I discussed these with the Old Boys. We had plenty of money in the bank—almost $900,000, plus a few thousand left over from the $25,000 advanced to each of us at the beginning of the operation. These weren’t government funds, meant to be scattered to the winds before the end of the fiscal year. It was real money, Paul’s money, and everybody understood this. It doesn’t cost much to fly tourist class. Staying at cheap hotels and monasteries and eating mutton in backstreet restaurants in remotest China consumes very little cash. Charley said, “How many people is your friend Kevin bringing with him?” “Half a dozen,” I replied. “Not his own men. Independent contractors. Former special-ops types. He’s recruiting them as we speak.” “We’ll have to pay them?” “They want Ibn Awad. I said they could have him.” “Handsome gesture, Horace.” I handed Charley the list of arms and equipment Kevin wanted. It was detailed and specific. He looked it over. “Saints preserve us,”
