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en there。 They could not avoid leaving tire marks； but one of the reasons he'd picked the place was that kids went back there to park on weekends there were plenty of tire marks。
They had dumped the gun there； he remembered； but who could have discovered that？ The water in the quarry was over eighty feet deep he'd checked and looked about as uninviting as a rice paddy； murky from dirt that washed in； and whatever kind of scum it was that formed on the surface。 Not a place to go swimming。 They had dumped only the gun that had been fired； but as unlikely as it seemed； he had to assume they'd found it。 How that had happened didn't matter for the moment。 Well； we have to dispose of the others too； now； Alex told himself。 You can always get new guns。
What is the most the cops can learn？ he asked himself。 He was well versed on police procedures。 It seemed only reasonable that he should know his enemy； and Alex owned a number of texts on investigative techniques； the books used to train cops in their various academies； like Snyder's Homicide Investigation and the Law Enforcement Bible。 He and his people studied them as carefully as the would…be cops with their shiny young faces 。 。 。
There could be no fingerprints on the gun。 After being in water； the skin oil that makes the marks would long since have been gone。 Alex had handled and cleaned it； but he didn't need to worry about that。
The van was gone。 It had been stolen to begin with； then customized by one of Alex's own people； and had used four different sets of tags。 The tags were long gone； underneath a telephone/power pole in Anne Arundel County。 If something had resulted from that； he'd have known it long before now； Alex thought。 The van itself had been fully sanitized； everything had been wiped clean； the dirt from the quarry road 。 。 。 that was something to think about； but the van still led to a dead end。 They'd left nothing in it to connect it with his group。
Had any of his people talked； perhaps a man with an aching conscience because of the kid who'd almost died？ Again； had that happened； he would have awakened this afternoon to see a badge and gun in front of his face。 So that was out。 Probably。 He'd talk to his people about that； remind them that they could never talk with anyone about what they did。
Might his face have been seen？ Alex chided himself again for having waved at the helicopter。 But he'd been wearing a hat； sunglasses； and a beard； all of which were now gone； along with the jacket； jeans； and boots that he'd worn。 He still had the work gloves； but they were so mon an item that you could buy them in any hardware store。 So dump 'em and buy another pair； asshole！ he said to himself。 Make sure they're the same color； and keep the sales receipt。
His mind ran through the data again。 He might even be overreacting； he thought。 The feds could be investigating some totally unrelated thing； but it was stupid to take any unnecessary risks。 Everything that they'd used at the quarry would be disposed of。 He'd make a plete list of possible connections and eliminate every one of them。 They'd never go back there again。 Cops had their rules and procedures； and he'd unhesitatingly copied the principle to deny its advantage to his opponents。 He had established the rules for himself after seeing what catastrophes resulted from having none。 The radical groups he'd hovered around in his college days had died because of their arrogance and stupidity； their underestimation of the skill of their enemies。 Fundamentally； they'd died because they were unworthy of success。 Victory es only to those prepared to make it； and take it； Alex thought。 He was even able to keep from congratulating himself on spotting the feds。 It was simple prudence； not genius。 His route had been chosen with an eye to taking note of such things。 He already had another promising site for weapons training。
〃Erik Martens；〃 Ryan breathed。 〃We meet again。〃
All of the FBI's data had been forwarded to the Central Intelligence Agency's working group within hours of its receipt。 The Uzi that had been recovered Ryan marveled at how that had happened！ had； he saw； been fabricated in Singapore； at a plant that also made a version of the M…16 rifle that he'd carried in the Corps； and a number of other military arms； both East and West； for sale to third…world countries 。 。 。 and other interested parties。 From his work the previous summer； Ryan knew that there were quite a few such factories； and quite a few governments whose only measure for the legitimacy of an arms purchaser was his credit rating。 Even those who paid lip…service to such niceties as 〃end…user certificates〃 often turned a blind eye to the reputation of a dealer who never quite proved to be on the wrong side of the shadowy line that was supposed to distinguish the honest from the others。 Since it was the dealer's government that generally made this determination； yet another variable was added to an already inexact equation。
Such was the case with Mr。 Martens。 A very petent man in his business； a man with remarkable connections； Martens had once worked with the CIA…backed UNITA rebels in Angola until a more regular pipeline had been established。 His principal asset； however； was his ability to obtain items for the South African government。 His last major coup had been obtaining the manufacturing tools and dies for the Milan antitank missile； a weapon that could not be legally shipped to the Afrikaner government due to the Western embargo。 After three months' creative effort on his part； the government's own armaments factories would be making it themselves。 His fee for that had doubtless been noteworthy； Ryan knew； though the CIA had been unable to ascertain just how noteworthy。 The man owned his own business jet； a Grumman G…3 with intercontinental range。 To make sure that he could fly it anywhere he wished。 Martens had obtained weapons for a number of black African nations； and even missiles for Argentina。 He could go to any corner of the world and find a government that was in his debt。 The man would have been a sensation on Wall Street or any other marketplace； Ryan smiled to himself。 He could deal with anyone； could market weapons the way that people in Chicago traded wheat futures。
The Uzis from Singapore had e to him。 Everyone loved the Uzi。 Even the Czechs had tried to copy it； but without great mercial success。 The Israelis sold them by the thousands to military and security forces； always most of the time following the rules that the United States insisted upon。 Quite a few had found their way to South Africa； Ryan read； until the embargo had made it rather more difficult。 Is that the reason they finally let someone make the gun under license？ Jack wondered。 Let someone else broaden the market for you； and just keep the profits 。 。 。
The shipment had been five thousand units 。 。 。 about two million dollars； wholesale。 Not very much； really； enough to equip a city police force or a regiment of paratroopers； depending on the receiving government's orientation。 Large enough to show a profit for Mr。 Martens； small enough not to attract a great deal of attention。 One truckload； Ryan w