Deadly Diamonds (17 page)

“Then, do. I'll make a call. I'll get back to you here at the hotel tonight. Nothing promised. But like they say, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'”

It was nine p.m. when the phone rang in Mr. Walker's room.

“Johnny. It took a while. I was calling a man in Boston in the United States. Six-hour time difference. “

“Thank you, Declan. Any luck at all?”

“I don't know. It may be something. Or not. Can you stay a couple of days?”

“I think so.” Mr. Walker knew that his expenses were being paid by Bunce and Jimbo, but if he could make a major sale, he could repay them.

“Good. This won't be easy sailing. The one I talked with is a big shot with an organized crime gang in Boston. They call them the Mafia over there. Basically a gang of thugs, but they can do big business when they're interested.”

“How do you know him?”

“Interesting. He actually approached me a week ago. He wants to get his beak wet in the diamond trade, as he puts it. The black market side. He knew some of the former IRA were into it. He heard we have a source. I think he's looking to make a big killing on the kind of diamonds you're selling. That could serve your purpose.”

“Maybe. Depends on how much he can pay.”

“I get the impression he can handle the kind of price you're talking about. What do you think?”

“I think he's my only hope. How do I meet him?”

“I thought you'd say that. He's flying in tomorrow.”

“Great. I'll be ready.”

“Johnny, move easy here. I don't know if I made the point. This guy's no choirboy. I've heard of him. Do you know what a ‘stone killer' is?”

“No.”

“Well, you can guess. You took a chance trusting me. Don't do it with him. And watch your back. People who deal with this guy frequently wind up dead. That would not suit your purpose.”

“Could he be worse than the ones I've dealt with for nine years?”

“Point taken. Just don't underestimate him. He sounds like a brainless thug when he speaks. Don't let him fool you. He didn't get to be the number two man in the Boston Mafia on the brains of an idiot.”

“I'm forewarned. How will we meet?”

“Not in your hotel. I don't want him to be too sure of how to find either one of us outside of the meeting. There's a pub on Fownes Street, just off the Temple Bar area. I know the owner. He'll have a private room for us in the back.”

“Sounds good. What time?”

“This guy'll fly into Dublin tomorrow morning. I'll send a car to pick you up here at the Gresham at three tomorrow afternoon. I'll warn you. He'll have his diamond expert with him. You'll have to show him the diamonds. I'm not sure that's the best place to do it.”

“Will you be there, Declan?”

“Hah. You think I'd miss it?”

“What's this man's name?”

“Salvatore Barone.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Irish weather had been soaking the streets of Dublin all day. At three on the nose, Mr. Walker came out of the Gresham Hotel under the umbrella held by the doorman to the waiting black limousine. After enduring five months of constant soaking through nineteen Sierra Leone rainy seasons, he marveled at the extent of the hotel staff's concern that a few drops of rain not fall on their guest.

He met Mr. O'Connor at the door of O'Doole's Pub.

“He's inside. Brace yourself. He comes equipped with his personal goon.”

When they reached the door to a small private room with a long table and chairs at the back of the pub, Mr. Walker went in first. He was less than a foot into the room, when an arm shot across his chest and barred his way. He looked back at Mr. O'Connor who just shrugged. “It's apparently how they do business in the colonies. Just pretend you're at an airport.”

The heavily beefed individual with the arm turned him toward the wall and ran his massive hands over any part of Mr. Walker's body that could conceal a weapon. When he was satisfied, he stepped back, leaving Mr. Walker facing a pudgy, bald man of about fifty with an obvious air of control. He was seated beside a taller man with glasses.

“You Walker? You the guy I'm supposed to meet with?”

“I am.”

“So, sit yourself down. I ain't got all day.”

“Thank you. Most gracious.”

“And don't gimme no smart-ass answers. You ready to do business? I gotta get the hell outta this joint. It don't do nothin' but rain over here.”

Mr. Walker reminded himself of his ultimate goal, and swallowed the indignities. He sat facing the speaker.

“Are you interested in buying diamonds?”

The man leaned back with an affected air of indifference. “I don't know. Depends what you got. Lemme see 'em.”

Mr. Walker glanced back at Mr. O'Connor who took a seat at the far end of the table. He gave a nod of the head that conveyed, “It's your game, Johnny.” At the same time, his calm attitude suggested that there would be backup if matters got out of hand. It gave Mr. Walker the confidence he needed.

He straightened in his chair and paused long enough to indicate he was not on Mr. Barone's short leash. He looked at the man in glasses beside Mr. Barone.

“I didn't get your name. I assume you're the diamond expert.”

Mr. Barone came straight forward. “Listen you, you talk to me. I do the business here.”

“Really. I assume you're Mr. Barone.”

“You assume right, kid. Now get out the diamonds. I don't wait too good.”

Mr. Walker looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Barone and lowered his voice. “Mr. Barone, I'm not a kid, yours or anyone else's. I'm here to do business, man-to-man. If I decide to sell, and if you pay the price, you'll make more money than you ever dreamed of.”

Mr. Barone's color went from pasty sallow to steaming red. He grabbed the arms of the chair to bolt upright.

“Mr. Barone, if you get out of that chair, the deal's off. You'll never set your eyes on those diamonds. I think you should understand this. You're out of your kingdom now. You're on Irish soil. I make no threats, but if you or that goon at the door make one threatening move, I think my friend and I can assure you that you'll never leave this country in the fine health you seem to enjoy now. And just so you have no doubts about that—”

Mr. Walker stood up slowly and walked to the door. He opened it to give Mr. Barone a full view of the eight tall, well-muscled men in loose-fitting sweaters that could conceal anything Mr. Barone might
imagine, sitting at the long bar. Mr. Walker had noticed them on the way in. He knew they probably had nothing to do with Mr. O'Connor, but Mr. Barone had no way of knowing that.

Mr. Walker called out to the bar, “Gentlemen.”

They all looked in his direction. Mr. Walker called out again, “Everything's fine so far. This won't take long.” He waved to them. They had no idea what he was talking about, but they all waved back.

Mr. Walker closed the door and walked back to his chair. Mr. Barone sat back in silence. Mr. Walker glanced over at Mr. O'Connor who simply raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Now, Mr. Barone, if we're through with the power plays, let's talk about things that can make both of us very rich.”

Mr. Barone remained silent, while Mr. Walker addressed the man in glasses. “I was asking, are you the diamond expert?”

“I am. My name's Vincent Mangione.”

“Good. I'm going to show you a collection of diamonds. And I'm going to make you a bet, Mr. Mangione. I'll bet you one Irish euro that you've never seen anything like them in your life. I'll bet you'll conclude they're worth far more than I'm asking for them, which leaves room for an enormous profit for anyone who buys them from me. Will you come with me?”

Barone came out of his pout and shot forward. “Wait a minute. What the hell? You got the diamonds here or not? What the hell is this?”

“This is the way we do business or not at all. I take Mr. Mangione to see the diamonds. He'll come back in twenty minutes and tell you that if you can buy them for one million euros, you'll be able to make at least three times that amount in profit when you sell them to your connections in America. And that's how it works. You can say yes or no. There are other buyers. Your decision.”

Mr. Mangione looked at Mr. Barone for orders. Mr. Barone fidgeted like a man with an uncomfortable decision. When his hunger for money finally trumped his need for a show of dominance, he nodded to Mr. Mangione.

When Mr. Walker and Mr. Mangione passed through the door,
Mr. Barone yelled out an attempt to recoup face in front of his goon. “And make it snappy. I ain't got all day.”

Mr. Walker took Mr. Mangione on a short walk to the campus of Trinity College in the heart of the city. He bought the tourist tickets and led him across the campus green to the mammoth Old Library. They climbed to a secluded alcove with a table and two chairs on the second floor.

Mr. Mangione had a seat while Mr. Walker took a bag from behind the two books on a lower shelf where he had secreted it earlier in the day. Mr. Mangione spread a velvet cloth on the table. Mr. Walker poured the twenty-two stones onto the cloth. He stood back by the rail while Mr. Mangione completed his prolonged examination of each of the stones.

When the inspection was complete, Mr. Mangione exited the library to wait for Mr. Walker to choose another hiding place for the diamonds. When Mr. Walker joined him, they began the walk back to O'Doole's Pub.

They walked in silence until they reached the statue of Oliver Goldsmith by the campus gate. Mr. Walker addressed him quietly. “I don't ask you to betray any confidences, Mr. Mangione. I'm only wondering if you have anything to say about what you've seen.”

Mr. Mangione continued walking another fifty feet before speaking. “I know Mr. Barone well enough to know he'll ask me if I said anything to you. My answer will be ‘No. I've said nothing.' You can perhaps surmise that my life could depend on that.”

“I can. I'll ask no more questions.”

“Good.” As he said it, he took out a one euro note and quietly handed it to Mr. Walker.

When they returned to the room in O'Doole's Pub, Mr. Barone was pacing like a hungry tiger.

“Where the hell you been? I coulda had supper by the time you two get through messin' around. Mangione, get over here.”

They walked to a corner and whispered with their backs to the
room for a minute or two. When they turned around, Mr. Barone spit out in the direction of Mr. Mangione, “Awright. Awright. Shut up.”

When they were seated, Mr. Barone said to Mr. Walker, “So, he says they're okay. They ain't nothing special. But hell, I come all this way. I'll give you ten thousand. Go get the rocks.”

Mr. Walker smiled. “I have one price. It's not negotiable. You can say either yes or no. The price is one million euros.”

Mr. Barone slapped the table and grinned. “You're jokin', right? How the hell much is that in real money?”

“I take it you mean American dollars.”

“Yeah. What else?”

Mr. O'Connor broke his silence. “At today's rate of exchange that would be one and a quarter million dollars.”

That set off another outburst accompanied by pacing by Mr. Barone. Mr. Walker sat in silence for ten seconds. Suddenly he stood and slapped the table with both hands and shrieked, “Stop!”

It caught Mr. Barone in mid-tantrum. He looked at Mr. Walker in silence. Mr. Walker stood while he spoke, this time in a room-filling tone. “This is not business. This is idiocy. There's only one question to be answered here. Do you want to make a profit of at least three million of your
real
dollars or not? If you do, you'll pay me one million euros for the twenty-two diamonds. I'll be at the Gresham Hotel until tomorrow. You can leave a one-word answer. Yes or no. Nothing more.”

On that last word, Mr. Walker turned and strode through the door without looking back. Mr. O'Connor followed him out the door. They caught a cab at the pub entrance. Mr. O'Connor gave the address of a restaurant on the other side of the River Liffey. They settled back in the seat and Mr. O'Connor spoke first. “I'm going to buy you the finest dinner in Dublin and many pints of Guinness to go with it. Forgive me for saying it like this, Johnny. You've got rocks harder than those twenty-two diamonds.”

He started to laugh, and before they turned the first corner, the both of them were rocking back and forth in the first actual laugh that had passed Bantu's lips since he was nine years old.