He rolled back, tugged the AK-97 from Slick’s nerveless fingers. Even coming that close to the corpse turned his stomach. But he needed the weapon. He checked that the safety was off and that there was a round in the chamber. That was just about as far as his knowledge of automatic weapons extended. Fortunately the AK was a recent model, with a digital ammunition counter just below the rear sight. It read twenty-two, which looked good to Falcon. He stuffed the Fichetti back into his pocket, slipped the AK’s sling over his head and right arm, and crawled to the north edge of the container.