MISRATAH, LIBYA
A crewman of Tarabulus Pride approached Hurtubise, who was compiling notes in his two-bunk cabin. “Monsieur, a man to see you. He is on the pier.”
The mercenary secured his papers, stuck the Makarov in his waistband, and pulled on a jacket. Making his way to the starboard gangway, he saw a familiar face. “René, mon vieux.” Hurtubise strode down the plank and embraced the former Legionnaire. After much back slapping he exclaimed, “Your timing is good. I was beginning to wonder about my sources.”
René Pinsard grinned broadly. “I did not get your message until last night, and I could not reach you on board your mighty ship.” Pinsard tilted his head toward the cargo vessel.
“Oh, I’m spending most nights aboard now. My other three men alternate so they can get more rest. I never knew that ships were so damned noisy.”
Pinsard’s hazel eyes focused on his former Legion comrade. “You do look tired. But now that Caporal Pinsard is here, your problems are over!”
Hurtubise tried not to appear too skeptical. “My personnel problems or my equipment problems?”
“Both, of course!” Pinsard reached a tanned hand into his shirt pocket and produced a list. “There’s the inventory of what you wanted and what we can provide. As you will see, eight men instead of twelve, but they’re reliable. I have worked with them all. Two or three even have some nautical experience.”
“And the hardware?”
As if on cue, a van drove down the pier and stopped a few meters away. The sign on the side proclaimed that it belonged to a maritime provisioning firm. “Everything you wanted, Marcel. And I mean everything.”
“RPGs?”
“RPG-7s. Four launchers with ten rounds apiece. I could have got some 18s, but they cost more. Speaking of which…”
Hurtubise knew where his friend was leading. “That is not a problem, mon ami. Everything in cash, as agreed. My, ah, financiers are quite generous in that regard.”
He returned to the list that Pinsard had provided. “Hmmm … gas masks, good. Small arms and ammunition, heavy machine guns, very good. Oh, maybe not enough body armor for everybody.”
“Enough for you and me.” Pinsard smiled.
Hurtubise appreciated the man’s humor—and priorities. “What about motion detectors?”
“I have some but we should talk to your captain. I am not sure that they will work on a ship. I mean, they should work, but too well. All that rolling, and water coming over the deck.” He shrugged. “I would not count on them being very useful. Too many false alarms.”
Hurtubise pocketed the list and looked at the van. “All right, let’s get everything loaded. I want to leave tomorrow or the next day.”