Page 27 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“Two hundred pairs of night vision goggles with batteries and cases.”
“Also not a problem.”
“Five hundred M16A4 assault rifles.”
“The ones with the under-mount grenade launchers?”
“Yes. You can do this?”
“No problem.” The ferocious Pashtun was now as friendly as a jewelry store salesclerk.
“A million rounds of 5.56 ammunition for the M16s, two hundred thousand rounds of 7.62 for the M60s, and five hundred anti-tank missiles.”
The Pashtun shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
“This can all be easily arranged—for the right price. What else do you need?”
“LAW rockets, grenades, mortars, and Claymores.”
“Medical supplies? MREs?”
“If you have them.”
“Trust me, we do.”
Cabrillo eyed him up and down with his one good eye.
“I have my doubts.”
Yaqoob scowled with disappointment.
“Without trust, my friend, we cannot do business.”
“Ah, yes. Trust—but verify.”
Yaqoob let loose a belly laugh.
“You quote Ronald Reagan?”
Juan smiled. “Why not? Cowboys and Cossacks—all the same! Besides, Reagan was quoting an old Russian proverb.”
Cabrillo leaned over and laid a hand on his rucksack. Out of thecorner of his eye he saw the big Pashtun stiffen and his hand slip down to his pistol grip.
“Relax, my friend.” Juan reached into his rucksack and pulled out a solid bar of gold and handed it to the Pashtun giant.
Yaqoob weighed the nearly twenty-eight-pound brick of shiny metal in his massive hand. The smile that broke across his face gleamed brighter than the gold.
“For you, personally,” Cabrillo said. “A token of our friendship.”
“Will the payment for your order be in gold as well?”
“Of course, unless you prefer something else. But what currency is worth anything more than the paper it’s printed on these days?”
Yaqoob’s eyes fell back onto the gold bar. He’d never held so much wealth in his own hands.
“So, now it’s your turn to earn some trust,” Juan said.
Yaqoob nodded eagerly.
