Mahmoud's binoculars nearly fell out of his hand as he watched the young blond Adonis on the small yacht down in the Kusadasi harbor strip off his Speedo and stretch out on the roof of the yacht cabin to take in the sun. Mahmoud Noufeh enjoyed his voyeuristic pastime spying on men in the harbor from his tenth-floor balcony perch. He particularly enjoyed it when the cruise ships came in for their tours of the ancient city of Ephesus. With his powerful binoculars he could sweep the balconies of the cruise ships and sometimes see into the rooms. He didn't know how often he'd been able to catch young men wearing next to nothing when they thought they were being completely private. Sometimes he caught couples fucking in their staterooms. A bonanza was when he spied two young, well-built naked men fucking.
From the height of his Kusadasi, Turkey, safe house, where he retreated between courier runs between Mid East terrorist organizations, he could even get a full view of the cruise ship pool decks.
The blond, lying on his back, giving Mahmoud a full frontal, made Mahmoud ache. A bit older than he liked them but not much older than seventeen, according to Mahmoud's estimation. He watched for nearly an hour, imagining all sorts of positions in which he'd take that one, before the blond slipped on his Speedo and disappeared below. That was longer than Mahmoud had planned to spend to get into the mood, but it definitely put him in the mood. He turned, with a sigh, and went back into his bedroom, where he had a young Turk spread-eagled and bound to the bed waiting for his attention.
Hours later he got a call from one of his local contacts concerning another aspect of his business.
"Mahmoud, there's a young man making the rounds down here on the waterfront looking to buy what you sell."
"Where is he now?"
"He's at the outside bar at Stella's Hotel. I can keep him here for a while if you can't come down immediately. He seems quite eager."
"No, I'll come right down."
When Mahmoud entered the outdoor bar, he nearly sucked in his breath—he did suck in his stomach. Sitting where Ergolu directed him was the young blond man Mahmoud had watched on the yacht earlier in the day. He was in shorts and sandals and a shirt that was open to show the well-developed, smooth chest that Mahmoud had already examined inch by inch through his binoculars.
"I understand you are looking for something," he said, as he came over to the table. He didn't sit down immediately.
"Yes," the young man said. "I need a semiautomatic machine pistol. I was led to believe I could buy one here."
"We don't deal in anything like that here in Kusadasi," Mahmoud answered. "But, say if we did, what would you need such a gun for?"
"I have a job to deliver a boat from Istanbul down to South Africa. I'm told that the coast of Africa can be dicey with pirates. I have no protection at all, and I haven't been able to get a gun legally here. A hand gun would give me some protection."
"What you need is a dozen men with submachineguns and a canon or two," Mahmoud said, giving a little laugh at his joke, which he didn't see as a joke at all. He would never attempt a run down the African coast in a yacht as delectable as the one he'd seen supporting this luscious young man's body in the harbor in the afternoon.
"I figure that I can make it through if I use a low profile."
It wasn't Mahmoud's place to save this man from himself or to turn down an arms deal, no matter how small. But it was a pity that a body this beautiful would be shark food in the near future. He would have to devise a way to use this young man before that fate caught up with him.
"So, you are American?" Mahmoud asked.
"No. Canadian. I'm from Toronto. I have a passport here, if . . ."
"No need. I don't sell to Americans. Canadians are OK." Mahmoud dropped into the seat opposite the young man, raised and clicked his fingers, and a waiter magically appeared. "Two Efeses for me and my Canadian friend here. And bring me a banana." The waiter trotted off for the beer and fruit.
"My name is Amir," he said. "Tell me what you need."
"My name is . . ."
"No need for your name."
". . . Stefan." It came out before he could stop.
"Well, Mr. No name that I heard, do you know what you seek?"
"I'm looking for a Glock. A Glock 22, if possible."
"You're very specific."
"I was told that was what was in the market here."
The beer and banana arrived and the two stopped talking and looked anywhere but at each other while the waiter was there.
"Were you looking for someone in particular to buy this Glock from?"
"I was told to ask for Mahmoud."
"You were told that, were you?"
"Yes. If you don't have something you can sell me, perhaps you can tell me where to find this Mahmoud." The young man made as if to rise from the table, but Mahmoud reached out with a hand on his forearm. "Sit. We talk. I may have such a gun for you."
"How much?"
