Michael sat quietly in the Tarantel, sipping his Gewurtztraminer, looking around for a plausible candidate to approach. This unassuming little bar was rumored to be the principal hangout for arms dealers from all over Europe. Among those present, the Brits and Arabs would be the major players, here to make deals in the millions. The South Americans looked like their probable customers. Wearing suits as classy as his, they were hardly what he was looking for. He had deliberately dressed to look like one of the big boys, thinking it would permit him to make the approach rather than having to field a lot of queries. But that wasn’t the way it worked out.