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"Sir." A bulky vor walked up to the window of the black Mercedes.

Taras looked up from his seat in the car. The warm night air drifted through the open windows of the Mercedes, stroking the Russian's shaved head.

"Yeah?"

"The Jihadist is here."

"Ok. This is the one who ratted out the Chechen?"

"Yeah."

"Tell the others to have hardware on hand. I want this business over tonight. If he refuses to pay, make sure the package is placed in the lead truck."

"Yes sir."

The bulky vor opened the door of the Mercedes for Taras. The desert was quiet in the predawn darkness, the only sound the rumbling of a dozen car engines.

"Ah, you are Uravenkov's replacement?" A young arab stands in the small clearing between the line of cars belonging to Taras, and a small group of pick up trucks.

"Yes. You are the son of Ali Burashev?"

"He is my father yes."

"You are here for the guns yes?"

"Of course. Hand them over."

"Money first."

"What money?"

Taras stared at the young man for a moment. "You're kidding no? The five hundred thousand euros this shipment cost us to get hold of."

"I was under the impression this was a gift."

"We are business partners boy. I don't give you gifts."

"Maybe you should. Uravenkov did. He understood that I was more powerful than he was. I can break you if necessary. My father will break you for this insolence."

"Somehow I doubt that. Uravenkov was weak. I am not. If you want my guns, you pay for them. Understood? Now, if you want a war, then by all means, kill me. But remember this. Shoot me, and tomorrow you wake up with your balls in your mouth and your head on backwards. Take the guns as a gift to your father. Dasvidania." Taras climbed back into the Mercedes and closed the door. Outside, there was a short conversation in Arabic, then the sound of trucks rolling away. Taras opened the door.

"Did the package get delivered?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Follow him from a safe distance. I want the little prick to see my face when his truck goes up."

"Understood sir. May I say it's good to have a real thief in law around here."

"Save it. Call the other cars. Tell Sasha to give God a cold."

"Yes sir."

The convoy rolled down the road, the black cars of the Vor following behind silently. Suddenly the air was rent apart by a thunderous gunshot. One of the tires of the rear truck spun away, and the cumbersome vehicle skidded into the rear of the truck ahead. An ear shattering explosion followed as the lead truck burst into flames.

"Go, go, go!"

Vor poured from the black cars, automatic rifles spraying the now trapped convoy with lead. Taras watched one of his men cackle like a mad man as he tossed a molotov cocktail into the driver's seat of a truck. The bottle burst, igniting the unfortunate duo inside. A burst of AK-47 fire silenced their screams.

"Sweep and clear! Stop these fuckers from organizing!"

Taras moved through the darkness like a ghost, his FNP spitting 45. Caliber rounds into the stunned Arabs. A bullet spun Taras around, sending blood spraying from his arm into the air. The offending shooter fell as a second thunderous gunshot rang out, his head now a mist of blood and gore.

"Good shot Sasha."

"Anytime. Be more careful next time. I though you pricks from FSB knew what you where doing."

"More than you boys in GRU. Make sure the Arab doesn't get away."

"On it."

The roar of a Barret 50. Cal echoed out once more, punctuated by a high pitched scream.

"Shot him in the leg."

"Understood."

Taras walked through the darkness towards the sound of the moaning Arab.

"My father will fuck you up!" The boy screamed hysterically as he saw Taras.

"I don't think so. He might pay me to leave him alone though." Taras brought up his pistol and fired twice. The boy collapsed."

Eli David was an opportunistic man. But this was just too good to be true. A convoy of wrecked and smouldering trucks sat in the desert, surrounded by the bodies of dozens of high profile Hamas militia including the son of a major terrorist and cell commander. Spent AK-47 rounds littered the ground, and a large red rose had been spray painted onto the side of each truck.

"Any agencies use rose insignia Ali?" Eli asked a young Mossad agent standing next to him.

"No director."

"Who else has the firepower to pull off a stunt like this?"

"Gun dealers?"

"Nice, let us go with that. Who are the major dealers in the area?"

"Urba Nori. James Trenton, and Taras Stanislav."

"Stanislav?"

"He came in three weeks ago. Old school, new age Russian mob. Probably the replacement of the Chechen."

"Old school new age? Forgive an old man Ali, but I do not speak slang."

"The man follows the laws of the Russian mob to the letter director. He's also completely ruthless, he spent time in Russian special forces, and in Russian intelligence."

"Good catch Ali. Bring my car around, it's time I had a chat with Mr. Stanislav.

"Yes Director."

"The cafe near the office."

"Yes director."

Eli walked away, leaving his companion chattering away on a cell phone. Eli David was an opportunist, and he wasn't about to let a potential ally go to waste.

Taras smiled softly as he looked out of the window of the cafe. Outside, three children where playing soccer, and women clad in hundreds of colors buzzed through a crowded street market.

"Mr. Stanislav." Taras looked up.

"Ah, Mr. David, how are you. I don;t believe we've met." Taras extended a hand to the old Israeli, who pointedly ignored it.

"A Hamas convoy moving guns was destroyed last night."

"Congratulations."

"It wasn't an Israeli op."

"Oh. I assume you suspect me and my...associates?"

"I thought you're boss and I had an understanding Mr. Stanislav. He didn't deal guns with terrorists and I stayed off his ass."

"The arrangement has changed Mr. David. The Father has given me free reign over these territories."

"He made you a captain?"

"Yes."
"Fuck. Listen boy, I made my bones while you were still on your mother's tit!" Eli's voice lowered and became harsher. Taras's face remained impassive as the Mossad Director began to snarl at him.

"I can break you and your little fucking friends in half if I want to. Don't fuck with me."

"With all due respect director, I can hurt you too." Taras leaned forwards, a smile creasing his tattooed face. "Have you spoken to Ziva lately?"

Eli froze. "You wouldn't dare."
"Director, she's an adult. She's old enough to take care of herself. Now, I won't be selling guns to Hamas,as I may have angered one of their cell leaders quite badly. I do expect you to cover my ass in return. Understood."

"The understanding remains the same?"

"Yes."

"What guarantee do I have Mr. Stanislav?"
"Guarantee? We aren't lawyers Mr. David."

"Of course not. Shalom." Eli rose to his feet and stalked out of the cafe.

"Dasvidania Director." Taras murmured. "Do remember to call your daughter."