"But, Ockie, they've got all the guns in the world!" "You're being stupid deliberately. The Russian mafia. Don't you read the newspapers?" "But Russia's awash with guns and everything else. The military's been selling them off to all corners for years." "There's mafias and mafias over there. Maybe there's mafias that want something special and don't want the neighbours looking over their shoulders while they buy it. Maybe there's mafias with hard currency who'd like to pay for a little superiority." He studied Miss Pullen's fact sheet, then his notes. "He's a middleman, your Mr. May. A shyster. If he owns more than one demonstration model of anything, I'd be surprised." "But which mafia, Ockie? There are dozens." "That's all I know. Mafias. Officially his client is a major nation that wishes to remain below the skyline, so his nominal end-user is Jordan. Unofficially it's mafia, and he's in over his head." "why?" "Because what he's buying is too big for his boots, that's why. He's a scrap dealer is what he is, a greasy scrap dealer.
