Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [122]
He looked at it, not picking it up. ‘‘Vaime Mk 2,’’ he said. ‘‘Secret Service uses some of these.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Coated with special paint, to reduce the IR signature,’’ he said. ‘‘That way you can stick it out of a bush and it won’t show well on IR or FLIR equipment.’’
‘‘What’s Wittman need something like this for, you suppose?’’
‘‘I’d hate to think.’’ He walked over to a partition with a small spring-loaded door that was held open by a concrete-block doorstop. ‘‘Check this out,’’ he said. ‘‘The guy we knocked down the stairs tried to hide in here. This is what I was really talking about.’’
The little room contained four H&K G3 7.62 mm rifles, fitted with what appeared to be factory-produced silencers. A steel cabinet, which revealed what turned out to be eight bolt-action 7.62 mm rifles with scopes. Identified by my guide as PM.L96A1s. British Army sniper rifles. Current models. What was worse, the next cabinet revealed seventeen silenced 9 mm Sterling L34A1 submachine guns. Again, British Army issue.
The team leader gestured to a large wardrobe closet at the far end. ‘‘The pièce de résistance,’’ he said.
I opened it. Twenty-four LAW 80 light antitank rocket launchers, according to their labels, and apparently loaded.
‘‘These are British too, from the markings,’’ he said.
‘‘What the fuck?’’ I sort of asked.
‘‘Not sure,’’ he said. ‘‘Very unusual.’’
‘‘Aren’t LAWs U.S. equipment?’’ They were as far as I knew.
‘‘No, these are Brit,’’ he replied. ‘‘They have a ranging rifle, a throwaway, underneath the tube here . . . see?’’
‘‘No shit.’’ At times like these, I’m often a little short of intelligent things to say.
‘‘Houseman,’’ came a voice, ‘‘where’d you go?’’ Volont. A second later, he stuck his head through the doorframe. ‘‘What’s all this?’’
The team leader told him.
Volont and George came in. Volont was quiet for a few seconds. We all were.
Finally, I couldn’t wait. ‘‘So,’’ I asked, ‘‘what’s with the Brit stuff?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘Not sure I can tell you.’’ He held up his hand. ‘‘Don’t take this personally, Houseman, and try to find out on your own.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I can’t tell any of you at this point.’’ He looked at the tubes. ‘‘But I will tell you this . . . We had reason to believe that it had come into the country, about eighteen months ago.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Never thought it’d turn up in Iowa.’’
Hester came through the door. ‘‘What’s happening? What’s in Iowa?’’
We told her. ‘‘Unbelievable’’ was her reaction.
Volont looked at the team leader. ‘‘Get a couple of your guys to stand guard outside the door,’’ he said, pointing at the spring-loaded partition door. His face was suddenly very sober.
The team leader pushed his mask up and off his head. I was surprised. Not only that he’d done it but that he looked like he was about forty-five, regular thin gray hair . . . in a suit he’d look like a banker. He replaced his radio headset and spoke into the mike.
About five seconds later, there was a knock on the partition.
‘‘We’re secure,’’ he said to Volont.
Volont shut the door. It was damp in the basement, but cool. It started to get warm as soon as the door was closed, between the body heat of five people and three 100-watt bulbs . . .
‘‘All right,’’ sighed Volont. ‘‘Any of this gets out without my permission and you’ll never see the light of day.’’ He looked around. ‘‘Any of you.
‘‘Well, then,’’ he continued. ‘‘About two years ago, now, there was a major theft of arms from a British Army depot in Germany. Everybody thought it was the IRA, or Red Brigade, or some sort of Red Army Faction or Baader-Meinhof sort of thing, naturally. But it turned out that it wasn’t.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘How we found that out, I’m really never gonna tell you.’’
‘‘Well . . .’’ I said.
He smiled. ‘‘Not even you, Houseman . . . could ever find that out.’’
‘‘Right,’’ said Hester. ‘‘However, there’s a gal named Sally, whom you don’t know . . .’’
‘‘Who?’’ said Volont.
‘‘My favorite dispatcher,’’ I said. ‘‘Inside joke.’’
‘‘Right.’’ He gathered his thoughts. ‘‘It so happened that the theft