"Yo," said Starlitz.
"'Where's the can ?"
Starlitz pointed.
"Hey babe," said the American, pausing. "That's a lady's rifle. You say the word, I'll give you something serious to shoot with."
Aino said nothing. Her grip tightened on the rifle's polished walnut stock.
The American grinned at Starlitz. "She's got no English, huh? She's a Russian, right? I heard there'd be lots of Russian chicks in this operation. Man. What a dollar'll do these days." He rubbed his hands.
"Posse Comitatus?" Starhtz hazarded.
"Aw hell no. We're not militia. Those militia boys, they're all in a sweat over UN black helicopters and the New World Order... . That's bullshit! We know the New World Order. We got contacts. We're gonna be inside the goddamn black helicopters. Shoulder to shoulder with Ivan, this time!"
Finland had the most expensive booze in the world. This was Finnish social democratic policy, part and parcel with the world's lowest infant mortality rate. Nevertheless, Finns were truly fabulous drunks. The little Kasarmikatu bar was jammed with Finns methodically transiting from modest self-effacement to chest-pounding no-brakes bravado. A television barked above the shining racks of vodka and koskenkorva, showing broadcast news from across the Baltic. Another Parliamentary crisis in Moscow. A furious Russian delegate was pounding the podium in a blue vinyl iacket and a Megadeth T-shirt.
The Japanese financier set down his apple juice and adjusted his sunglasses. "His Holiness the Master does not approve of drunkenness. Alcohol clouds the vision and occludes the flow of ki."
"I can't believe we found a Japanese who won't drink after a business deal," Khoklov bitched in Russian. The Japanese money-man didn't speak or understand Russian. The three of them were clustered in the darkest comer of the Helsinki bar.
Starlitz spoke in Russian. "Our star depositor here has got a very severe case of that Pacific Rim New Age thing. These Supreme Truth guys are completely nuts. However, they're richer than God."
Starlitz silently toasted the money-man with a shot of Finnish cranberry vodka. He'd convinced their backer that this pulverizing liquor was cranberry juice. He switched to fluent gutter Japanese. "Khoklov-san tells me that he admires your electric skullcap very much. He wants to try one for himself. He is seeking health benefits and increased peace of mind."
"Saaaaa ... " riposted Mr. Inoue, patting the plasticized top of his shaven head. "The electroneural stabilizers of His Holiness the Master. They will soon be in mass production at our Fuji fortress."
"You got like a kids' version of those, right?" said Starlitz.
"Of course. His Holiness the Master has many children."
"So have you ever considered, like, a pop commercial version of those gizmos? Like with maybe a fully licensed cartoon character?"
Mr Inoue blinked. "I was led to understand that Mister Khoklov's associates could supply us with military helicopters."
"The son of a bitch is on about the helicopters again," Starlitz explained in Russian.
Khoklov grunted. "Tell him we have a special on T-72 main battle tanks. Twenty million yen apiece. Just for him though. No resales."
Starlitz conferred at length with Mr. Inoue. "He's not interested in tanks. He wants at least six Mil- 17 choppers with poison gas dispensers. Also some Spetsnaz Ranger vets to train the cult's judo commando unit on their sacred island of Ishigakijima."
"Spetsnaz veterans? Very well. We've got plenty. Tell him he'll have to find them visas and put up 'earnest money. Those black berets aren't your average goons."
Starlitz conferred again. "He wants to know if you know anything about laser ablation uranium-enrichment techniques."
"Nyet. And I'm getting pretty tired of that question."
"He wants to know if you're interested in learning how they do that sort of thing at Mitsubishi Heavy Industries."
Khoklov groaned. "Tell him I appreciate the lead on industrial atomic espionage, but that crap went out with Klaus Fuchs and the Rosenbergs."
Starlitz sighed. "Let's give lnoue-san a little face here, Pulat Romanevich. His Holiness the Master predicts the world will end in 1997. We play along with the cult's loony apocalypse myths, and we can lock in their deposits all the way through winter '96."
"Why do we need this plastic-headed lunatic?" Khoklov said. "He's a crooked exploiter of the gullible masses. He's running dummy companies inside Russia and recruiting Russian suckers for his ridiculous yoga cult. He needs us more than we need him. He's a long way from home. Put the strong-arm on him."
"Listen, ace. We need the cult's deposit money, because we need that yen disparity to cover the flow of black capital. Besides, I'm the Tokyo liaison for this gig! It's true the mafia could break his knees inside Russia, but back in Japan, his pals are building big stainless-steel bunkers full of giant microwaves."
"There are limits to my credulity, you know," Khoklov said testily. "Botulism breweries? Nerve gas factories? Hundreds of brainwashed New Age robots building computer chips for a half-blind master criminal in white pajamas? It's completely absurd, it's like something out of James Bond. Please inform this clown that he's dealing with real-life professionals."
Starlitz raised his hand and signaled. "Check please."
"Here you are sir," said Aino: "I hope you and your foreign friends are enjoying your stay in hospitable Helsinki."
After the helsinki disco bombing, Raf moved his center of operations to the Alands proper. The hardworking youngsters of the S.A-I.C. had found him another bolthole -- a sauna retreat in the dense woods of Kokar island. This posh resort belonged to a Swedish arms corporation who had once used it to entertain members of various Third World defense departments. Handy day-trips into the Alands had assured them privacy and avoided potential political embarrassments on Swedish soil. This Swedish company had fallen on hard times due to the massive Russian bargain-basement armaments sales. They were happy to sublet their resort to Khoklov's well-heeled shell company.
"We can't all be Leninist ascetics," Raf declared cheerily. "One can still be a revolutionary in decent shoes."
"Decent shoes count for plenty in Russia these days," Starlitz agreed.
Raf leaned back in his lacquered bentwood chair. The resort's central office, with its stained glass windows and maniacally sleek Alvar Aalto fumiture, seemed to suit him very well. "We've reached a delicate stage of the revolutionary process," Raf said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Integrating the dual strike-forces of the liberation front."
"You mean introducing your Yankee guys to your Russian guys?"
"Yes. And what better neutral ground for that encounter than the traditional Finnish sauna?" Raf smiled. "Lads together! Nothing to hide! No clothes. No guns! Just fresh clean steam. And plenty of booze. And since the boys have been training so hard, I've prepared them a nice surprise."
"Women."
Raf chuckled. "They are soldiers, you know." He leaned forward onto the desk. "Did you examine this resort? We have certain expectations to keep up!"
Starlitz had examined the resort and the grounds. There had been more hookers through the place than Bofors had heavy. machine guns. The grounds were private and extensive. Coups had been launched successfully from less likely places.
Starlitz nodded. "I get the drill. You know that I have a business appointment with that little old lady today. You set this up this way on purpose, just so I'd miss all the fun."
Raf paused, and thought this over. "You're not angry with me, are you, Starlitz?"
"Why do you say that, Raf?"
"Why be angry with me? I'm loaning you Aino. Isn't that enough? I didn't have to give you a translator for your business scam. I'm trusting you, all alone on a little boat, with my favorite lieutenant. You should be grateful."
Starlitz stared at him. "Man, you're too good to me."
"You should look after Aino. My little jackal has been under strain. I know you are fond of her. Since you took such pains to speak with her behind my back."
"No, I'll leave her here with you tonight," Starlitz offered. "Let's see what your twenty naked, drunken mercs will do with a heavily armed poetry major."
Raf sighed in mock defeat. "Starlitz, you don't bullshit as easily as most really greedy people."