He asked him and didn’t have to relay it. The word “Luger” is neither Serbo-Croat nor Albanian, and I had heard it before. After entering the fort, I went to the first room on the right, which seemed the most likely because I had seen a big table there, and hit it at the first try. At the front of the drawer, with a Luger and a big clasp knife, were a stainless steel wristwatch and a leather fold containing papers, one of them with a red seal and a picture of Peter Zov. He was not photogenic. I went back out with them.
As I approached, Wolfe spoke. “Keep the gun. Give him the knife.”
“There’s a watch and a fold with papers.”
“Give him those.” He turned to Zov. “My son will keep the gun for the time being. If an attempt is made to stop us you might be overhasty with it after what you’ve just gone through.”
Zov took the other things and said, “I want the gun.”
“You’ll get it. Is it an old friend?”
“Yes. I took it from a dead German in the war.”
“No wonder you value it. I suppose you had it on your mission to New York.”
“I did, and other missions. I want it.”
“Later. I assume the responsibility for our safe passage through the mountains, and I don’t know you well, though I hope to. You’re about my son’s age, and it’s a pity you can’t communicate. Do you know any English at all?”