Diamonds Can Be Deadly (3 page)

“There's a communications room here in the reception center with TV, phone, fax and Internet services if you need to keep in touch with the outside world.”

The tiny transmitter/receiver embedded in the gold earring would keep Jordan in touch with the outside world. She didn't really require her cell phone and wouldn't use it in any case to communicate with OMEGA, but decided to make the point that she hadn't come as a guest.

“I'm here to see Mr. Greene on business,” she said firmly. “I need to retrieve messages and maintain contact with my employees. I won't carry my cell phone with me when I leave my cottage, but I will be using it and my laptop computer while I'm here.”

The receptionist looked doubtful but was too well trained to argue with a guest.

“Very well. Danny, will you take Ms. Colby to her cottage, please?”

* * *

Big, bulky and exuberantly cheerful, Danny steered the golf cart along a path of crushed lava rock and pointed out the institute's facilities. All the buildings were constructed in the same turn-of-the-century territorial style as the reception center, with steep, hipped roofs, green shutters and wide verandas.

“That's the Lotus Spa,” Danny said, indicating a structure surrounded by swaying royal palms. “The spa café serves light breakfasts and lunches. Carrot juice and macadamia-nut salads and stuff like that,” he said with a shrug that suggested full-figured males like him needed heartier fare. “Regular meals are served from 6:00 a.m. to midnight at the Jade Buddha Restaurant. It's over there, beside the waterfall.”

Jordan followed his pointing finger to a sparkling cascade that splashed downward from a bank of ferns into a three-tiered pool. At the upper lever was what appeared to be an elegant, open-air restaurant.
At the lower level, water escaped in another silvery stream and plunged a hundred feet straight down into the sea.

“Room service is available twenty-four hours a day,” Danny assured her. “Best thing on the menu is the poke baked in seaweed.”

“Po-keh. Got it.”

“That's the Meditation Center.” He hooked a thumb at a structure surrounded by flowering hibiscus. “Dr. Greene conducts all group sessions there. Private sessions are held either there or at his office.”

“Which is where?”

“His office? It's in our corporate-headquarters building.”

Jordan consulted the printed map and saw that the central headquarters was set apart from the rest of the resort, along with several smaller administrative buildings and quarters for the staff.

“I understand you have an appointment with Dr. Greene at four,” Danny said as he pulled up at a cottage perched at the edge of the bluff. Rolling his bulk out of the golf cart, he retrieved her briefcase and bag. “I'll swing back by and pick you up a few minutes before four.”

He stood aside for Jordan to activate the iris-recognition system. Stooping a little, she looked into the tiny camera eye mounted beside the door. A second eye, she noted, was positioned almost at
waist level. For children, she surmised, or wheel-chair-bound guests.

“How do the maids get in to clean?” she asked when the door clicked open.

“They knock,” Danny replied, following her inside, “and if they get no answer, security authorizes an override.”

Jordan didn't particularly care for the fact that TJ Scott controlled access to her bungalow. She knew it was standard operating procedure. All hotels required room entry for maintenance, servicing and the safety of their guests in emergency situations. Still, she'd make sure to set a few intrusion-detection devices so she could ascertain
who
went in and out of her rooms.

“This is your sitting room,” Danny said. “The bedroom and bathroom are through that louvered door.”

Given the exorbitant fees guests paid to stay at the resort, Jordan had anticipated sybaritic luxury. These rooms lived up to her expectations and then some. Exquisite Oriental art hung on walls painted a delicate coral. The furniture was an eclectic mix of rattan and dark, heavy antiques. Floral prints in mint green and coral provided splashes of bright color, while plantation shutters, overhead fans and potted palms added a distinctly tropical flavor.

But it was the view that stopped Jordan in her tracks. The plantation shutters framing the east wall of the sitting room were folded back, so that the
interior of the cottage seemed to flow out onto the covered lanai. Beyond the lanai was a stunning vista of jungle-covered peaks saw-toothing up from a turquoise sea. Transfixed, Jordan could only gape at what looked like a Hollywood creation of paradise.

“This cottage has the best view of Ma'aona,” Danny commented as he deposited her briefcase on the sitting-room desk.

“Ma'aona?”

He directed her attention to a needle-sharp peak spearing high above the others.

“It's a holy mountain, sacred to ancient Hawaiians. They threw people who broke
tapu
—the old laws—from the top of Ma'aona onto the rocks below.”

Tough bunch, the ancient Hawaiians.

“The burial site at the base of the mountain is off limits,” Danny advised, “but you can drive up to the state park near the peak.”

Jordan didn't figure she'd have much time for visiting ancient archeological sites. With another glance at the jagged peak, she dug her wallet out of her shoulder bag.

Her driver refused the bill with a merry smile. “There's no tipping anywhere on the grounds of the institute. It's our pleasure to serve you. I hope you find peace and tranquility during your stay.”

Jordan hoped she found the 900-carat Star of the East and sufficient evidence of money laundering to hang Bartholomew Greene out to dry. The
possibility she might hang his director of security alongside him was an added bonus.

A glance at her watch showed she had an hour yet before her meeting with the guru of green. Plenty of time to conduct an electronic sweep, advise headquarters she was in place and scrub away the effects of her long flight.

Plugging in the earpiece of Mackenzie's high-tech sniffer, she hummed along with Travis while she ambled through the luxurious cottage. The sweep didn't detect any devices inside the bungalow, only standard motion sensors at the windows and a security camera tucked up under the eaves of the lanai. At least Greene allowed his guests privacy inside their quarters, Jordan thought as she fought the urge to flip the bird in the direction of the camera lens.

No point in alerting TJ to the fact that she'd detected his silent sentinel. She knew where it was and could disable it when necessary. Leaning her elbows on the railing, she gazed in seeming absorption at the sea for a few moments before going into the bathroom.

It was every bit as sumptuous as the rest of the bungalow. The counters were marble, the Jacuzzi tub was big enough to sleep four, and the open, glass-block shower was fitted with cross jets that promised a decadent water massage.

Although she hadn't found any interior bugs, training and experience had Jordan turning the taps
of the Jacuzzi to full blast. With the gushing water to muffle the sound of her voice, she thumbed the transmitter in her earring. The signal bounced off a secure satellite straight into OMEGA's control center.

Claire responded within seconds, her voice soft and musical but clear enough to carry over the gurgling water.

“Cyrene here. Go ahead, Diamond.”

“Just wanted to let you know I'm in place.”

“Roger that. We saw there was some weather off the coast of California. How was your flight?”

“Long. Bumpy. Tiring.”

“What's your status vis-à-vis the target?”

“We're still on for our first face-to-face at four o'clock local.” Jordan hesitated for a moment. “I've made contact with Scott.”

“Anything to report?”

“No.”

She saw no need to advise Clair that the handsome bastard could still put a hitch in her step. After confirming the time frame for her next transmission, she dumped a generous helping of the resort's frangipani bath salts into the tub, stripped off and indulged in a long hot soak.

Refreshed and revived, she pulled on ecru lace briefs and a matching half-cup bra. Strappy sandals, linen slacks and a short-sleeved silk jacket in an eye-popping red gave her just the right mix of casual and professional.

Once dressed, she peeled the adhesive backing off a flat disc the size of a dime and stuck it to the underside of an Oriental ginger jar. The device was simple, an off-the-shelf bug that Mackenzie had beefed up to detect both noise and movement. It transmitted signals to Jordan's laptop, which required a special code to view. With the device in place, she used the short wait for Danny to gather her thoughts and prepare for the upcoming meeting.

The Hawaiian chattered cheerfully during the drive to the Tranquility Institute's global headquarters. Jordan listened with half an ear while checking out the approach. Manicured lawns surrounded the low, two-story building. Scattered palms rustled gently in the late-afternoon breeze. Even the roar of the sea was muted, as if in deference to the master's desire for serenity and peace.

The interior reflected the same simplicity. Potted banyans and rubber-tree plants with glossy green leaves added the only color to an airy vestibule with glass walls and a cream-colored tile floor. A receptionist greeted Jordan cheerfully and summoned the institute's business manager.

The trim, bald individual who appeared a moment later introduced himself as Duncan Myers. “I'm Mr. Greene's financial adviser. Since you've come with what sounds like an intriguing business proposal, Bartholomew asked me to sit in on your meeting.”

That was fine with Jordan. The more she could
learn about Greene's operation, the better. She followed Myers to a large conference room fronted by a glass wall that encompassed an endless expanse of sea and sky.

The opposite wall, she noted with deliberately casual interest, displayed a world map. Glowing round emeralds depicted each of the Tranquility Institute's far-flung satellite cells. Home base here in Hawaii got what looked like at least fifty carats.

The sound of footsteps signaled Bartholomew Greene's arrival. Sandy haired and medium sized, the man appeared even younger than his PR photos. He wore all white—white shoes, white slacks, white safari-style shirt, probably to showcase the pendant dangling around his neck. Its gold bezel featured a square-cut emerald with a color and clarity that took Jordan's breath away.

Wrenching her gaze from the pendant, she looked into eyes almost as bright and green as the dazzling stone. Tinted contacts, she guessed as the target came forward with both hands outstretched.

“Ms. Colby. Welcome to the Tranquility Institute.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope you—”

Greene broke off. His welcoming smile faded. Frowning, he glanced down at their clasped hands. When he raised those startling eyes again, they held a gentle concern.

“How fortunate that you've come to me. I sense a deep hurt in you. Or is it anger?”

He squeezed her hands, his tone modulating to one of soothing assurance.

“We'll work together while you're here, shall we, and draw out your pain.”

J
ordan managed to keep from snatching her hands free of Greene's—barely. For a startled moment she wondered if this man did indeed possess the extraordinary faculties his PR machine hyped.

Just as quickly, she dismissed the notion that he'd seen inside her head. Greene must have received a report of her confrontation with TJ, perhaps viewed a security tape of the two of them going head to head. He would have heard her anger, fed off her hurt.

It was all done with smoke and mirrors.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Greene,” she said with a cool smile, slipping her hands free of his, “but this
is a business trip. I doubt I'll have time for you to draw anything out.”

“Then we'll have to make time. And please, call me Bartholomew.”

With scrupulous courtesy he waved her to a round table inlaid with multicolored woods. “I've ordered tea. Or would you prefer fresh-squeezed papaya juice?”

“Tea would be fine.”

It was green, of course, a fragrant blend served in delicate Chinese cups. Jordan sipped hers appreciatively while Bartholomew's financial adviser opened a manila folder and slid out the proposal she'd FedEx'ed after several long sessions with her designers.

“Bartholomew and I have studied your proposal, Ms. Colby. Or may we dispense with formalities and call you Jordan?”

“Please do.”

Duncan Myers flipped through the pages of the proposal. “It's very intriguing.”

No kidding! To get her foot in the door, Jordan had cut her costs to the bone and maximized the potential profit for the institute.

“You've got built-in outlets at the various Tranquility Institutes around the world,” she said, gesturing toward the world map. “You also have an established mail-order business for your herbal products and healing stones. That eliminates most of the distribution costs.”

Reaching into her briefcase, she produced the sketches she and her team of designers had worked up. They featured a variety of sunglasses, reading glasses and frames for prescription lenses, all with her signature butterfly done in emeralds. Many of the frames sported additional emeralds in the side stems.

With OMEGA's extensive resources to assist her, Jordan had collected a wealth of information on the supposed healing properties of emeralds. According to ancient lore, the stone was a blood detoxifier and antipoison. More current literature insisted it promoted love, romance, joy, clear vision, faith and serenity. It was also supposed to lift depression; cure insomnia; cleanse the heart, lymph nodes, blood and pancreas; restore sugar balance; ease labor and delivery; and assist in healing eyesight and speech impediments. Just your average, all-around miracle rock.

Jordan's crash course had also included detailed briefings on chakras, or the centers of energy located along the midline of the body. There were seven, running from the crown of the head to the pelvis. Various stones, she'd learned, impacted the chakras differently. Playing to that theme, she began her pitch.

“As you're aware, the emerald primarily strengthens the heart chakra. However, the stone is reputed to have positive properties for—”

“Reputed?” Greene interrupted, one brow lifting.
“Don't you believe these healing stones generate their own unique force fields?”

“Well…”

She hesitated, reluctant to come out with a flat lie. Greene would see right through it.

“All crystals and gemstones emit vibrations at different frequencies,” he said, filling the small silence. “That's why we have quartz watches.”

“True.”

“If a stone chip can power a watch, surely it's not that big a leap to believe it can transfer its energy in other ways. Ways that help heal.”

“I know many people believe in the healing power of stones,” Jordan said, choosing her words carefully. “I don't question the sincerity of that belief.”

Bartholomew steepled his fingers under his chin and accepted her tap dance with a smile. “Perhaps we'll make a disciple out of you while you're here.”

He could try. Jordan attempted to keep an open mind regarding others' beliefs. But she figured the world wouldn't need doctors if colored stones could cure every ill and restore balance to the human body.

“As you can see,” she continued, fanning the sketches across the table, “I've designed some glasses with emeralds on the right stem, some on the left.”

According to her research, the left side of the body was the feminine or receptive side. Wearing a gemstone on the left drew in its energies. Wearing it on the right, or masculine side, sent the energy out to others.

“I've designed these stems to be detachable. The wearer could interchange them according to his or her needs that day.”

“That's very clever,” Bartholomew said with warm approval. “You might not be a believer, but you've obviously done your homework.”

“Yes, I have. I also read that most men carry their stones in their pocket.”

Greene patted his pendant. “I wear mine here, right over my heart.”

Jordan suspected most men weren't secure enough in their beliefs—or their masculinity—to display their emeralds so openly.

“Since female clothing has fewer pockets,” she continued, “women must either wear their stones as jewelry or tuck them inside their bras. Jeweled glasses would eliminate that necessity, which will make a great marketing pitch. As an added benefit, both men and women could slide the glasses up on their foreheads to get the stones closer to their head chakra.”

She tipped hers up to demonstrate before drawing out an accessories page.

“Or they could dangle the glasses from one of these specially crafted chains.”

Greene's face lit up as he eyed the gold links studded with tiny emeralds. “I like these.”

She'd figured he would. Anything to bilk his customers of a few more bucks.

“I've researched your client base. While they tend toward the high end of the income scale, I think we
should offer a wide range of prices for each line. The cost, of course, will depend on the weight, cut and clarity of the embedded stones.”

Duncan Myers spoke up at that point. Sitting back in his chair, he palmed a hand over his shining bald crown.

“We can help there. Since we sell so many emeralds at our tranquility centers, I've negotiated special rates with our suppliers.”

It was the perfect opening. Jordan let a note of excitement creep into her voice. “You have an in with the Colombians?”

“We do business with them, yes. And with several dealers in Russia and South Africa.”

“The Colombian stones are the purest,” Bartholomew put in, “although I admit I'm partial to the veining in the Zambian stones.”

Yeah, Jordan thought, she'd just bet he was. Like in the Star of the East. Extracting a spreadsheet from her briefcase, she slid it across the conference table.

“I prepared detailed cost estimates and suggested retail prices for the designs you see here, but they're based on the current market price per carat. If you work me a deal with your suppliers, we can adjust the bottom line.”

“You'll also need to take into consideration the fact that you're trading on Bartholomew's name and reputation,” Myers commented.

“Of course. But I assure you, I've squeezed my profit margin as tight as I can.”

The financial adviser made a tsk-tsking noise. “There's always room for negotiation. Let me crunch the numbers and we'll talk again.”

Clearly uninterested in the nitty-gritty business detail, Bartholomew shoved back his chair. “In the meantime you can relax and enjoy some of the activities here at the institute. And I'd very much like you to attend one of our group sessions.”

The tone was mild, but Jordan got the message. If she wanted to convince the guru of green to buy into her proposal for a line of pricey, emerald-studded glasses, she'd better play his game. Shrugging, she made a show of giving in.

“Why not?”

“Splendid!”

“I believe I saw a group session on the schedule for tomorrow morning. I'll join that—if you don't think I'll upset the dynamics of the group.”

“Not at all,” Greene assured her, beaming. “Our guests come and go all the time. One of my main goals is to help them maintain inner serenity despite the constant changes taking place around them.”

Jordan gave a noncommittal nod, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized joining one of Greene's group gropes worked to her advantage. It provided an excuse to hang around the institute for a few more days and observe the natives in their natural setting. She might even be able to work in a session or two at the spa. A seaweed wrap or mud bath sounded pretty good after her bumpy flight.

“You'll join us for dinner, I hope.” Greene issued the invitation with one of his disarming smiles. “Seven o'clock, in the Jade Buddha Restaurant? That will give me the opportunity to introduce you to some of our other guests.”

“I'll see you then.”

* * *

Despite its appellation, the Jade Buddha was more of a dining hall for the rich and famous than a restaurant. Everyone arrived at pretty much the same time and the menu posted in elegant script at each table offered only two choices—fish and vegetarian.

The fat, happy Buddha who gave the place its name sat cross-legged on a stone pedestal, surrounded by pools filled with floating lotus blossoms and magnificent koi. Guests mingled poolside while waiters served fruit-juice cocktails and passed trays of appetizers.

Greene escorted Jordan through the crowd, making introductions as they went. She shook hands with an aging movie star whose face showed the ravages of his years of substance abuse, a short, squat computer mogul and a frizzy-haired widow in a thousand-dollar St. John lounge suit paired with high-top black sneakers.

Several of the guests recognized Jordan from her modeling days. Some, like the anxious-looking mother accompanied by her ten-year-old son, were too wrapped up in their own problems to evince any interest in the newcomer's background.

“Davy's asthmatic,” the thin, nervous Patricia Helms explained, her glance darting constantly to the boy. “The attacks have gotten so bad lately and the doctors can't seem to help. Dr. Greene is our last hope.”

Jordan kept her opinion on that to herself and made mental notes on everyone she met. She'd have Claire run the names through OMEGA's computers. She couldn't quite envision any of these people as willing accomplices in Greene's illegal activities, but he had to get the massive amounts he was suspected of laundering off the island and into various bank accounts somehow. He could well be using his guests as unsuspecting mules.

Signaling to a passing waiter, Greene claimed two cocktails decorated with orchids and fat chunks of pineapple. He handed one to Jordan and lifted the other in salute. After the receptionist's warning about the institute's nonalcohol policy, she was prepared for the straight shot of guava juice. She wasn't prepared, though, when her host's attention zinged to the door behind her.

“Ah, good. Here's our Director of Security.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched TJ's all-too-familiar figure stroll into the restaurant. The overhead spots highlighted the sun streaks in his brown hair and cast the strong planes of his face into sharp relief.

Greene's voice floated above the buzz of cocktail-hour conversation. “TJ! Come and meet our newest guest.”

Jordan stiffened, wondering if Bartholomew was toying with her. Had he watched a tape of her earlier confrontation with TJ? Or somehow learned about their brief affair? If so, no hint of it showed in his eager, open expression.

TJ, on the other hand, looked anything but serene as he cut through the crowd. Without the mirrored sunglasses to shield his gray eyes, they seemed to slice right into Jordan.

“Ms. Colby and I have already met,” he informed his employer. “Here, and in New York.”

“That's right, you're both from the Big Apple!”

He said it as if living in a city with a population of more than eight million automatically qualified everyone as friends and neighbors.

“Why don't you join us. You two can catch up on old times.”

TJ's glance slid to Jordan. A mocking glint flickered in those granite eyes, but his reply was preempted by the appearance of a woman who'd garnered her own share of sensational publicity.

Blond, much divorced and immensely wealthy, Felicity Dennison Albright Waller-Winston hooked her arm through TJ's. The fist-size emerald pinned to her left shoulder pressed into his bicep as she cuddled against him.

“Yes, sweetiekins,” she purred, “do join us. We missed you at lunch.”

“Sorry, I can't.” With a polite smile, TJ disengaged. “I just came by to remind Bartholomew
we're taking perimeter security down to install the new Y-beam system.”

Jordan had to give Scott reluctant marks for staying on top of his profession. The Y-beam was the hottest new infrared sensor. The military had released it for commercial application only a few months ago. Mackenzie had briefed all the OMEGA operatives on the technology. She'd also assured them the new zip-up thermal suits she'd developed would shield them from Y-beams. It was looking as if Jordan would get a chance to test one out.

“How long will the system be down?” Bartholomew wanted to know.

“Less than an hour. I've got the new sensors in place and ready to activate.”

With a nod for Jordan and a smile for the blonde, TJ eased his way through the milling guests. Felicity Waller-Winston swiped her tongue over heavily glossed lips and followed his progress across the room.

“That man comes darned close to making me forget I've sworn off the male of the species for the rest of my life.”

So much for that right side/left side business, Jordan thought wryly. The divorcée might have her emerald pinned to her feminine, receptive side, but she was sending out decidedly assertive signals. So assertive their host questioned her about them.