Dragon Bones by Warren Murphy

fits the museum, the town, the hookers, all of it.” “The helicopter?” Smith demanded, his voice as sour as a bottle of kosher dill brine and just as pleasant to have spit out at you, even from across the ocean. “Homer ain’t home. The nice man who runs the place supplemented his income by selling it to another nice man in Greece. I will spell the name rather than try to pronounce it.” “Go ahead,” Smith said. “H-i-m-i-n-o-p-o—” “Hermes Himinoplous of Athens,” Mark Howard interjected. “Up-and-coming arms merchant out of Athens. Specializes in small arms, but he’s been more ambitious in recent years. Looks like he has contacts in Turkmenistan and Georgia who’ll channel him Soviet leftover hardware. He must have found some friends in the Russian military, as well.” “I agree. What sort of surveillance does Mr. Himinoplous rate from the intelligence agencies?” Smith asked. “Hello?” Remo said. “Remember me?” “Very little,” Mark Howard answered in the background. “Small-arms merchants are a dime a dozen. Looks like the Greeks have a man inside the Himinoplous organization, but the mole’s reports don’t say anything about wholesaling helicopters. The inside man could be loyal to Himinoplous or he could be in the dark on this one. It’s the kind of sale you’d want to keep low profile as much as possible. Even keep it from your own people. Stealing the world’s biggest helicopter would be worth bragging about in the taverna.” “Agreed. Where’s Himinoplous now?” “New York City. He’s on his ho