The German flicked through it and handed it back. “And what brings you here?” he asked.

“You were recommended to me, Herr Schlinker, as a businessman with a high reputation for reliability in the business of military and police hardware.”

Schlinker smiled and nodded, but the flattery made no impression. “By whom, may I ask?”

Shannon mentioned the name of a man in Paris, closely associated with African affairs on behalf of a certain French governmental but clandestine service. The two had met during one of Shannon’s previous African wars, and a month earlier Shannon had looked him up in Paris for old times’ sake. A week ago Shannon had called the man again, and he had indeed recommended Schlinker to Shannon for the kind of merchandise he wanted. Shannon had told the man he would be using the name Brown.

Schlinker raised his eyebrows. “Would you excuse me a minute?” he asked and left the room. In an adjoining booth Shannon could hear the chatter of a telex.

It was thirty minutes before Schlinker came back. He was smiling. “I had to call a friend of mine in Paris on a business matter,” he said brightly. “Please go on.”

Shannon knew perfectly well he had telexed to another arms dealer in Paris, asking the man to contact the French agent and get a confirmation that Keith Brown was all right. Apparently the confirmation had just come back.

“I want to buy a quantity of nine-mm. ammunition,” he said bluntly. “I know it is a small order, but I have been approached by a group of people in Africa who need this ammunition for their own affairs, and I believe if those affairs go well there would be further and much larger shipments in the future.”

“How much would the order be?” asked the German.

“Four hundred thousand rounds.”

Schlinker made a moue. “That is not very much,” he said simply.

“Certainly. For the moment the budget is not large. One is hoping a small investment now might lead to greater things later on.”

The German nodded. It had happened in the past. The first order is usually a small one. “Why did they come to you? You are not a dealer in arms or ammunition.”

“They happened to have retained me as a technical adviser on military matters of all kinds. When the question of seeking a fresh supplier for their needs arose, they asked me to come to Europe for them,” said Shannon.

“And you have no End User Certificate?” the German asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. I hoped that sort of thing could be arranged.”

“Oh, yes, it can,” said Schlinker. “No problem there. It takes longer and costs more. But it can be done. One could supply this order from stocks, but they are held in my Vienna office. That way there would be no requirement for an End User Certificate. Or one could obtain such a document and make the application normally through legal channels.”

“I would prefer the latter,” said Shannon. “The delivery has to be by ship, and to bring that sort of quantity through Austria and into Italy, then on board a ship, would be hazardous. It enters an area I am not familiar with. Moreover, interception could mean long terms in prison for those found in possession. Apart from that, the cargo might be identified as coming from your stocks.”

Schlinker smiled. Privately he knew there would be no danger of that, but Shannon was right about the border controls. The newly emergent menace of the Black September terrorists had made Austria, Germany, and Italy highly nervous about strange cargoes passing through the borders.

Shannon, for his part, did not trust Schlinker not to sell them the ammunition one day and betray them the next. With a phony End User Certificate, the German would have to keep his side of the bargain; it would be he who presented the bent certificate to the authorities.

“I think you are perhaps right,” Schlinker said at last. “Very well. I can offer you nine-mm. standard ball at sixty-five dollars per thousand. There would be a surcharge of ten percent for the certificate, and another ten percent free on board.”

Shannon calculated hastily. Free on board meant a cargo complete with export license, cleared through customs and loaded onto the ship, with the ship itself clearing the harbor mouth. The price would be $26,000 for the ammunition, plus $5200 surcharge.

“How would payment be made?” he asked.

“I would need the fifty-two hundred dollars before starting work,” said Schlinker. “That has to cover the certificate, which has to be paid for, plus all personal traveling and administrative costs. The full purchase price would have to be paid here in this office when I am able to show you the certificate, but before purchase. As a licensed dealer I would be buying on behalf of my client, the government named on the certificate. Once the stuff had been bought, the selling government would be extremely unlikely to take it back and repay the money. Therefore I would need total payment in advance. I would also need the name of the exporting vessel, to fill in the application for export permit. The vessel would have to be a scheduled liner or freighter, or a general freighter owned by a registered shipping company.”

Shannon nodded. The terms were steep, but beggars cannot be choosers. If he had really represented a sovereign government, he would not be here in the first place.

“How long from the time I give you the money until shipment?” he asked.

“Madrid is quite slow in these matters. About forty days at the outside,” said the German.

Shannon rose. He showed Schlinker the banker’s check to prove his solvency, and promised to be back in an hour with 5200 United States dollars in cash, or the equivalent in German marks. Schlinker opted for German marks, and when Shannon returned, he gave him a standard receipt for the money.

While Schlinker was writing out the receipt, Shannon glanced through a series of brochures on the coffee table. They covered the items put on sale by another company, which evidently specialized in nonmilitary pyrotechnic goods of the kind that are not covered by the classification of “arms,” and a wide variety of items used by security companies, including riot sticks, truncheons, walkie-talkies, riot-gas canisters and launchers, flares, rockets, and the like.

As Schlinker handed him his receipt, Shannon asked, “Are you associated with this company, Herr Schlinker?”

Tags: Frederick Forsyth Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net