Satori - Don Winslow [47]
“Perhaps I misspoke,” Nicholai responded. “I wish to buy fifty, not five hundred.” But he raised his offer a bit.
“We have expenses,” Yu said. He gave his new figure.
“Apparently heavy ones,” Nicholai answered. But now he knew Yu’s real price, for the colonel had shifted in mere arithmetic proportion toward his goal. An unimaginative Go player lacking in subtlety or flair. But Nicholai was eager to conclude this distasteful bargaining, so he raised his offer to a figure just below Yu’s desired one. He was surprised when Yu accepted. It raised Nicholai’s hackles and he wondered why.
Yu quickly provided the answer. “Now we must discuss transportation.”
Nicholai feigned interest. Of course he had no intention of actually buying these arms, much less shipping them anywhere. By the time the weapons were ready to go, he would have killed Voroshenin and hopefully made his escape. Still, the game must be played, so he said, “Of course I will pay reasonable shipping charges to some location near the Vietnamese border.”
Yu nodded. “You will deposit the funds into an account in Lausanne. When we have received the payment, we will give you a location in Yunnan Province. The appropriate army unit will help you to transport the merchandise to the Vietnamese border. Beyond that, it is up to you and your ultimate client.”
“I will deposit half the money into the Swiss account,” Nicholai replied, “and the other half when the merchandise and myself arrive safely at the border.”
“Your lack of trust is unsettling.”
“I am told,” Nicholai responded, “that despite the doubtless heroic efforts of the PLA, the mountains of Yunnan are rife with bandits.”
“There are a few, very minor counterrevolutionary elements clinging to survival,” Yu answered. “We will wipe these tu fei out soon.”
“In the meantime,” Nicholai said, “I should not wish my merchandise to be taken from me until I can deliver it to my client. Pardon my rudeness, but I cannot help but think that the local army unit of which you spoke would be even more diligent if it had, shall we say, a rooting interest.”
Yu set down his chopsticks. “Capitalists always assume that everyone is motivated by money.”
“And Communists are not,” Nicholai answered. “Hence the bank account in Lausanne. And why do you assume that I am a capitalist?”
“You are certainly not a Communist.”
“I’m a Guibertist,” Nicholai responded.
Yu chuckled. “Two-thirds and one-third.”
“Done.”
Nicholai picked up his chopsticks and went back to eating.
34
“THE DEAL IS MADE?” Liu asked.
“Yes,” answered Yu.
“Good,” Liu said. “And is he still pretending to be this Frenchman, Guibert?”
“And doing it very well, as a matter of fact.”
Liu laughed.
35
DIAMOND PICKED UP the phone. “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” the voice said. “Benton. Haverford asked me to bring you up to date.”
“I’m listening,” Diamond said.
He chuckled to himself.
Benton liked his job, was lucky to still have it, and wanted to keep it.
36
“YOU ARE A …” Chen searched for the word in Chinese, then decided on French. “… gourmet.”
Nicholai shrugged. “I’m French.”
When he’d returned from his meeting with Yu, a pretty desk clerk at the hotel handed him his key and asked if he needed a suggestion as to a restaurant for the evening.
“Please,” Nicholai said.
“May I recommend Hong Binlou?” she asked.
Chen was quite pleased that Guibert wanted to go to the distinguished old establishment to sample its distinctive Muslim cuisine. One of the perquisites of being an escort to a foreign visitor was the opportunity to dine in restaurants that he otherwise couldn’t afford. Or, even if he had the money, frequent custom of the finer establishments could expose him to accusations of decadence.
Of course there was no pork, but that was more than made up for by the succulent lamb on wooden skewers, the Mongolian hotpot, and especially the sliced sautéed eel.
The waiters, all of the Hui people who had migrated from the western provinces generations ago, wore short