It seemed that once every three months, five thousand rounds were shipped to certain spots in the world, mostly the Middle East. For a number of years, the destination was Egypt. For another couple, it was Iraq. Eventually, the printout put the recipient in southern Syria.

“The payment was always the same: money wired from the same Swiss bank. The last shipment shows he’s still in southern Syria, far from the war.”

“You think that’s him?”

“I do. The trouble with ammunition is that it’s so heavy by density. Which means he can’t order a million rounds and be done with it. He’s got to get a small, manageable amount every few months. If he’s going to stay sharp, if he wants to stay at operational peak, he’s got to have it coming in all the time. Clearly, it’s the same customer, no matter the location or the customer name, because the method of payment is always the same. Don’t you see what that gives us? Not an address, but a town. In this case, the last batch, only a month ago, went to a town in southern Syria called Iria. He has to be there. Somewhere in that area, convenient to whatever outlet receives out-of-country shipping, obviously with government approval.”

“That’s really not an address. It’s not actionable.”

“No, but a good man could infiltrate sometime when the next shipment is due. He could locate the point of arrival and mark the pickup. If it was impossible to follow to the source, he could ask around. Surely someone has noted a lone guy, quite prosperous, living in the far desert, doing a lot of shooting.”

“I don’t think so,” said Bob. “If he’s as smart as you say he is, he’ll have snitches scattered throughout the town. If anyone shows up asking questions, that’s the signal to find new digs. He’ll move fast, and be chastened by his near miss and double up on his security. Maybe he’ll stop receiving the heavy ball or find another source. He’s probably worried because he’s been getting it from SouthStar for so long. Have you gone to the Agency with this?”