Unsafe Harbor (22 page)

“Then this
is
going to be exciting,” Connie said to my surprise.

Obviously, neither of us had a very thrilling social life.

The hours seemed to drag by as I waited, giving me plenty of time to think. I spent it trying to dredge up stories that Charlie Hickok had told me.

Half the time, I hadn’t bothered to listen as he’d prattled on. But there’d been one particular tale about Leung that I now tried to remember. What the hell was it, anyway? I swore it was floating around in there somewhere, playing hide-and-seek, tottering on the edge of my brain. I was just about to give up when I finally recalled it.

Leung had once hidden ivory tusks in the false bottom of a truck carrying copper scrap that was traveling between Botswana and Zambia. The driver was stopped by a border guard, the truck was searched, and the ivory was found. As was routine, all the tusks were confiscated. However, that hadn’t been Leung’s main concern. Rather, he’d been desperate to recover the truck itself—so much so that he’d offered a minor fortune for its return.

Perhaps Leung shouldn’t have been so overly eager. His fervor prompted yet another search, and this time, a clandestine compartment was found—one that was packed not with ivory, but with a hidden cache of diamonds.

That was all Charlie had known. But it was enough so that another piece of the puzzle now began to fall into place.

I thought back to one particular place that David Isaacs had taken me to that morning—the Chinese diamond-cutting firm.

Damn. What had been the name? I wracked my brain. It had something to do with the planets. Then my eyes landed on a jar of strawberry jam that had been left on the kitchen counter. That was it! Red Sun.

I wasted no time, but grabbed my notebook and located
the home number for Bill Saunders, the other special agent at Fish and Wildlife in Newark.

Though he was Jack Hogan’s buddy, the guy was more importantly a bona fide computer geek and that’s exactly what I needed right now. Word had it he could track down a company’s business records in no time flat. Calling him would be a gamble, but I knew that I had to take the risk. Either he’d choose to help, or would sell me out.

“Hello?” a young boy answered the phone.

“Hi. Is your dad at home?” I asked.

The receiver was thrown onto a table with a loud clatter that resounded in my ears.

“Hey Dad! Some woman wants to talk to you!” the kid screamed.

Terrific. I’m sure his wife would be pleased.

“Hello. Who’s this?” Saunders asked, as he came on the line.

“Hi, Bill. It’s Rachel Porter.”

I suddenly felt tongue-tied, hoping that I was doing the right thing. Hogan could effectively shut me down if he got wind of what I was up to. But my curiosity refused to let me squirm out of it now.

“Rachel. This is an unexpected call. Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Fine. I was just wondering if you’d be willing to do me a favor,” I replied.

“I guess that depends on what it is,” Saunders tentatively responded.

What in the hell was I thinking? It wasn’t as if I were his favorite person in the world. In fact, this was the most we’d spoken in the past week. Still, I had no choice but to hope for the best, grab a deep breath, and take the plunge.

“I was hoping you’d check something for me. I’d like to find out if a few different businesses are owned by the same parent company. One is based in South Africa, the other in Hong Kong, and the last one here in New York,” I said.

“Sure. I can do that. Fire away,” Saunders congenially agreed.

“The names are Africa Hydraulics, Tat Hwong Products, and Red Sun,” I divulged.

“That sounds like some sort of exotic combo dinner,” he joked. “Are you checking into something to do with hydraulics or traditional Chinese medicine?”

“It probably involves Chinese medicinals. Though I’m not really sure yet,” I lied.

“Fair enough. I’ll call you back in a while,” he said, and hung up.

My stomach performed somersaults as I waited, wondering if I could trust Saunders to get the information without reporting it to Hogan.

I was out of Oreos, there were no potato chips to be scrounged, and just like old Mother Hubbard, my cupboard was bare. I was about to break down and eat something healthy, when the telephone rang and I lunged for it.

“Hello?” I nearly shouted over the wire.

“Okay. I’ve got the information you wanted. Yep. Africa Hydraulics, Tat Hwong, and another company in Manhattan are all tied together, along with a number of other businesses. However, one of the names that you gave me wasn’t correct. The company in New York isn’t Red Sun,” Saunders disclosed.

Damn! My hunch had been wrong and I was back to square one.

“Their official title is Red Sun Diamonds,” he revealed. “So tell me, what does a diamond-cutting business, a hy
draulics company, and some sort of retail shop all have in common?”

“Probably nothing,” I said, though my heart was pounding. “Thanks for the information, Bill, but I have to run.”

“Hold on a minute. Is this something you’re working on with Hogan?” he asked, before I could hang up.

“No. I don’t want to bother him unless it turns out to be worthwhile, and it’s not looking very good at the moment,” I replied, hoping he’d leave me alone.

“That doesn’t matter. Jack should probably know about it,” he lectured, ever the proper Fed. “By the way, all these businesses are owned by one family, the Leungs. Any idea as to who they are?”

“Absolutely none. But I’ll keep you posted on what I find out,” I fibbed, anxious to get off the phone.

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” he said in an odd tone.

I was willing to bet his next call would be to Jack Hogan. I decided not take the chance, but turned off my cell phone and left the apartment, not wanting to hear Hogan’s angry bellows over my answering machine. Instead I sat at a diner and drank coffee until it was time to meet Vinnie.

I
was shivering on the corner when Bertucci pulled up in a flashy black Cadillac Escalade the size of a tank. Sinatra was crooning on the stereo.

“So, what’s the deal? You like freezing your ass off? Or were you afraid I’d come to your door and your boyfriend might see me?” he asked.

“Neither. I didn’t want to be inside if my boss called,” I revealed.

“That’s easy. Just don’t pick up the phone,” Vinnie advised. “Screen your calls on an answering machine like everyone else.”

I nodded, unable to explain to him a little thing known as Jewish guilt.

“So, aren’t you gonna ask me how
my
day went?” he nudged as we hit the road.

“Okay. How was your day, honey?” I joked.

“Terrific. There’s gonna be a sequel to the movie
Goodfellas
, and it looks like I might get a major role,” he reported. “Of course, that is if it doesn’t conflict with my shooting schedule for
Godfather Four
.”

My thoughts wandered as Vinnie prattled on about his lat
est accomplishments. Could Leung be buying blood diamonds through his company, Red Sun? It would certainly be a clever way in which to launder all the illegal profits he made from shahtoosh and ivory.

The other question I had was, Why didn’t Santou want me snooping around the Diamond District? And who was Tiffany Stewart informing on these days?

My mind spun with endless conspiracy theories as we arrived at the port. We made our way into its heart where I directed Vinnie to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife parking lot. Connie was already there waiting in a beat-up blue Ford.

“Now
that
thing looks like it actually fell off a truck,” Vinnie said with a snort.

I motioned for her to leave the car and join us. Connie walked over, properly dressed in her U.S. Fish and Wildlife jacket and uniform.

“You know what? You’re the only one here who looks official, so you should probably sit up front,” I suggested, and scrambled into the backseat.

I waited until Connie climbed inside and closed the door before making introductions.

“Connie, this is my friend Vinnie Bertucci. Vinnie, this is U.S. Fish and Wildlife Inspector Connie Fuca.”

They looked at each other somewhat askance.

“Pleased to meet you,” Connie finally said, and offered her hand. It swam in Vinnie’s king-sized paw.

“Same here,” he said, and sat up a bit straighter in his seat. “Make sure your seat belt’s on. I wouldn’t want nothing to happen to a Fed in my car.”

The Escalade pulled out onto Fleet Street, and we headed for Starr Terminal.

“So, where you from?” Vinnie asked, breaking the silence.

“Kearney, New Jersey,” Connie replied.

“No kidding? So’s my mother,” he retorted. “You know, they got the best pork store in that town.”

“You must mean Satriale’s,” Connie guessed.

“Yeah and that means you gotta be Italian,” Vinnie responded, beginning to loosen up.

“I also know a good place for cannoli,” she added.

Vinnie snuck another peak at her and smiled. “Those are my favorite pastries in the world. I guess I’ll have to try it.”

“I’ll be happy to give you the bakery’s address,” Connie replied.

“Or maybe you can just take me there yourself sometime,” he casually suggested.

Was I imagining it, or was Vinnie actually trying to hit on a federal wildlife inspector? I put the thought aside for now as we arrived at Starr Terminal.

“Pull up to the gatehouse. I know the guard,” Connie instructed.

Vinnie did as told.

“Hey, Bobby. How you doing tonight?” she asked, and flashed her badge while leaning across Vinnie.

“Evening, Miss Connie. Everything all right?” he inquired, closely scrutinizing the hulk that sat behind the wheel.

“Everything’s fine. We’re just here to check out something on the pier. Don’t worry. We won’t be long,” she assured him.

“No problem. Take your time,” the guard told her, waving us in.

Vinnie harrumphed as we passed through the gate. “Did you see the look that guy gave me? What’s his problem, anyway? What’s he afraid of? That I know which container the big-screen TVs are in, and plan to hook it up and drive away?”

“Probably something along those lines,” Connie confirmed.

I was glad she was here to guide the way, as we drove through what could easily have been a maze. Starr Terminal is the largest facility on the grounds, comprising 445 acres. Bordered by Elizabeth Channel and Newark Bay, Starr receives 30 percent of all containers shipped into the port.

Vinnie followed Connie’s directions to an area that would have been bustling during the day. Tonight it was as quiet as a grave, except for the sound of ships being loaded and offloaded in the distance. Their industrial song conjured up visions of freighters, their rust-stained hulls continually attended by massive cranes that stacked containers as easily as if they were enormous toy blocks. The process continued around the clock. Time is money when the cost can run $200,000 a day to dock and unload goods at the port.

Giant lamp poles cast a ghostly glow as snow began to swirl, lending the docks an otherworldly air. Rows of long metal boxes stood packed eight containers high, looking like oversized coffins. Meanwhile, other units sat loaded on chassis, where they patiently waited to be hauled away first thing in the morning. All I could wonder was how we’d ever find the right unit among this mountainous lot.

A frigid wind nearly took my breath away as we piled out of the Escalade and were instantly wrapped in a taut sheet of bitter cold. The chill factor alone must have been 15 degrees below.

“For chrissakes, it’s bad enough out here to freeze my nuts off,” Vinnie grumbled, while slapping his arms across his chest to try and stay warm. “Either way it’s your fault if this weather makes me sick or sterile, Porter.”

I didn’t reply, but wrapped a flannel scarf around my neck and buried my nose in its wool.

“Okay. What say we save ourselves a whole lotta time and
trouble. Why don’t you just tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for?” Vinnie advised.

“I can give you the name of the company and the container number,” Connie replied, and wrote the information down on a scrap of paper.

Vinnie took the slip from her hand and waved to a figure that appeared from out of the darkness.

“Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and made his way toward the longshoreman.

“How’d you ever manage to get the container number?” I asked, as Vinnie trod away through the snow. He looked like the Jersey version of the Pillsbury Doughboy, clad in a heavy down jacket.

“It pays to have a friend with Customs. Of course, now we owe
him
a humongous favor,” she retorted.

I glanced to where the longshoreman leaned against a bobtail, used to pull container-filled chassis around the terminal. Vinnie stood beside him, his hands deeply entombed in his pockets, his feet stamping out a flamenco beat.

“He’s really not with the Mob anymore?” Connie questioned with an upward tilt of her chin.

“Vinnie? No, he decided that he likes playing wiseguys better than being one,” I confirmed.

“In that case, he’s doing one hell of an acting job over there,” she noted.

The longshoreman was practically scraping and bowing to Vinnie before springing to work. Jumping inside the bobtail, he backed up to a loaded chassis, fiddled with the connection, and drove the unit toward us. We watched as the longshoreman proceeded to cut the container’s large metal bolt that served as its security seal.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Vinnie said, and extracted a wad of bills from his pants.

Peeling off four fifties, he handed them to the man.

“No problem. Anytime for you, Vinnie. You know that,” the longshoreman responded and stuffed the money in his pocket.

Then he unhooked the chassis and drove the bobtail back to where it had originally been parked.

“It’s all yours, New Yawk,” Vinnie said with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

The shipping unit stood a good five feet off the ground where it was stationed on the chassis. A close look revealed a pair of metal crossbars that hung from the bottom of its frame. I used them as stirrups to pull myself up and grab hold of the unlocked door handle. One hard tug and the container groaned open, exposing what amounted to a Chinese puzzle inside.

Though uncertain as to what would be found, I now stared at the sight in disbelief. The unit was packed from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with parcels that ran seven rows across and twelve cartons high. All told, there must have been at least eight hundred boxes consuming every available square inch of space.

“Well, I guess we’d better start unloading,” I remarked, not wanting to think too much about the impending task ahead.

But Vinnie had his own views on the matter.

“I didn’t sign on to work here all night,” he gruffly replied.

Vinnie was right, and I instantly felt like a jerk. He’d already done more than his share.

“Of course not. I meant the two of us,” I said, pointing to Connie and myself in embarrassment. “You’ve been great, Vinnie. Thanks for pulling strings. I’m sure Connie won’t mind giving me a lift home later on.”

“No problem,” she confirmed, her words gliding toward us on a hoary cloud of frost.

Vinnie glanced at her, and his expression immediately grew sheepish.

“Yeah right. Like I’m gonna leave you two girls all alone here tonight. What the hell. We might as well get started,” he said, with a resigned shake of his head.

It was too cold, and there was too much work to do, to pretend to protest. Instead, I lifted the first box and handed it down to Connie, who passed it on to Vinnie in a ragtag bucket brigade. The plan of attack was to remove one row at a time, cut the boxes open, and inspect them for ivory with the aid of our flashlights. Once that was done, the process would start all over again.

After an hour, my arms ached, my back hurt, and my fingers had grown numb. Still, we’d barely begun to make a dent. To make matters worse, those boxes opened contained mostly auto parts, while only a few held African masks and carvings. So far, we had found nothing illicit.

“I’ve gotta take a break before some of my body parts begin to fall off,” Vinnie declared, and headed for his vehicle.

Connie and I dutifully followed, lured by the roar of its engine, seduced by the promise of heat. By now, every ounce that I carried had grown heavy as a pound, and every pound had morphed into a ton. I needed to rid myself of all unnecessary weight if I planned to keep going. I removed my cell phone and gun, and placed them in Vinnie’s glove compartment, retaining my flashlight.

“What I wouldn’t give for a shot of brandy right now,” Connie mumbled, while holding her hands up to the heater.

“To hell with a shot. We’ll get ourselves a bottle of the best cognac,” Vinnie promised her.

“That sounds great. But first we’ve got to get through a few more rows of boxes,” I prodded, hoping to rally the forces.

Vinnie shot me a dirty look. “You’re already treading on thin ice, Porter. Don’t push it.”

“That’s okay. The faster we finish, the sooner we can get out of here,” Connie said, ever the loyal trouper.

We trudged back outside, where Vinnie hoisted Connie up into the container. I wasn’t certain if it was so he could gaze at her better, or was trying to keep her warm.

We worked our way through another two rows of boxes before Vinnie once again snapped.

“For chrissakes, isn’t this crap ever going to end?” he vented as Connie handed him another carton. “Are you sure there’s anything in these damn boxes besides gaskets, and voodoo masks, and carvings? Cause it’s cold as hell out here.”

Glancing up, I saw that Connie’s teeth were chattering and she’d noticeably begun to shiver. No way did I intend to stop, but neither did I want a mutiny on my hands.

“Connie, why don’t you take a drive and find some place warm to get coffee?” I proposed.

She began to climb down before I’d even finished my sentence.

“Good idea,” she eagerly agreed. “Only it’s a hike back to my car.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming with you. Enough is enough. We need to get the hell out of this place for a while,” Vinnie said.

He emphasized the point by throwing the box in his hands on the ground.

It seemed I’d now officially become Captain Blye.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t the two of you go and I’ll stay here,” I suggested, not wanting to let the container out of my sight.

“What are you nuts, Porter? On second thought, look who I’m talking to,” Vinnie exploded. “That does it. You’re totally unbelievable.”

“Maybe so. But I’m still not leaving here. Go ahead. I’ll be all right,” I replied.

“You’re really pissing me off, you know that, Porter?” he asked, openly glaring at me.

“Yeah. I’m beginning to get an inkling of it,” I responded. “This is silly. Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I promise I’ll be fine.”

Vinnie sighed and took a quick look around. “Okay, it’s your call. You’re certain that you’re a hundred percent all right with this?”

“Absolutely. The guard’s right up front. There won’t be a problem,” I said, doing my best to sound chipper. “Just don’t forget to bring me back a cup of coffee.”

But I knew that I was truly certifiable as I watched them drive off. What the hell was I thinking? That I could do this task all on my own?

The keen of offloading ships turned into melancholy cries as the isolation now swiftly closed in around me. I thought I spied shadows gliding among the containers, and for the first time, I feared that I wasn’t alone.

Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s here. The place is lit up like a friggin’ Christmas tree,
I scolded myself.
Now get back to work. After all, that’s why you stayed behind.

Hoisting myself up, I dragged out cartons until I’d managed to burrow a tunnel into the rear of the container. If any contraband was hidden, it would most likely be back here.

I grabbed one of the boxes, pushed it up front and slit the lid open with my knife. Nothing was inside but a bunch of scraggly African rag dolls. One stared with what seemed to be dark, lifeless eyes. It took a moment to realize that each orb was a slash of black stitches. I couldn’t help but think of Bitsy von Falken’s fate and shiver. The doll’s black gash of a mouth sinisterly smiled at me. Jumping down, I placed the
box on the ground, and then climbed back up to repeat the process.