Two Jakes (38 page)

“Then it’s in both our interests to get this in print. Once it’s
out there, they’ll have more to worry about than you or me.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate these bastards, John. Take whatever
precautions you can. When is your next edition?”

“Friday.”

“I think this may be a case of publish or perish.”

“That refers to academics, and I don’t think that’s funny.”

“I guess not. But I don’t see how a story could hurt now.
Sheldon Shields is dead. I’m probably next on the list. Whatever happens
between now and Friday, one way or another I want Ballantrae finished. But do
you have enough to go on? You still have to check things out, don’t you?”

“Of course. We’ll start a full court press. If we can get hold
of Josh’s sources, and they confirm what he wrote, there’s enough. We’ll have
to talk to the company, of course. And I want the civil suits, but that should
be public record. That will give us enough to turn over some rocks.”

Pourior smiled and pointed his pen at Scarne.

“Hell. Even without the sources, we probably have enough to run
a ‘where there’s smoke there’s fire story.’”

“Goddamn it!”

“Now what!”

“The sources. If we have their names, then so does Ballantrae.”

“Oh, Christ.”

Pourier slammed his chair forward and reached for his mouse.

“Maybe he used a code or something,” he said, hopefully as he
opened the SOURCES folder.

It was a list of six names, with phone numbers. The two men
looked at each other. Scarne spoke first.

“He wouldn’t have known what he was dealing with. In his world,
companies that feel threatened call their lawyers, not hit men. Ballantrae
didn’t realize who Josh was. He considered him just a gnat.”

“It’s been three months since they got his computer?”

Scarne nodded. Pourier sighed and hit a button on his phone.

“Meg, come in here, please.”

Meghan Pace walked in and nodded at Scarne. After a few minutes
of background, Pourier printed out the list of sources.

“Grab anyone who is breathing in the newsroom and try to contact
these people. Explain what happened. Try not to frighten them, but tell them
they should take precautions. Tell them their best bet is to talk to us.”

“They’ve been blown for three months?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Meghan Pace shook her head and walked out.

For the next two hours Pourier and Scarne went through
everything else that was on Josh’s flash drive. On a separate laptop, Pourier
hammered out the outline of a story and various notes to staffers. They were
finally interrupted by a somber-looking Meghan Pace. She walked over to them
holding the list.

“None of these people are in danger,” she said. “Anymore.”

Both men stared at her.

“Spoke to several widows, in fact. No fun.”

“How’d they die?” Pourier said, looking decidedly less cheerful
than usual.

“It wasn’t on the Bridge at San Luis Rey.” She scanned her list.
“Car crashes, a drowning, an electrocution, a cardiac and, I kid you not, a
bungee-jumping accident. That one actually was a bridge. Must have been a
sight.”

Scarne automatically patted his pocket. It was empty.

“Damn it!” he said, in frustration.

Pourier recognized the gesture, opened up a drawer in his desk
and threw down a pack of cigarettes and a disposable lighter.

“For emergencies, and this sure qualifies. The smoking lamp is
lit.”

All three used a communal coffee cup as an ashtray.

“I wouldn’t venture a guess on the odds of six people on any
list dying in separate incidents within three months,” Scarne said.
“Astronomical. And this isn’t any list. It’s a list of whistleblowers. Maybe
they got lucky with the coronary, but bungee jumping?”

“I guess we’ll hold our lead story on the fucking yacht show,”
Pace said.

After she left, Scarne said, “Contact the F.B.I. office in New
York. Ask for agents named John Casey and Thomas Valledolmo.” Pourier was
jotting notes furiously. “Tell them what you have. I’d bet they will work a
quid pro quo with you. It’s not like you have to protect any sources. They’re
all dead.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t need the First Amendment privilege. And I don’t plan on
dying. Mention my name. The Feds might open up. Do you need anything else?”

Pourier looked at him incredulously.

“You must be joking. Dead reporter, dead sources, Feds,
assassins, the mob and Wall Street! I don’t know whether to run this in the
news section or the comic pages.”

Scarne pulled the flash drive from Pourier’s computer.

“Can I borrow an office and a computer and an internet
connection?”

CHAPTER
49 – THE TRADE

When
he finished with the computer Scarne called his office.

“Jake!
Thank God. I’ve been frantic. I didn’t know how to reach you.”

Evelyn
didn’t sound frantic. She might have been reciting the phone book. But he took
her word for it.

“Why
didn’t you try my cell?”

“Alana
Loeb called. She wanted to know if I’d heard from you. She told me that your
cell was compromised. Not to use it. I didn’t know if she was talking about
your old phone or the new one. And I certainly couldn’t ask her!”

Scarne
had to laugh at that.

“What’s
so bloody funny?”

“Nothing.
Listen, Ev, I just left
The South Florida Times
. They’re getting ready
to blow the lid off Ballantrae. I emailed you what they have. Get it over to
those F.B.I. guys and to Sealth in Seattle.”

“He
called a little while ago. Said he has to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

“I
will. Also Huber at
The New York
Times.
But tell him he can’t
print anything until Friday. That’s when it will hit the fan down here. I owe
that to Josh and Pourier. Huber probably wouldn’t run anything without
checking, but at least he’ll have a head start. Hell, no reason Dudley and Dick
Condon can’t have a gander. And Reginald Sink at
Offshore Confidential
.”

It
might not be enough to prevent his getting killed, but at least his obituaries
would be a hell of a read.

“Jake,
Ms. Loeb sounded anxious. Maybe even desperate. She wants you to stay away from
your hotel.”

***

The
street was empty. The only car in Alana’s driveway was her blue BMW. Scarne
heard a lilting Caribbean melody coming from the back of the house. He walked
around back. She was swimming laps, gliding through the water effortlessly. She
finally stopped and buried her head in her arms on the far side of the pool.

“Alana.”

She
turned slowly as he walked toward her. She swam to the shallow end and walked
up the submerged staircase, seemingly oblivious to her glistening nudity. When
she reached him, she stood silent for a moment. Then she slapped him hard
across the face. Something seemed to go out of her and she reached up gently
and touched the red welt on his cheek. She put both arms around him and put her
head on his chest.

“I
thought you were dead. Victor will try to kill you, if only to save face.”

She
clung to him fiercely. He felt her body through his now wet clothes. He put his
arms around her. His right hand gently massaged the cleft between her buttocks
at the base of her spine, where the tattoo was. He knew she liked that. She shivered
and pressed into his groin. He felt his control going. He reached up and pulled
her arms down.

“Alana,
we have to talk.”

His
voice was hoarse. He picked up a towel from a nearby chaise and held it open.
She walked into it and he wrapped it around her.

“You
look so serious, Jake. We love each other and you are going to destroy that,
aren’t you? But I am selfish. I’ve never loved anyone before. I want it to last
a little longer. So, before we talk, make love to me. You won’t want to do it
after. You may hate me then. You can do anything you like. Treat me like the
lowest whore in creation. Or a queen. Whatever you want. It won’t matter,
because I know you love me. I see it in your eyes. Carry me upstairs.”

***

They
made love slowly and silently, totally absorbed in each other. Unlike their
previous couplings, she remained passive, and seemed to enjoy his dominance,
taking pleasure in being loved. The only sounds came at the end, when they
couldn’t help themselves. After a while, lying on her side facing him, she
began to speak. She told him about her childhood, the massacre and kidnapping,
the rescue from the bordello. He listened in morbid fascination.

“When
one of the men my grandfather hired burst through the door, I was with a boy.
We were fucking. He was a nice boy. The man pulled him off me by his ponytail
and slit his throat. I guess he thought I was being raped. I can still see that
poor kid spurting from the neck and his penis at the same time. Not many women
can say that. Perhaps it was a reflex. They say some men ejaculate when they
are hanged. I’ve never told anyone that story. I have more like that, if you
want to hear them.”

“Alana.
Don’t.”

“The
leader of the soldiers who rescued me was a former Legionnaire. We became
lovers before he went off to fight in some stupid war.”

Without
thinking Scarne reached behind her and touched the Cross of Lorraine tattoo.
He’d always wondered about it.

“I
didn’t love him. He was paid to find me. I’ve never loved anyone. Until now.”
She smiled. “You may have been paid, but not to save my life, twice. You
reminded me of him. I saw it the day I met you. After the shooting at the pool,
I rewarded you with sex. But with Brutti you risked your life for me and were
almost killed. Since then I have rewarded you with love. Can you not feel the
difference when you are inside me? I know I can. So strange. Tell me again you
love me. No, show me again. One last time.”

***

“Victor
and I recognized each other for what we were, right off.”

Alana’s
final cries of passion had dissolved into bitter tears, but she quickly
regained her composure and was now calmly explaining Ballantrae’s many schemes
and her part in them. Scarne’s blood ran cold when she described how she
recruited Garza, and what the Cuban assassin and Keitel had been doing over the
years. She saw the look on his face and for a moment he thought she would break
down again. Instead, she laughed harshly and got up and put on a silk wrap.
Then she sat at the end of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Get
me a cigarette, please, Jake. They’re in the nightstand.”

Scarne
lit her cigarette and she took a long drag, letting the smoke out in a
luxurious hiss, then nonchalantly flicked an ash off her sleeve.

“I
won’t give you any nonsense about my childhood traumas,” she said. “We are all
responsible for our actions. I did what I had to do to survive. I fought my way
to the top. But I was willing to risk it all to protect you. That must count
for something.”

“What
happened to Josh Shields?”

She
looked disappointed but then resumed her dispassionate narrative.

“The
questions he asked us were too pointed. We felt we had to do something. There
was simply too much at stake to let a no-name reporter derail all our plans. Of
course, in retrospect, we know why he was so dogged, so well informed. You must
appreciate our shock when we found out who he really was. It’s funny, when you
think about it. The people who took me when I was young didn’t realize how
powerful my family was. It cost some of them their lives. And we made the same
mistake with Josh Shields.”

“How
was he killed?”

Scarne’s
voice sounded like it came from someone else. She told him, in clear concise
terms. She might have been discussing the settlement of a nuisance lawsuit.

“Of
course, the method was all their own,” she said. “They are quite mad.”

Scarne
made a mental note to let the medical examiner know he had been close to the
truth. He wondered how the Miami Beach Chamber of Commerce would take it.

“Eventually,
despite our blunder, we felt we were in the clear. Then you showed up. I told
Victor you were dangerous. But he wanted to play games. He was angry with me
because I had ended our affair. He told me to seduce you. That was the easy
part. Oh yes, it was all part of the plan. I decided to have some fun. You were
attractive, and every smile I got from you was a dagger to Victor’s heart. I
don’t like many men. Silly poseurs, most of them. But I found myself liking
you. By the time you came for me after Goetz was killed, I wanted you. If you
hadn’t come, I don’t know what I would have done. Taking you to Antigua was
lunacy. But if you weren’t there, I would have been killed. You were so savage
in protecting me. Now, I had to protect you.”

Alana
looked at Scarne to see his reaction. There was none.

“I
told Victor that if anything happened to you, I would expose him, even if I
went to jail. Or worse. I think he wanted to kill me then. But I told him I’d
taken the normal precautions. Copies. Safe deposit boxes. Letters held by
lawyers. Bluff mostly. I bet the authorities have a lot on us now. Our
political influence is waning with the changes in Washington. We’re not as
protected as we were. We buy off most investigations with campaign
contributions. The rest die on the vine of our lawyers’ delaying tactics and
smokescreens. Every new crop of politicians needs watering. But it takes time.
Victor couldn’t take the chance. Things are very dicey right now.”

Alana
motioned for another cigarette. Scarne also needed one.

“Josh
Shields was right about some things,” she continued. “We did invest some of the
money from our less-than-savory ‘investors’ in hedge funds. How else could we
offer the phenomenal returns on our C.D.’s we needed to attract more deposits?
I warned Victor about that, but he pictured himself as a buccaneer. He didn’t
realize that those Wall Street stars profiled in the
Journal
and the
Times
and on the cover of
Fortune
were bigger con men than he was. Ironic,
when you think about it. He made much of his fortune by selling bad paper,
backed by nothing. And then he risked the mob’s money on hedge funds that
invested in sub-prime mortgages. Talk about worthless paper!”

Alana
let out a long stream of smoke, then smiled.

“But
his story wasn’t entirely accurate. We never took money from the Mid-East
‘charities.’ Oh, yes, I read his story. Had it seen the light of day, we might
have insisted on a correction about that part of it. I guess you don’t think
that’s funny. But there were plenty of legitimate crooks we could service. Baby
killers, we’re not.”

“A
fine distinction, Alana. What about Josh’s sources?”

“Disloyal
employees,” she shrugged. “We made them rich, and that’s how they repaid us?’

“And
Maria Brutti?”

Scarne
saw incomprehension on her face.

“Garza
killed Brutti’s sister and planted the body in Boyko’s warehouse.”

She
looked genuinely stricken.

“No!
After all we had survived last year our Ukrainian and Italian friends recently
had a burst of patriotism. The Government wanted them to help monitor ports on
the West Coast for terrorists, like Lucky Luciano did in New York during the
Second World War. It was Nazis back then, of course. Our clients were pressured
to do the right thing by Government agents sniffing into their deposits
offshore. The sniffing would stop once they started helping out with port
security. But the damage had been done. They didn’t like the Government knowing
where their money was, so they started to make arrangements to relocate it.
That would have created a liquidity crisis because after the hedge fund debacle
Victor had decided to go somewhat legitimate by building a mainstream Wall
Street presence. That takes money, and he had again dipped into their funds. As
you might imagine, they weren’t the kind of people who take I.O.U’s.
Fortunately, their withdrawals were gradual; they needed time to find safe
havens for their money.”

She
paused to light another cigarette. She rearranged her feet under herself and
absentmindedly began rubbing one of them.

“We
needed time to refill their accounts. Victor sent Garza to Seattle to sow
trouble. Jesús was supposed to set the Italians and the Ukrainians at each
other’s throats. By the time things calmed down we would have been able to sell
things, restore the funds in their accounts. I assumed he would blow something
up. You have to believe me, I knew nothing about the killing. He and Keitel are
becoming more macabre as they go along. But how did Brutti find out it was him?
Garza is usually very careful.”

Scarne
told her about the autopsy and Brutti’s subsequent rampage.

“So,
Garza unwittingly precipitated a vendetta against us. We wondered about that.
Until he figured out what was going on, Victor didn’t need me upsetting the
apple cart. So he promised to leave you alone. I negotiated for your life on
the flight back from Antigua. But I had to give him a bone.”

Scarne
had a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Sheldon
Shields.”

“Yes.
I traded his life for yours.” Alana looked at him coldly. “Isn’t this the point
where you tell me that we killed your client and you have to do something about
it? Like in the movies. But you can’t, can you? Sheldon Shields died for our
sins, my darling. Pity. I liked Sheldon. He was a gentleman. More than I can
say about his brother. The horny old toad made a pass at me on the yacht.”

Scarne
started to say something, but she cut him off.

“I
warned you off, several times. You knew what you were getting into. Don’t hide
behind your clients, or your honor.” She laughed. “You have the look you had
when you killed Brutti, Jake. Do you want to kill me? You won’t. Because you
still love me.”