The man was Syrian, according to legend, though that seemed to be a matter of popular speculation rather than fact. His name was known only to a very few. Whatever his original nationality, he was said to have connections to all of the regimes in the Middle East. There were even rumors that he occasionally did business with the Israelis, though this, too, was more rumor than fact.

He gave a signal, and one of his men brought forward a large metal case. It was heavy, and the table that separated the two groups of armed men groaned as it bore the weight. The armed man stepped back, and the man in the expensive suit stepped forward. He unlatched the container and opened it.

Javier peered over the table and examined the weapon. “The FIM-92 Stinger,” the man lisped.

“U.S. made?” Carpio asked.

The man shook his head. “It is the same model developed in the States by Raytheon, though.” He had a soft voice with a slight accent that was indeed difficult to place. “It was manufactured in Turkey,” he continued, “under a license between Raytheon and Roketsan. It has the same specifications as the U.S.-made models. And it is as effective.”

“Range?”

“Five miles, give or take.”

“Guidance?”

“It uses infrared guidance that tracks aircraft. Or, it can be adapted with laser painting for stationary targets.”

“How many?”

“I have two now. Give me a month, and I can get two more.”

Carpio grunted. “I do not have a month.” He reached out and touched the missile launcher. If they’d had greater access to these types of weapons in El Salvador in the early days of the rebellion, they might have ended the war. “Cost?” he asked.

“Sixty thousand. American.”

Carpio’s eyes narrowed. “That seems high. I have heard of them sold for less in the past.”

The man in the suit shrugged. “If you have someone who can deliver two almost immediately for less than sixty, I suggest you do business with them. They cost the American government forty. A fifty percent markup does not seem unreasonable.”

Carpio nodded after a moment’s calculation. “Agreed. And the boats?”

The dapper little man rubbed his chin. “Those were more difficult, but I have managed to find you two Coast Guard Defenders. Twenty-five feet, with artillery mounts both in the front and in the back.”

“Armed?”

“I can outfit them with one mounted fifty-millimeter machine fore and two M-60s aft. They will be able to repel anything your rivals have.”

“How much?”

“One hundred thousand.”

“For both?”

The little man shook his head. “Each.”

Javier was silent for a moment. It was more than he wanted to pay, but they both knew he had no bargaining position. He stuck out his hand and the man in the suit shook it.