"All right," Bobby Jack said. "They're gone. What's on your mind?"
"You know what we seek?" Kaffir said. The two men stood behind him. They seemed to be trying to hunch up their shoulders to keep the bottoms of their long flowing robes out of the dust of the train platform.
"I think so, but suppose you tell me," Bobby Jack
said.
"The Free People's Government of Libya wishes to purchase plutonium from your government."
"What do you want me for?"
"Because your government's policy is to refuse to sell plutonium to Libya. We thought perhaps your influence could change that policy, particularly since we want it to build only peaceful nuclear power plants that will enable us to increase the standard of living for millions of people in the Arab world. It is only a lie that we would attempt to make nuclear weapons to attack Israel. We would never attack Israel. We would only defend ourselves." ,
Billings nodded. "Wouldn't hurt my feelings if you did attack them."
"No?" said Kaffir.
"Not at all. And when you wipe them out in Tel Aviv, I wish you'd get rid of them in New York."
Mustafa Kaffir smiled gently and sadly, as if he
13
had often dreamed such dreams. The two men behind him nodded vigorously.
"Well, that is a matter for others," said Kaffir. "I, sir, am here only to purchase plutonium for peaceful purposes."
"And you want me to talk to my brother-in-law to get him to allow that sale," Bobby Jack said.
"That is correct, because we know you have much influence with the president."
"Right," said Billings. "Me and my sister. Only people he listens to." He paused. "And what do I get out of it?"
"In such international arrangements, a finder's fee is often paid the one who makes it all possible," Kaffir said.
"How much?"
"This fee is a perfectly legitimate item," Kaffir said.
"How much?"
"Of course, it would have to be—"
"How much!" Billings insisted.
"One million dollars," Kaffir said.
"All right," said Bobby Jack. "Two hundred thou down."
"I beg your pardon."
"Two hundred thousand down. In advance. Non-refundable. Whether I succeed or not. I've got to have something to reimburse me for my time, even if I can't get the okay."
Kaffir thought for a moment, his dark eyes scrutinizing the open face of Bobby Jack Billings.
Billings stood up from his seat on the platform edge.
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"You talk it over with the other Ay-rabs," he said. "I gotta go tap a kidney."
He walked away from the three Libyans toward the far end of the platform. They'd go for it, he knew. It was only two hundred thousand dollars, tax-free and unrecorded. He had made exactly the same deal four other times before. He had promised the Rhodesian Communists that he would make sure of their recognition by the U.S. He had promised a Red Chinese delegation that America would hand over Taiwan. He had promised Iranian rebels that he could prevent the United States from stepping in to keep the shah in power. The only thing he had failed on was a promise to get the president to send in troops to help bail out Idi Amin's imperiled regime in Uganda.
But three out of four wasn't bad for no work, he thought. His practice on all such contracts was the same. He took the money and then forgot about the contract. Most of the time it turned out all right, because his brother-in-law's foreign policy often seemed to have been drawn up in the back seat of Fidel Castro's car.
Of course, the people he dealt with never knew that, and probably would not have believed it even if Bobby Jack had told them. They were sure the only reason they had succeeded was because they had a friend at the highest level—Bobby Jack-whispering in the president's ear.
As he reached the corner of the platform, Billings looked back to see the three Libyans staring at him. He unzipped his fly and pointed at his groin.
15
"Just got to make a little tinkle against the wall here," he said. "Be right back."
Mustafa Kaffir nodded. When Billings jumped down from the platform to the dirt alongside the building, Kaffir broke into animated conversation with his two companions, speaking Arabic.
They had all decided to go for the deal. After all, two hundred thousand dollars was a small down payment for the ingredients necessary to build atomic bombs to destroy Israel. But they agreed to seem reluctant to pay such a large amount. If they looked too willing, Billings might ask for more. But they knew the price was right. After all, hadn't Billings managed to make the president withhold American recognition of a free government in Rhodesia, instead throwing its lot in with Communist-backed rebels? Had Billings not convinced> the president to disregard the treaties America had with Taiwan? Had Billings not kept the president immobile when America's staunchest friend in the Middle East, the shah of Iran, was being overthrown by an American-hating rebel band? The man might be a sweat-smelling ignorant clod, Mustafa Kaffir thought, but he knew how to move the American government. His record of success was untouched. At two hundred thousand dollars down payment, he was a bargain.
Kaffir and his two companions waited for Bobby Jack to return. After five minutes, one of the men wanted to look for him.
"He was going to urinate. He should be back by now," the man said. He was the Libyan minister of finance. • "Not yet," the other man said. He was the minis-
16
ter of culture. "Maybe he had to make number two."
The finance minister giggled.
"Silence," said Kaffir in Arabic.
They waited ten more minutes.
"Perhaps he has forgotten," said the minister of culture.
"Who forgets two hundred thousand dollars who wears such clothes and urinates against walls?" asked Kaffir. "Wait here."
He walked to the far end of the platform. He stopped just before the corner of the building.
"Mr. Billings. Are you there?"
There was no answer and Mustafa Kaffir leaned around the corner and looked along the red-painted wooden wall of the old frame building.
Bobby Jack Billings was not there.
There was a wet stain in the sandy soil showing where he had stood a few minutes before, but the man himself was gone. Mustafa Kaffir looked around. He saw railroad tracks, open fields, and occasional houses several hundred yards away, but no sign of Bobby Jack Billings.
Kaffir signaled his two men to follow him and they walked together to the front of the railroad station. The only persons in sight were the two Secret Service agents sitting inside a black Chevrolet station wagon with the air conditioner running.
As the three Libyans approached them, the agents stepped out of the car.
"Yes, sir," said the older one.
"Where is Mr. Billings?"
The agent looked startled.
"I left him with you," he said.
17
"Yes. But he walked away and did not come back," Kaffir said.
"Oh, shit," the agent said.
The second agent had opened the car door and was reaching for a radio phone. "Should I call in?" he asked.
"Not yet," the first agent said. "Let's take a look around. Maybe he just went to take a piss or steal a beer somewhere."
Mustafa Kaffir showed the agents where Bobby Jack Billings had stood to umiate against the wall of the station building.
The tall agent knelt down to look closer at the ground. The dusty soil was packed hard where Bobby Jack's feet would have been. The agent stuck a finger into the dirt and felt metal. He brushed dirt away.
He found two pieces of metaclass="underline" a small golden Star of David and a small iron swastika.
"What the hell does that mean?" he said aloud to himself. He lifted the two pieces of metal in a handkerchief and dropped them into his pocket.