Unsafe Harbor (19 page)

Santou fidgeted in place, as if he were going to burst.

“For chrissakes, all right. But you obviously can’t reveal what I’m about to tell you. Tiffany Stewart is one of my informants,” he finally blurted out.

“What!” I exclaimed, my mind beginning to reel.

How was that possible? And then I remembered something that Sy Abrams had told me. Tiffany had stayed out of trouble ever since hooking up with a law enforcement agent down South. Most likely, whoever it was still had to occasionally bail her out.

I stared dumbfounded at the man before me. Could it be
that that person was actually Jake Santou? If so, he’d clearly kept her on his payroll even after moving over to the FBI. No wonder Tiffany had bragged about knowing ‘someone on the job.’

“She provides information for ongoing cases, one of which I’m working on right now. Some of them involve national security,” Jake related. “That’s why you’ve got to stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”

I started to laugh. “Tiffany Stewart helping out with this country’s national security? You’ve got to be kidding. This is some kind of joke, right?”

“No, I’m absolutely serious,” he replied.

I thought back again to the woman I’d met, bedecked in heavy-duty baubles, bangles, and beads, and still couldn’t believe that Santou was actually on the level.

“What kind of information is Tiffany Stewart possibly providing?” I questioned, wanting some hard-core proof.

But Jake shook his head. “You know better than to ask me that. I’ve already told you more than I should. But what I’m saying is the truth.”

“Fine. Then how long have you known her?” I shot back, surprised to find myself wracked by more than a tinge of jealousy.

“For years. In fact, probably longer than you and I have been together. I met her down in New Orleans. She’d gotten herself into trouble at a bar run by the Mob on the strip, and faced either doing jail time or cooperating with me. Tiffany wisely chose the latter,” Santou said, with the hint of a smirk. “She’s a high-maintenance informant, but well worth it.”

“Does Tiffany know about us?” I questioned, unable to shake this feeling of irrational jealousy.

“Of course not,” Santou replied. “Why? Would you prefer that she did?”

Half of me wanted to scream,
Yes!

“So if she’s got you in her back pocket, then why would she bother to call me?” I angrily asked.

“You answered that yourself,” Santou responded. “She probably wanted to knock off some shahtoosh competition. Knowing Tiffany, she thought that was as far as it would ever go. For chrissakes, chere. You’re a Fish and Wildlife agent. Why would she think any differently?”

Just the way he said that rankled me. True, he was with the FBI. But I was still a federal law enforcement agent authorized to use all the power that the title implied.

Most likely, that’s why she’d called the Newark office rather than New York. She figured I’d be happy to nab a few shahtoosh shawls at the seaport and not take it any further. I’d be damned if I’d be cowed by Santou, or played for a fool by Tiffany Stewart, with all her jewels and overdeveloped cleavage.

“By the way, I want you to call David back right now and cancel the appointment you made with him for tomorrow morning,” Jake instructed.

“And why would I do that? Is it somehow going to effect national security as well?” I sarcastically inquired.

“As a matter of fact, it might. You’re stepping on another agency’s territory. That’s all you need to know,” Santou tersely informed me. “I don’t want to call your boss, but I will if necessary.”

“And what territory would that be, Jake? The Diamond District, or all of New York City?” I countered. “What is this? Some sort of punishment you’ve decided to mete out because I haven’t played by the rules?”

“For chrissakes, Rachel. You have absolutely no idea of
what you’re stepping into,” he responded. “How much do you even know about the seaport? Do you realize that it’s a potential powder keg? Right now, that place is the number-one target on the terrorists’ hit list. Think of what could happen if you go mucking around in things that you don’t understand.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I know the seaport. After all, that’s
my
territory,” I possessively fought back.

“Oh yeah? Then I suppose you also realize just how easy it is to sneak highly enriched uranium through there,” Jake replied.

He had me on that one. I didn’t know a thing about it.

“Should I tell you why?” Santou asked.

I wordlessly nodded.

“Uranium can easily be shielded with less than a quarter inch of lead, making it likely to escape detection by passive radiation monitors. Just so you know, that’s exactly what you have at the seaport. Those monitors can’t distinguish between naturally occurring radiation, found in everyday items like ceramic tile, and something as dangerous as enriched uranium. Because of that, the devices sound so many false alarms that their sensitivity has been turned down. Naturally, that makes them even less effective,” Santou explained.

I kept my mouth shut, not having been aware of this.

“Think that’s bad? It gets even worse. None of the cargo that leaves the port by rail or barge is ever inspected for radiation. Which means that someone could transport a nuclear bomb right through there,” he disclosed.

Terrific. How nice to know.

“But shipping containers aren’t the only thing I have to worry about,” Jake continued. “There are also trucks, planes, ferries, vans, tunnels, bridges, underground garages, high-rise buildings, anthrax, nerve gas, ammonium nitrate, chem
ical plants, nuclear reactors, subways, and railroads, just to name a few.”

I now began to understand why Jake always seemed so preoccupied of late.

“Just make the call, chere. I have enough to worry about. I don’t need to add you to the list,” he said, his voice soft and low.

He kissed me, and I decided not to fight him on this one. I rummaged through my bag, pulled out my date book and looked up David’s number. But instead of phoning him, I slyly called my answering machine at work. It picked up on the first ring, letting me know there were other messages.

“Hi, David? It’s Rachel again. Listen, I’m sorry but I’m afraid something’s happened and I won’t be able to make it tomorrow.”

I paused, as though he were speaking.

“Another time? No, I don’t think that will be necessary. But thanks anyway,” I said to my machine and quickly hung up.

“You did the right thing, chere,” Santou said, as I turned around to face him.

He held my purse in one hand, and Terri’s fuzzy red handcuffs in the other. “By the way, is this what you’re using for cuffs these days?”

He shook them and they playfully jingled.

Damn Tiffany Stewart or Tiffany LaLue, whatever her name might be. Maybe she had her tricks, but I had mine, too. And I didn’t intend to come in second to her in any conceivable way.

“No. Those are special,” I said. “Here. Let me show you.”

I reclaimed the cuffs and, taking Santou by the hand, led him into the bedroom.

“What are you up to, chere?” he asked, his lips close to mine as I pushed him down on the bed.

“Don’t ask. It’s top secret. National security,” I whispered into his ear.

He reached for me, but I deftly pulled away.

“Uh-uh. No more questions. Just do as I say. First, take off all your clothes,” I ordered.

Jake complied, never looking away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked again, breaking the rules when he was finally nude, his voice thick with desire.

I turned down the lights to hide my bruises, and then removed my own pj’s. Straddling him, I cuffed his hands to the bed.

“Anything I damn well please,” I told him.

Then ever so slowly I went to work, inch by inch, until my pain felt excruciatingly exquisite.

“Y
ou’re taking today off. Right?” Jake asked the next morning, as he cupped each of my breasts and tenderly kissed them.

“Absolutely,” I agreed and then gasped for breath, as his fingers unexpectedly slid inside me.

He soon replaced them with something even better. I’d have to call Terri and thank him. I hadn’t had this much sex since I could remember.

“Maybe you shouldn’t carry those cuffs around, but leave them home,” Jake suggested, as he later rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.

I listened to the pounding of the water as the radiator began to hiss and spit. Then I watched Santou get dressed.

“I’ll walk Spam and drop him off at Gerda’s before heading off to work. I want you to get a full day’s rest,” he instructed, and kissed me on the forehead. “Just relax, watch soap operas, and catch up on your sleep. Who knows? We may be up late again tonight.”

“Promises, promises,” I said with a smile and stretched.

Then I waited until I heard the front door close, and slowly counted to ten.

By the time I reached twelve, I was already up and in the
shower. After that, I quickly got dressed, picked up the phone, and placed a call to Hogan. It wasn’t that I’d deliberately lied to Santou. I had every intention of taking the day off, just not spending it in bed. There was too much to do, including a ten-o’clock appointment in the Diamond District.

“Fish and Wildlife. Resident Senior Agent Hogan speaking,” answered a voice as gruff as if it had been dragged through a mound of gravel.

“Good morning. It’s Rachel. Something’s come up and I’d like to take a personal day,” I said.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he responded. “What’s the matter? Didn’t you get enough sleep yesterday?”

“Yes. I’m fine, thanks. It’s just that I have to take care of a few things for my aunt. She hasn’t been feeling well lately, and I’d like to get her to the doctor,” I lied, crossing my fingers and hoping that God wouldn’t strike me dead.

“Yeah. No problem, Grasshopper. Go ahead. Just make sure that’s all that you do,” he cautioned.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my stomach beginning to tighten.

“I mean that shit rolls downhill, and I feel like I’m standing at the bottom these days. I just got off the phone with D.C. and they’re warning that our budget’s about to be cut once again. That’s enough for me to deal with right now,” he complained.

I wondered if Santou had called him. But if so, Hogan would have been yelling at me by now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I said and swiftly got off the phone.

I immediately placed a call to Terri.

“Hello?” he croaked, sounding half frog, half human.

“It’s me. Sorry to be phoning so early,” I apologized.

“What’s this? Payback for my having called so late the other night?” he groaned.

“No. I ran into some trouble yesterday and need your makeup expertise. Do you think you could help me out?” I shamelessly begged.

The black and blue marks on my jaw seemed to be spreading and turning distinctly Technicolor.

“Sure. What are friends for? What time do you need me there?” he inquired.

“How about right now? I’ve got to be in the Diamond District in two hours,” I replied.

“Jeez, Rach. Nothing like a little notice,” he grumbled.

“Listen, if you can’t do it, don’t worry. I’ve got some concealer around and can probably patch myself up,” I said, taking another look in the mirror.

Who was I kidding?

“Is it really that bad?” Terri asked between yawns.

“Well, it’s not too good,” I admitted.

“Oh, what the hell. I need to get up anyway. I’ll be right there,” he responded.

“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling both grateful and guilty.

“Just have some coffee ready. On second thought, don’t. I know what your coffee tastes like. I’ll pick up a cup myself,” he replied.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I told him.

“Don’t I know it,” he retorted.

That done, I called and checked my answering machine at work, knowing there were messages. I punched in my code and listened to the first one.

This is Mrs. Charles Woodward the Third. I understand that you paid a visit to Muffy Carson Ellsworth and threatened her with a subpoena concerning her shahtoosh shawls,” said a woman’s voice.

Oh shit! Was this some sort of attorney for the rich and famous, who was about to take me down?

“I’ll have you know I too attended Bitsy von Falken’s fund-raiser and bought a shahtoosh shawl. I’d like to arrange a time so that I too may be questioned. I’m certainly just as important as Muffy Carson Ellsworth. Besides, my shawl is of far superior quality. Please call me at your earliest convenience.”

I wrote down the woman’s name and number, all the while wondering if it was some sort of prank, as the next message began.

“Hello? Agent Porter? My name is Mrs. Barbara Andrews Sullivan and I spoke with Muffy Carson Ellsworth yesterday. I hear that you’re going to be giving subpoenas to those of us with authentic shahtoosh shawls. Muffy had the nerve to say I needn’t worry since mine is clearly pashmina. I’ll have you know it’s no such thing. I have the genuine article. She also mentioned there’s some sort of test that will prove if a shawl is really shahtoosh. Would you please return my call as soon as possible? I’d like to make an appointment to have my shawl tested and receive my subpoena.”

I listened in amazement to the next message, and the next, and the next as the elite of Manhattan each demanded a subpoena as if it were the latest status symbol. All of the women insisted on being questioned and having their shawls tested, apparently believing that would firmly secure their place in High Society. Maybe this would finally convince Hogan it was time to open a case on the black-market shahtoosh trade in New York City.

The buzzer rang and I let Terri into the building.

“Where’s that maniac dog of yours?” he asked, upon entering my apartment and nervously glancing around.

“Gerda’s watching him during the day,” I said, still unsure as to why the two didn’t get along.

“Good. Then I only have to deal with your usual army of cockroaches. Now let me see your face,” he responded and took a gander. “For chrissakes, Rachel. You didn’t just run into trouble. It looks like you came up against the Terminator. What in the hell happened?”

“Let’s just say I bumped into two guys who apparently weren’t too crazy about me,” I replied.

“You’ve got that right. Let’s go into the bathroom and see what we can do,” he said, and led the way with his makeup bag.

I watched in amazement as Terri pulled out concealer and foundation and began to work his magic.

“I still have it, don’t I?” he sighed, upon finishing the job.

“You certainly do,” I agreed.

He’d touched up my jaw so well that there was barely the trace of a bruise.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m beginning to get a little worried. I’m picking up bad vibrations closing in around you,” he warned.

His brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down. Not a good sign. Terri was diligent never to do anything that might create wrinkles.

“I’m sure it’s just some residual bad karma left over from yesterday’s skirmish,” I tried to assure him.

But I began to worry that I felt the same thing.

“By the way, thanks for the fuzzy handcuffs. I believe they did the trick,” I said, hoping to steer him onto a different topic.

“I told you so,” he proudly crowed. “I thought I caught the hint of a glow underneath all those bruises. Next time, I’ll bring you another toy. You’ll have that man of yours begging for more in no time.”

“That’s the plan,” I agreed with a grin.

We departed the building, and Terri went one way while I headed the other. I wisely left my Chevy in the garage. Trying to park in midtown would be a bitch. Instead, I managed to catch a cab uptown by nearly throwing myself in the road. My taxi joined a sea of other yellow automobiles that were accompanied by the incessant honking of horns. The din sounded like a gaggle of pissed-off geese.

The Diamond District is one jam-packed block running between Fifth and Sixth Avenues on Forty-seventh Street. I disembarked on a corner that boasted a streetlamp with a top shaped like an enormous diamond. This is the spot where tourists and out-of-towners come hoping to get a good deal. I joined the bridge-and-tunnel crowd walking along a fantasyland of shops that handle more than ninety percent of all diamonds sold in the United States.

Each store window displayed a glittering array of gems. But that was just the teaser—for behind most doors was an entire floor laid out like a shopping arcade.

I entered one building and began to count each of the separate booths. The tally came to twenty different jewelry shops from which to choose rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds. No doubt about it: This had to be one of the most interesting blocks in the world. I hurried on, not wanting to be late for my appointment with David.

I entered his building only to be immediately stopped by a security guard. The man ran my bag through an X-ray machine, found my gun, and nearly had a conniption, until I showed him my gun permit and ID.

Having passed inspection, I walked up two flights of stairs. David’s door looked like every other in the nondescript hallway. The only difference was the plaque that read
BENJAMIN ISAAC AND SON.
Except, Benjamin had died a few years ago and now the son was the only one left.

A surveillance camera watched my every move as I rang the bell, which was promptly answered by a buzzer. I walked through a metal door and into a three-foot enclosure, fittingly known as a mantrap. On the right-hand side was a pane of bulletproof glass, behind which David Isaac sat.

“How do you like my high-class security system?” he asked over the intercom, and buzzed me through a second metal door.

If I weren’t with Santou, I might have actually been interested in the man. David was tall and lean with deep brown eyes, wire-rim glasses, and a smile as sweet as honey.

“Very impressive,” I said, upon stepping into his office. “Is it just for show, or is there really that much trouble in the building?”

“The Diamond District is a prime target for crime. It always has been. That’s why there’s a higher concentration of gun permits on this block than any other in the city,” he disclosed.

“Do you have a gun?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he replied, and pulled a .45 out of a drawer.

I wasn’t certain if that made me feel safer or perhaps a little less secure.

“Just don’t tell Grandma. I don’t want to make her any more nervous than necessary,” he added.

“Of course not,” I agreed, and plunked a paper sack down on his desk.

David removed two cups of coffee and some doughnuts I’d bought along the way.

“Thanks. I can use this,” he said and bit into a glazed Krispy Kreme. “I run on sugar all day. Now, tell me what it is you’d like to know.”

“I’m looking into a case that possibly involves the sale of
illegal diamonds in this country. Do you have any idea what they could be? I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” I replied, and took a sip of my coffee.

“I don’t know. Are you talking about diamonds that have been stolen? If so, people usually pay cash for them. That ensures there’s no record. Of course, there’s also a way to change a diamond’s identity,” he disclosed.

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

“Well, say somebody knowingly buys a stolen six-carat diamond. All they have to do is take it to a diamond cutter. He puts it on his wheel and cuts it down to five point nine seven carats. Presto. Suddenly, it’s no longer the same diamond as before,” he explained.

“Interesting, but I don’t think that’s what it is. There must be other kinds of illegal diamonds,” I pressed.

“This is a strange business. It could be almost anything,” David responded, clearly reticent to say much more.

“David, your grandmother swore that you’d be honest with me and share whatever you know,” I replied, coolly stretching the truth and pressing the ever-reliable guilt button.

David sighed, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands over his chest.

“There is something called blood diamonds,” he finally said. “Only people in this business don’t really like to talk about them.”

“Why is that?” I asked, instinctively knowing this had to be it.

“Because it could be bad for business and tarnish a lot of reputations,” he conceded.

“Okay. So what are they?” I prodded.

“They’re diamonds from rebel-held mines in Angola, the Congo, and Sierra Leone that are used to fund guerilla operations,” he revealed.

“You mean, uncut diamonds are sold to finance civil wars in Africa?” I asked, wanting to get it straight.

“Exactly. Though they can be used for that same purpose anywhere in the world. The money amounts to hundreds of millions of dollars a year and goes toward buying tanks, assault rifles, uniforms, things like that. You name it. In essence, it’s a diamonds-for-weapons trade.”

My pulse began to thrum as some of the dots now became connected. It made absolute sense. Elephant ivory also came from Africa and had been used in the past to fuel bloody civil wars. Both offered money launderers a way in which to transform questionable cash assets into items that could be easily moved and sold elsewhere. Add shahtoosh to the mix and it amounted to an extremely profitable industry.

Calm down, Porter
, I told myself.
You’re getting carried away, and right now, this is all just theory.

I tried to reign in my excitement, afraid that David might pick up on it and get spooked.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid that’s all I know,” he said, as if having read my mind.

“Well, since I’m already here, I’d love to see what it is that you do. This seems like a very interesting business,” I said, in the hope of flattering him.

David smiled and reached for a second doughnut. God, I wished that I had his metabolism.

“Actually, you’re right. It is interesting. The Diamond District is a world pretty much unto itself. I suppose I could take you with me on my rounds. But first you should probably know something about diamonds. What can you tell me about them?” he asked.