Raf gazed around the apartment. The pupils of his dark eyes were two shrunkenpinpoints. "Where's the girl?"

Starlitz shrugged. "Maybe she went out to cop some Chinese."

Raf found his shades and a packet of Gauloise. Raf might have been Italian. Theaccent made this seem plausible. "The boot of the car," he said. "Could youhelp?"

They hauled a big wrapped tarpaulin from the trunk of the Fiat and into thesafe-house. Raf deftly untied the tarp and spread its contents across the chilllinoleum of the kitchenette.

Rifles. Pistols. Amino. Grenades. Plastique. Fuse wire. Detonator: Startitzexamined the arsenal skeptically. The hardware looked rather dated.

Raf deftly reassembled a stripped and greased AK-47. The rifle looked like ithad been buried for several years, but buried by someone who knew how to buryweapons properly. Raf slotted the curved magazine and patted the tarnishedwooden butt.

"Ever seen a Pancor Jackhammer?" asked Starlitz. "Modern gas-powered combatshotgun, all-plastic, bullpup design? Does four twelve-gauge rounds a second.The ammo drums double as landmines."

Raf nodded. "Yes, I do the trade shows. But you know -- as a practical matter --you have to let people know that you can kill them."

"Yeah? Why is-that?"

"Everyone knows the classic AK silhouette. You show civilians the AK --" Rafbrandished the rifle expertly -- "they throw themselves on the floor. You bringin your modem plastic auto-shotgun, they think it's a vacuum cleaner."

"I take your point."

Raf lifted a bomb-clustered khaki webbing belt. "See these pineapples? Grenadeslike these, they have inferior killing radius, but they truly look likegrenades. What was your name again, my friend?"

"Starlitz."

"Starlet, you carry these pineapples on your belt into a bank or a hotel lobby,you will never have to use them. Because people know pineapples. Of course, when