Again the young beards exchanged looks. "Maybe we stay till tomorrow if you have more business. Three thousand rounds is not much. How much payment, senor?"
"Two thousand kronor," Pashkov said, taking an envelope on the table and addressing it to Nadezhda Brunhildova, Kremlin, Moscow. No return address.
"Do you trust us to send the money?"
"It is bad for you if I do not trust you," Pashkov said, smiling up at them.
"You can trust us. We shall send the money. Please take a cigar."
Pashkov took four Havanas from the box they held out to him, stuck three in his breast pocket, and lit one.
"You come again, senor. We make much business."
"Why not? Help retire Latin-American dictators to Siberia. More gold in Siberia than in Las Vegas."
"Hyi, hyi, that is funny. You come again."
On his way up to the roof, Pashkov studied the invoice he had lifted. It was from a manufacturer of sporting arms to Francisco Jesus Maria Gonzales, Salvation Army Economy Lodgings. He tucked the invoice into his inner pocket with a satisfied grunt, climbed into his flier and hopped over to Hotel Reisen, where Zubov's kidnaping team was waiting for him.