fingers at one of the men, who quickly got up and retrieved a metal equipment box lying along the back wall.
Without a word, the man placed the box on the table, flipped the catches, and lifted the lid to reveal a long, slim tube. Below it was another, longer tube that tapered from one end to the other. The second tube was mounted on a pistol grip and measured almost two meters in length.
Drawn by the lethal beauty of the weapon, Yaqub slid his fingers across the greasy surface. The link between him and the destructive power of the device was almost divine. Still, he wanted more. He glanced at Borisov.
“I already have rocket launchers.”
The Russian nodded but looked amused. “You do, but not like these. This is a missile launcher.” He patted the weapon as if it were a faithful steed. “These are very hard to get, and my country would kill me if they knew I was selling them to you. Especially in exchange for opium.”
Yaqub didn’t know if Borisov was lying or not. Opium flowed across the Durand Line and into Pakistan almost as if by osmosis. From there it was processed into heroin and moved to other places, including Russia, which had a growing heroin problem.
“This is one of the latest man-portable infrared homing missilesdesigned as a surface-to-air attack weapon. It’s called the 9K38 Igla, and once it has been locked onto a target, it fires a missile carrying over a kilo of explosives in its warhead.” Borisov modeled an explosion with his hands, placing them together, then breaking them apart with outspread fingers. “Whatever aircraft it hits, that aircraft is coming down.”
Excitement flared through Yaqub. Throughout his war against the Westerners, he had never gotten his hands on such a weapon. He kept himself calm.
“How far out can it be used?”
“Just over five kilometers.” Borisov grinned. “When your people use those RPGs, which are fine weapons, they are practically in the teeth of your enemies. With the Igla, you’re not.” He paused. “I should imagine these would be quite the terror against an airfield.”
“If you fire them from five kilometers out, the Americans can use their defensive systems. They have very good defensive systems.”
Borisov frowned a little at that. “So you trade off. Get closer—not too close—and use them. The missiles travel at eight hundred meters per second.”
“The closer my people are, the more likely they will be killed.”
“Your people believe in your cause. They have proven time and again that they are ready, willing, and able to die for that cause.”
“Yes, but replacing a trained warrior is difficult.”
“Then don’t waste one of them. The beauty of these missile launchers is that a child could operate one of them. Or an old man. Anyone strong enough to lift it and operate it.”
Reaching into the box, Yaqub hefted the launcher into his arms. It was surprisingly light, weighing something over ten kilos. The excitement within him burned more brightly. He replaced the weapon within the box.
“How many of these do you have?”
Borisov held up three fingers. “For the opium you’re offering, I’ll give you three missile launchers.”
Yaqub shook his head, knowing never to take the first offer where the Russians were concerned. They haggled as fiercely as a merchant in a souk. “It is not enough.”
Stepping back, Borisov laughed. “Of course it’s enough. I’m giving you the power to strike down your enemies, to blast them from the air and kill potentially hundreds of American soldiers. You can become even more feared than you already are.”
“You want the opium that I have. I know this. I want the missile launchers, but three is not enough. I want more.”
Borisov started to object, but Yaqub cut him off.
“You want to sell those weapons to me. You have been sitting on them here, nervously hoping that I would show up as we agreed, and you have been afraid that someone would find you with the missile
Without a word, the man placed the box on the table, flipped the catches, and lifted the lid to reveal a long, slim tube. Below it was another, longer tube that tapered from one end to the other. The second tube was mounted on a pistol grip and measured almost two meters in length.
Drawn by the lethal beauty of the weapon, Yaqub slid his fingers across the greasy surface. The link between him and the destructive power of the device was almost divine. Still, he wanted more. He glanced at Borisov.
“I already have rocket launchers.”
The Russian nodded but looked amused. “You do, but not like these. This is a missile launcher.” He patted the weapon as if it were a faithful steed. “These are very hard to get, and my country would kill me if they knew I was selling them to you. Especially in exchange for opium.”
Yaqub didn’t know if Borisov was lying or not. Opium flowed across the Durand Line and into Pakistan almost as if by osmosis. From there it was processed into heroin and moved to other places, including Russia, which had a growing heroin problem.
“This is one of the latest man-portable infrared homing missilesdesigned as a surface-to-air attack weapon. It’s called the 9K38 Igla, and once it has been locked onto a target, it fires a missile carrying over a kilo of explosives in its warhead.” Borisov modeled an explosion with his hands, placing them together, then breaking them apart with outspread fingers. “Whatever aircraft it hits, that aircraft is coming down.”
Excitement flared through Yaqub. Throughout his war against the Westerners, he had never gotten his hands on such a weapon. He kept himself calm.
“How far out can it be used?”
“Just over five kilometers.” Borisov grinned. “When your people use those RPGs, which are fine weapons, they are practically in the teeth of your enemies. With the Igla, you’re not.” He paused. “I should imagine these would be quite the terror against an airfield.”
“If you fire them from five kilometers out, the Americans can use their defensive systems. They have very good defensive systems.”
Borisov frowned a little at that. “So you trade off. Get closer—not too close—and use them. The missiles travel at eight hundred meters per second.”
“The closer my people are, the more likely they will be killed.”
“Your people believe in your cause. They have proven time and again that they are ready, willing, and able to die for that cause.”
“Yes, but replacing a trained warrior is difficult.”
“Then don’t waste one of them. The beauty of these missile launchers is that a child could operate one of them. Or an old man. Anyone strong enough to lift it and operate it.”
Reaching into the box, Yaqub hefted the launcher into his arms. It was surprisingly light, weighing something over ten kilos. The excitement within him burned more brightly. He replaced the weapon within the box.
“How many of these do you have?”
Borisov held up three fingers. “For the opium you’re offering, I’ll give you three missile launchers.”
Yaqub shook his head, knowing never to take the first offer where the Russians were concerned. They haggled as fiercely as a merchant in a souk. “It is not enough.”
Stepping back, Borisov laughed. “Of course it’s enough. I’m giving you the power to strike down your enemies, to blast them from the air and kill potentially hundreds of American soldiers. You can become even more feared than you already are.”
“You want the opium that I have. I know this. I want the missile launchers, but three is not enough. I want more.”
Borisov started to object, but Yaqub cut him off.
“You want to sell those weapons to me. You have been sitting on them here, nervously hoping that I would show up as we agreed, and you have been afraid that someone would find you with the missile
Similar Books
