Cooch Page 13

  A small crowd was boarding the 747 to Honolulu. A group of businessmen went toward business and first class, while a group of twenty-five or thirty American high school students boarded with their teachers. Alex and Jerome had a full row in coach to themselves. As the plane cleared the runway and the wheels came groaning and thumping up into the wheel wells, Alex turned to Jerome and pulled the chamois bag from his toilet kit.

  “This is what we took from the general’s toilet tank,” he said, and dumped four or five of the large stones into Jerome’s hand.

  “Jesus Christ, Cooch! Are those diamonds?”

  “I certainly hope so, but I’m not sure. I think we found the general’s scared money,” Alex said with a grin.

  “What are you going to do with them?” Jerome whispered.

  “It’s not just me, big guy; it’s we! We sure as hell ain’t going to turn them in. No one knows we have them, no one knows they even exist, and I’m not planning to tell anyone; I don’t do morality. I do believe it’s retirement time.”

  Jerome was quiet for a few seconds, then nodded. “I’m in, but only for enough to buy me a gym somewhere—probably back in New York—and retire. Maybe find a woman. I don’t need a lot of money to do that, and I tend to spend whatever I make, which would make me more obvious to the gendarmes than I’d like. How are we going to handle this?”

  Cuchulain grinned at him. “I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to figure it out. When we get back, I’m going to take a month or two off and look into it. They’ve been after me to use some leave, anyhow.”

  “Go for it, Cooch. Just don’t let them throw my fat ass in jail, and fuck up my retirement. You’re smart enough to figure it out, if you work at it. You seem to like all that book shit anyhow. I never saw anybody pick up explosives technology like you did. You knew more in a month than most of us figured out in two years. You were always just sitting there reading those goddamned manuals and books. Learning about diamonds should be a piece of cake.”

  “I’m going to take it real slow and careful, Jerome. Like I said the other day, Mac knows we’re getting out of the biz, anyhow, and he’s fine with that. I have some ideas. Anyhow, I’ve been in jail, and I’m not going back. I’ll figure out some good lawyers early in the process and give you their names. If push comes to shove, though, you’re not going to help me any by confessing. If anyone reads you your rights, just clam up and wait for your lawyer to get to you. You’ll be long retired before anything like that could happen anyhow; just don’t let them flutter you after you get out, and you’ll be fine. I don’t imagine we left any witnesses behind.”

  Jerome grimaced. “I never did like that lie detector shit anyhow, so I ain’t doin’ any fluttering. Once I’m gone they are never going to get me hooked back up to that thing. I’m going to be one permanently retired spook.” He was quiet for a second, and then said, “I think I’m going to miss the action, though. I’ve been playing shoot ‘em up for more than twenty years.”

  Southern

  Virginia

  THE drive from Williamsburg to Charlottesville, Virginia, was routine, nearly all good interstate highway. Alex checked into a small, clean motel on the outskirts of the city, near the University of Virginia, and walked to the campus to register as a special student and pick up his ID. He paid his fees with a check drawn on an account he had opened a week before in Richmond, under the name Frank Santayana. He had also sent for a birth certificate in the same name, since Mr. Santayana was unable to do so as a result of having been in a coma in the Medical College of Virginia hospital for the past two weeks with complications from AIDS. He was not expected to live, nor was he expected to die any time soon. A passport application would be sent shortly after the arrival of Mr. Santayana’s birth certificate.

  He walked into the University of Virginia main library, and spent an hour getting familiar with its layout. Then he strolled over to the reference librarian, gave her his best smile, and said, “I’d like to find out about investment-quality diamonds. Would you please show me how to use the catalog computer?”

  Six weeks later he returned to Williamsburg knowing far more about investment quality diamonds and their worth than most retail jewelers. He was also delighted to find a passion—one that might keep him interested and gainfully employed for the rest of his life. In the library of the Darden School of Business at Virginia, he had discovered the world of stocks and bonds. More to the point, he had discovered it was possible to analyze companies’ management and products reasonably well and their financial performance quite well, in a way that could allow exceptional financial returns if the analysis proved accurate. The whole concept excited him. He had also figured out how he was going to turn his diamonds into cash, almost legally.

  The Old Frog

  Restaurant

  ALEX called Jerome and arranged to have dinner at a small place, near Old Town in Williamsburg. As they were working on coffee and the place began to empty, Cuchulain started.

  “Okay, Jerome. Here’s the deal. If we sell the diamonds, we have cash. When we put it into the bank or start spending it, we leave a money trail. If we do this, the IRS sooner or later is going to want to know where we got it and why we haven’t paid taxes on it.”

  “Shit, Cooch!” Jerome sighed. “I knew it was too good to be true. There goes a quarter of a million bucks.”

  “Hold on, my pathetic, parsimonious, pessimistic partner,” Alex whispered with a wicked leer, rubbing his hands together. “The great Cuchulain has a magical method.”

  “The great Cuchulain has dipshit delusions of deification,” Jerome snickered.

  “Okay, here we go. Listen up and think about what I’m saying, because we can’t go hire a consultant to see if we’re right, and we ain’t exactly gifted planners. You’re the one with the accounting degree. I need you to look for holes in the theory.

  “First, IRS gets as capital gains taxes some percent of all gains on investments held longer than six months. Virginia gets a little too. I was thinking about moving us to Texas to avoid the state tax, but it gets messy and it’s too visible.”

  “Cuchulain, my man, we ain’t got no gains, remember?”

  “Quiet. The great Cuchulain has more.”

  Jerome nodded, intensely interested in what Alex had found.

  “Second, it is easy to make enormous gains, easily quintupling your money in a few months in the stock market, if you know exactly which stocks are going to go up, and which are going to go down—and by how much.”

  Jerome nodded and shrugged.

  “Third, if you file your tax returns, show a long-term capital gain on them and pay the taxes due on that gain, the IRS knows exactly where you got your cash. You earned it by investing and did your lawful duty by coughing up the tax money; you get to keep the rest.”

  “And?” Jerome said.

  “And, my friend, we sell the diamonds and work up a set of stock transactions from last year to show where we got the money. I still have to check some more, but I don’t think the IRS knows how to check on someone giving them too much money, only too little. We’ll use a broker in Switzerland to complicate things for them a little. We file the returns, pay the taxes, and put the rest of the money in our pockets.”

  Jerome was excited. “Son of a bitch, Cooch! You figured it out! How do we beat the income tax?”

  “Loyal Americans like us? We don’t. That’s the way we stay out of sight and out of jail. Hell, it was never our money anyhow.”

  Jerome nodded. “Right. Has the Great Cuchulain figured out whether there’s going to be enough cash from the diamonds for me to buy a gym, after we sell them and pay the taxes? Or even how to sell them?”

  Alex grinned. “I’m not quite sure how much a gym costs, Jerome, but I think I’ve figured out how to sell the diamonds for something between four-and-a-half and eighteen million dollars.”

  “You get me two hundred grand for a gym and equipment, and the rest of it is yours, my brilliant young frien
d.” Jerome put his hands together, looked up at the sky, and said, “Thank you, Lord.”

  Cuchulain sobered. “You’ll get a quarter-million dollars after tax, no less. Half of what we get if you want it, or I’ll just invest for you; tell me later. The biggest diamond buyers are in Amsterdam and Brussels. We’ll go with Amsterdam, because there are more dealers there. I have a few names of buyers who are supposed to be honest, but I’m going to need you to cover me. This is too much money for the pros to ignore.” He grinned. “Them not knowing that the real pros are the sellers.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and handed Jerome a list. “Here’s what I think we’ll need—to be safe. Look it over.”

  Jerome whistled through his teeth after a second, and then grinned. “If we can’t sell the diamonds, we’ll be able to start World War Three. I assume you want me to mention my heroic saving awhile back of that SAS major’s ass? He retired and now vends these vicious viands of violence.”

  Alex rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll need two passport photos from you, dressed in a suit and wearing those photochromic glasses that get darker as the sun hits them. Put a little of that cotton padding along your upper teeth, inside your cheek. I’ll get you a passport. This is not going to be the Alex and Jerome show. I think we’ll come back into the US through Canada, just to be safe.”

  “Walk or ride?” Jerome said.

  “Walk, I think. I want to do this only once. Somehow, I don’t think US Customs or Immigration is going to find us crossing. We’ll buy some gear and rations in Canada. Probably some light weapons too.”

  “Buying weapons in Canada is a little risky,” Jerome said. “Why don’t I just take a little package up to Toronto while you’re setting the rest of this up? I have a few little leftovers from what we’ve been doing. They may come in handy. I might work your list over a little too, except for the explosives. I’m not busy, because I’m going to put my retirement papers in tomorrow.”

  “I’m touched by your faith in my planning ability. You’re right about Canada, Jerome—dumb thinking on my part—and I need you to keep picking holes in our plans. You’re the weapons jock. One thing, though—no trademarks. You don’t use an Ingram or a .300 Winchester Magnum, and I don’t use my own fuses. I don’t want Mac or anyone else figuring this one out.”

  The next day Alex drove to Washington, easing his way up I-95 and thinking about his trip to Europe. He had made an appointment with a lawyer in Washington, one who specialized in white-collar crime and tax fraud; he’d gotten a Watergate defendant off. He had found him through some research at the University of Virginia; better yet, he was Irish. Alex crossed the Key Bridge from Virginia into the District and drove down looking for the Four Seasons hotel; the lawyer he wanted had offices just beside it. They called the lawyer Gentleman John. It made him sound easy to talk to.

  Holland

  SIX weeks later Alex and Jerome met in a coffeehouse in Amsterdam. Jerome had arrived a week earlier. He had picked up his package from the retired SAS major’s delivery boy in Rotterdam and checked it out carefully. After driving a small rental car to Amsterdam, Jerome spent three days looking into the security of the offices of three different diamond buyers Alex would meet, and working out the best ways to get away from each location safely and quietly. Each office layout was carefully sketched with as much as was visible from different vantage points. Jerome also created a map showing streets, police schedules, radio frequencies, and the best hiding spots along the way.

  Cuchulain studied it all for half an hour. “Let’s do it. Guilder’s expecting me at seventeen thirty, so you have two hours to get set up. I’ll try to stall him until after eighteen hundred hours to let the crowds clear. I got vague hints that this guy is bent, so we’ll probably get to make our point tonight.”

  At 5:35 p.m. that afternoon, Cuchulain rang the bell outside a small office building. A tinny voice at the speaker asked him in English to identify himself. He smiled to himself and said, “Frank Santayana.”

  The door buzzed open and he walked up the stairs to suite 203. The door was open and a small, aging man waved him in, saying, “Please.” There was an old, scarred wooden desk inside and two straight-backed chairs. On one of the chairs sat a large, middle-aged man. Scar tissue was bunched beneath his eyebrows, tilting them outward, and his lumpy nose wandered partly across his face. “My security advisor, Herr Kohler,” the old man smiled. Alex nodded. Herr Kohler simply stared.

  “Now, young man, what service may I provide to you? From our telephone conversation, I understood you have goods to sell. Have you brought to me a sample as we discussed?”

  Alex reached into his pocket and dropped a small velvet bag onto the desk. The old man opened it and rolled the diamond inside onto the desk blotter. He pulled a loupe from his pocket and screwed it into his eye, then picked up the diamond with a large pair of tweezers to examine it under the desk lamp. He dropped it into the tray of a small manual scale, and adjusted it before he looked up. “It is slightly flawed,” he said, “and the color isn’t wonderful. I could give you twelve thousand, five hundred in cash for it, right now.”

  “I think not,” Alex said, picking up the bag and holding it out for the diamond. The greed faded from the man’s wizened face, replaced with a look of mild concern. “Perhaps fifteen thousand, because I have a buyer in mind—but not a penny more.”

  “Just return the diamond, please.” Alex stood and turned a little toward Kohler as he came to his feet, still holding out the bag with his left hand. Kohler seemed a little puzzled that Alex did not seem afraid; the old man was increasingly concerned by the aura of relaxed menace surrounding him. He was suddenly chilled as the long-ago memory of a visit from the SS came back to him.

  “Of course, of course,” Guilder said hastily. “There’s no reason to be rude, young man.” He dropped the stone into the bag.

  The door was locked at the bottom of the stairs, and Alex had to push the call button again and wait for Herr Guilder to answer. After a moment, the door buzzed and he left. As he walked down the narrow street, he reached into his shirt pocket, put a small speaker into his ear, and clicked the transmitter in his pocket twice. The response came instantly. “Negative on the mean-looking guy, he’s still in the office. The old man is on the phone. No tail. Stall on the corner while I move.”

  Cuchulain slowed his pace, stopping once to look into a bakery window and again to gaze at some Indonesian art. He heard, “In place” and double clicked his transmitter again. He turned right and walked casually down the street. After several blocks, he heard, “You have a tail. Two walkers, two riders, not trying to close. They’re going to ride you home. I’m moving—see you there. Watch your ass.” Alex double clicked again, maintaining his casual pace. This was the most dangerous time. If four of them came for him now, and if they were pros, he was in trouble without Jerome. After two more blocks, he turned left to walk one more block to his hotel and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “The riders have parked and are moving toward the hotel. They’re going to take you in the room. I’m moving.” Double click. Alex walked slowly down the street and then through the lobby of the hotel. He stepped into the elevator, just as two men slid in beside him. As he hit the button for the fourth floor, he felt a gun at his ribs.

  “Just keep moving toward your room, keep your mouth shut, and you won’t get hurt,” the smaller of the two said in English.

  “Just don’t hurt me,” Alex said. “You can have anything you want!” He held down the button on the transmitter as he spoke, to share the conversation with Jerome. As they stepped off the elevator, Alex reached in his pocket for his room key. The gun jammed harder into his ribs.

  “Easy!” the little man commanded. Alex held his room key up for both to see, and gave them a sickly smile. As he opened the door, the big man pushed him inside and across the room. Alex tucked into a roll and reached for his ankle holster, then yelled “Now!” The connecting door to the ne
xt room burst open. Jerome was on one knee, holding a twelve-gauge pump shotgun pointed at the little man’s face. He yelled, “Freeze, motherfuckers!” as Alex rolled up into a combat crouch, holding his 9mm Beretta centered on the big man’s nose.

  The smaller man laid his gun carefully on the floor. “On your face on the floor, hands clasped behind your heads. Now!” Alex said, pointing. Both men went to the floor quickly, and locked their fingers behind their heads. Jerome threw a roll of duct tape and a small bag of plastic ties on the floor, then got on his knees behind a stuffed chair, his shotgun pointed at the door.

  Alex moved quickly behind the men, ripped strips of tape from the roll, and slapped one across each of their mouths. He grabbed the ties and secured their wrists and ankles, then dragged them away from the door. He picked up the Beretta and stood beside the door, screwing a silencer onto the end of the barrel. Then he looked at Jerome, one eyebrow raised, and said, “Freeze, motherfuckers?”

  “Hey, that’s what Danny Glover says in the movies,” Jerome said, grinning. “Worked for him. Seemed to work fine for us too. Universal language, courtesy of Hollywood.”

  There was a quiet knock at the door. Alex jerked the door open and stuck his Beretta into the face of one man, while he grabbed the tie of the other and yanked him down and into the room, then repeated the move with the other. This took less than five seconds. Alex swung the door shut, clicked the night latch, and turned, dropping into a crouch and swinging the silenced Beretta up. Neither man was facing him; both were staring into the bore of Jerome’s riot gun.

  “Don’t move and don’t make a sound,” Jerome ordered, holding a finger in front of his mouth. Alex quickly secured the ankles and wrists of the newcomers with the plastic ties, then rolled them over and sat them up.

  “Okay, who’s in charge here?” Alex demanded. When no one answered, Alex tore off two more strips of tape and slapped it, hard, across their mouths.