
Things change, the man said next.
Things have changed, John agreed. He looked at a slightly more expensive necklace. It wasn't any problem handling them. One thing about Islamic countries, they had a way of discouraging thieves. There's so little smiling here, and this is a market street.
You have two men following you.
Really? Well, I'm not breaking any laws, am I? Clark asked with some obvious concern.
No, you are not. But the man was nervous.
This one, John said, handing it to the goldsmith.
How will you pay?
American dollars, is that okay?
Yes, and the price is nine hundred of your dollars.
It required all of his control not to show surprise. Even in a New York wholesale shop, this necklace would have been triple that, and while he wasn't quite prepared to spend that much, haggling was part of the fun of shopping in this part of the world. He'd figured that he could talk the guy down to maybe fifteen hundred, still a considerable bargain. Had he heard the man properly?
Nine hundred?
An emphatic finger pointed right at his heart. Eight hundred, not a dollar less-you wish to ruin me? he added loudly.
You bargain hard. Clark adopted a defensive posture for the benefit of