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arguments over prices before money exchanged hands, and had the patience of one with nowhere better to go and nothing else to do.
    Robards said, “Go ahead and give the gentleman the proper salute.”
    Wade turned and bobbed his head. “Peace be upon thee and thy family.”
    â€œAnd upon thee, stranger to our lands,” the man replied, clearly taken aback by the words coming from the mouth of one so alien. “This is indeed a day of miracles.”
    â€œI apologize that I do not speak thy own tongue,” Wade continued in Russian, but using the formal tone of the Muslim tribes.
    â€œIt is nonetheless an honor to deal with one who has the gift of proper speech,” the tribesman replied. “And makes a change from the pestilent soldiers who surround us on all sides.”
    Robards watched carefully, noted the man’s surprise, and knew he had gained an advantage. “Ask him if he’s got other goods for sale.”
    â€œMy friend wishes to know if all thou carest to share with us this day is here on display.”
    The gleam sparked. “That would depend both upon what is sought and who does the seeking.”
    â€œHe says maybe,” Wade translated, not understanding the parley at all. “It depends on whether he trusts us or not. What is it you’re after?”
    â€œTell him I’m looking to keep my skin in one piece when we travel into the hills.”
    â€œMy friend wishes to know if he might acquire safe passage through thy homelands.”
    The tribesman again showed surprise. “Thou goest into the highlands?”
    â€œIf thou and thy peoples might permit us, we would wish it.”
    â€œThen make thy peace with Allah,” the tribesman replied with no malice to his voice, “for all who enter have great chance of seeing his face. Especially strangers.”
    â€œHe says we don’t have much hope of surviving,” Wade said, his pulse racing with fear and something more. There was the scent of adventure here. The touch of the unknown. The drug called danger.
    Robards gave an easy shrug, as though expecting nothing more. He reached across the counter, plucked up a dark metal object from among the litter of tools. It was only when he held it up that Wade recognized it as a rifle clip, about fifteen inches long, curved like a saber blade, black and deadly.
    â€œTell the man that in that case, maybe we ought to buy ourselves a couple of passports.”
    Wade could not help but glance up at Robards. The man’s face had undergone a sudden transformation, as though a mask had been set aside to reveal a brief glimpse of what lay beneath. The confidence of the man was no longer a calm and resting strength. The power was laid bare.
    He found himself slightly breathless as he said, “My friend wishes to ask thee if perhaps articles such as this might assist us with our passage.”
    The tribesman had also noted the change in Robards. Yet instead of alarm, there was only respect in his eyes. A recognition of something shared, something Wade could not fathom. “A wise man always trusts in Allah and then ties his camels carefully,” the tribesman replied.
    â€œKalashnikov AK-47,” Robards said, not waiting for the translation. “Probably the updated AKM version. Extensive usage of plastics and metal stampings to reduce weight. Nice to see you guys are using the latest in weaponry. Fires forty rounds per minute in semiautomatic mode, accurate to fourhundred meters. Cyclic rate reducer and compensator, can be fitted with an NSP-2 infrared sight. One of the finest automatic rifles ever made.”
    The tribesman nodded slightly as Wade translated loosely. “Truly your friend knows quality wares.”
    â€œAnd this,” Robards continued, fishing through the tools and coming up with a second, stubbier clip. “Druganov SVD sniper’s rifle. Best in the world. Ten-round magazine, fires long 7.62 millimeter