"It's working fine," Peretz replied, then waved his Walther toward the couch opposite the desk. "Now sit the fuck down. Both of you."
"You're staring at beaucoup hard time, pal." Vance did not move. "I can think of several countries who're going to be fighting over the chance to put you away. This might be a propitious moment to consider going quietly."
"Quietly?" There was a mad gleam in his eye. "I never did anything quietly in my life. You're in luck, asshole. You're about to have a front-row seat at history in the making."
He turned back to the radio and switched to transmit. "Yo, my man, looks like we have nothing more to say to each other. Which means it's time for a fond farewell."
What's he about to do? Vance wondered. He's about to screw Sabri Ramirez, but how?
Then it dawned. There was one bomb left, and Bill had said it was on the Sikorsky. Probably radio-controlled, and Peretz had a radio, right there. God help us!
"Hey," he almost yelled, "get serious. What you're about to do is insane. You don't use a nuke to take out a single thug. Even a thug like Sabri Ramirez. You've gone crazy."
In fact, Vance told himself, Peretz was looking a little, more than a little, mad. He had a distant fix in his visage that was absolutely chilling. The world had been waiting decades now for a nutcake to get his hands on a nuclear trigger. Maybe the wait was over.
"Look, peckerhead, I'm sorry if you find this unsettling." Peretz was still holding the Walther. "However, don't get any funny ideas." He laughed. "You know, it's almost poetic. For years now Israel has been the world's biggest secret nuclear power, but nobody ever had the balls to show our stuff. I'm about to become my nation's most daring ex-citizen."
He turned back to the radio. "You still there, asshole?"