'There's much in what you say,' I agreed. 'But the police will never believe Ken and I were doing this freelance, on our own. The money's too big, the paperwork's too good. They'll be looking for somebody at this end, in Beirut.'

Aziz said: 'But I am not connected with this at all. They know-'

'Except for that court order,' Ken said. 'When a real court takes a proper look at that, what'll they find? – that you got an injunction on an aeroplaneand cargo that had nothing at all to do with the debt you claim Bruno Spohr owed you.'

Aziz was getting a little warm again. 'By its nature, an interim injunction is a delaying tactic; this is understood. It is to create time, it is not expected to be a final judgment."

'Oh sure,' Ken said, 'but the court's still going to ask you what all this was about.'

I said: 'And you're going to say: the sword of King Richard, Coeur de Lion.'

'And the court will say,' Ken took it up, ' "You meannot about these dozen boxes of modern weapons we see before us? " ' I said: 'And then the court will hand down its verdict.'

'Which will be ha-ha-ha,' Ken said.

'So we'll see you at the six-in-the-morning slop-out,' I said. 'And meantime, give our regards to Messrs Hilton, Sheraton and Coca-Cola, will you?'

Gradually it grew quiet; it was a slack time at the airport. And dim; the sun was probably down by now, though that was behind the hangar from us. Inside the Beech was a gentle twilight, cooling now as the breeze drifted through.

Then Aziz said softly: 'Yes, it is blackmail – but very good blackmail. I will get the order lifted immediately – as soon as I can contact the judge.' He looked at Ken's suspicious eyebrows. 'An hour, or less.'

I said: 'Fine. And the deal stays the same: when and if we find the sword, you get at least twelve thousand dollars and I hope much more.'

Both were staring at me, but Ken spoke first: 'Where did you get that idea? Hell, where did you get that money?'

'It's still what Mr Aziz is entitled to.' I nodded to him. 'You carry on. I'll look after your interests.'

He stood up carefully. 'I believe you will. I think you are a man of honour.' He edged back and down the steps and away.

Ken said: 'And I think you're a man who's left his mind in his other suit. We're not giving that conniving bastard-'

'Always leave ' em laughing. Once he lifts that court order he's just about proved his innocence – but we've still got the cargo. It just needs one anonymous phone call to the Customs here – or Cyprus – and…" I shrugged. 'I'm just trying to make him believe he could still have something to lose; a vague promise on twelve thousand is the most he'd believe from me. We'll never see that sword, anyhow.'

He nodded slowly, then chuckled. 'What I like about you as a man of honour is you don't bring work home at weekends. What now?'

'File a flight plan and take off as soon as we're cleared. Let's get the stuff back in the boxes.' The pistols were heaped on one of the passenger seats in a foam of torn paper.

Ken picked up a Browning 9 mm and worked the slide: nothing in it. 'It still doesn't add up. We've got five or six makes of pistol here, three or four calibres. I just don't understand it… What d'you say we open one more box? Just to see?'

'Oh Jesus, no.' But of course I was interested, though I'd far rather have sealed boxes than heaps of handguns littering up the aircraft.

I said: 'Well… just one. Only one.'

He grinned and picked up my penknife.

Why should I have been surprised that the next box had two French sub-machine guns and nine revolvers? Plus the usual minimum of ammunition, the whole weighing – I was sure -just 50 Ibs. The revolvers weren't all the same type, of course: Colts, Smiths, a single Luger and two J. P.Sauers. Add that to automatics by Colt,Walther, SIG of Switzerland, Beretta, Browning and M AB, and you had Christmas in Dallas when everyone's opened their presents.

Ken said slowly: 'I thought bringing those M3's down here was daft, butthis dolly-mixture… there's eight calibres of ammo here and nine boxes yet to open. Even a guerrilla group needs some sort of standardisation.'

I said: 'Give me a revolution to run and I'd swap you all the pistols for a few bazookas and Kalashnikov assault rifles.'

'Sure…' He dropped a SIG back on to the seat and rubbed his hands together: they were sticky with gun grease. 'I mean, it doesn't seem as if the supplier's cheated or anything. It's all good stuff, none of the cheap Spanish junk, and just about all of it's new. No more than proof fired, I'd guess. And there'ssome ammo for each type… You'd be better off starting up a shop than a revolution with this.'

Suddenly that made sense. 'Well, why not? We didn't think Jehangir was the revolutionary type anyway, just a middleman. A shop-man.'

'A shop where you buy a gun with just two loads, throw it away after because there's no more ammo?'

'It suits some customers.'

He got up slowly and stretched as far as he could in a crouched position. 'Yes, you forget there must be some non-political pistols out here. You mean banks?"

'The last I heard there were eighty different banks in Beirut and I'm not talking about branches. The hold-up-gun concession on that could be worth having.'

'Yees… if you shoot anybody you've got to sling the gun away anyhow, haven't you? Same way, you don't want to risk a used gun that might tie you to somebody else's killing, so it has to be new stuff. And nothing bigger than a sub-machine gun – you could hide any of it in a car.' He shook his stooped head in admiration. 'Lovely, lovely Mr Jehangir.'

I stood up. 'Let's get it out of sight.' I started shoving guns back into the boxes. 'D'you still want to let Jehangir have this lot?'

'I suppose not. But a hundred and twenty new pieces…' he shook his head again. That'scapital, boy.'

'It's six years in Sand; they wouldn't believewe're loyal Palestinians.'

He started to help me.

I filed a flight plan at the tower and got a provisional okay for when the injunction was lifted. Aziz and his lawyer were still up in the deputy manager's office, probably trying to raise the judge.

Ken and I had another coffee – he'd had to come back to collect his bag and clear customs and so forth – and it got to be seven o'clock. Ken galloped his fingers on the table. 'I should have started smoking again.'

'Try a pipe.' I had one of mine going, after only three matches.

'Any time I want to make the match business rich I'll send them a cheque. You look like the old lamplighter on piece rates.'

I struck another match, then shook it out as Aziz's lawyer and the deputy manager came up.

The lawyer gave us both a nasty look and said in a controlled voice: 'I think it is all arranged.' I don't know how much Aziz had told him, but obviously not all.

The deputy said:'! understand you are not legally represented?'

I nodded.

'In affairs of this sort, an agreement between the lawyers of both sides, saying the case is settled, is usually enough. But I suppose you can agree for yourself… sign here, please.'

I signed something.

'Good. I am happy it is satisfactorily concluded.' He smiled at the lawyer and got a stare of stony hatred in return. A bad loser, that man – though that probably made him a good lawyer, of course.

I got on to my feet. 'Thank Monsieur Aziz for us, please. And tell him that our agreement stands.'

So I got a look of fresh-cut loathing, as well.