Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,51

clean looking and in good repair.

‘I will leave in an hour,’ Mohammed said, consulting the nuggets. ‘You wish to ask about plastic guns. Please go ahead.’

‘Er …’ Litsi said.

‘Who makes them?’ I asked.

Mohammed switched his dark gaze my way. ‘The bestknown,’ he said straightforwardly, ‘are made by Glock of Austria. The Glock 17.’ He reached unhurriedly towards the suitcase and unclipped the locks, ‘I brought one to show you.’

Beneath his educated English there was an accent I couldn’t place. Arab, in some way, I thought. Definitely Mediterranean, not Italian, perhaps French.

‘The Glock 17,’ he was saying, ‘is mostly plastic but has metal parts. Future guns of this sort can be made entirely from plastic. It’s a matter of a suitable formula for the material.’

From the suitcase he produced a neat square black box.

‘This handgun is legitimately in my possession,’ he said. ‘Despite the manner of our meeting, I am a reputable dealer.’

We assured him that we hadn’t thought otherwise.

He nodded in satisfaction and took the lid off the box. Inside, packed in a moulded tray, like a toy, lay a black pistol, an ammunition clip, and eighteen golden bullets, flat caps uppermost, points invisible, arranged neatly in three horizontal rows of six.

Mohammed lifted the weapon out of the box.

‘This pistol,’ he said, ‘has many advantages. It is light, it is cheaper and easier to make than all-metal guns, and also it is more accurate.’

He let the information sink into our brains in true salesman fashion.

‘It pulls apart.’ He showed us, snapping off the entire top of the pistol, revealing a metal rod lying within. ‘This is the metal barrel.’ He picked it out, ‘There is also a metal spring. The bullets also are metal. The butt and the ammunition clip are plastic. The pieces pop back together again very easily.’ He reassembled the pistol fast, closing its top into place with a snap. ‘Extremely easy, as you see. The clip holds nine bullets at a time. People who use this weapon, including some police forces, consider it a great advance, the forerunner of a whole new concept of handguns.’

‘Aren’t they trying to ban it in America?’ Litsi said.

‘Yes.’ Mohammed shrugged. ‘Amendment 4194 to Title 18, forbidding the import, manufacture and sales of any such gun made after January 1, 1986. It is because the plastic is undetectable by X-ray scanners. They fear the guns will be carried through airports and into government buildings by terrorists.’

‘And won’t they?’ I said.

‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged. ‘Approximately two million private citizens in America own handguns,’ he said. ‘They believe in the right to carry arms. This Glock pistol is the beginning of the future. It may result in the widespread development of plastic-detectors … and perhaps in the banning of all handluggage on aeroplanes except ladies’ handbags and flat briefcases that can be searched by hand.’ He looked from me to Litsi. ‘Is terrorism your concern?’

‘No,’ Litsi said. ‘Not directly.’

Mohammed seemed relieved. ‘This gun wasn’t invented as a terrorist weapon,’ he said. ‘It is seriously a good pistol, better all round.’

‘We understand that,’ I said. ‘How profitable is it?’

‘To whom?’

‘To the manufacturer.’

‘Ah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It depends.’ He considered. ‘It costs less to make and is consequently cheaper in price than metal guns. The profit margin may not be so very different overall, but the gross profit of course depends on the number of items sold.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘It’s calculated that most of the two million people already owning guns in America, for instance, will want to up-grade to the new product. The new is better and more prestigious, and so on. Also their police forces would like to have them. Apart from there, the world is thirsty for guns for use – private Americans, you understand, own them mostly for historical reasons, for sport, for fantasy, for the feeling of personal power, not because they intend to kill people – but in many many places, killing is the purpose. Killing, security and defence. The market is wide open for really cheap good reliable new pistols. For a while at least, until the demand is filled, manufacturers could make big honest money fast.’

Litsi and I listened to him with respect.

‘What about dishonest money?’ I asked.

He paused only momentarily. ‘It depends who we’re talking about.’

‘We’re still talking about the manufacturer,’ I said.

‘Ah. A corporation?’

‘A private company with one man in charge.’

He produced a smile packed with worldly disillusion.

‘Such a man can print his own millions.’

‘How, exactly?’ I asked.

‘The easiest way,’ he said, ‘is to