Unsafe Harbor (20 page)

“Absolutely nothing,” I admitted.

“Well then, what say I give you a crash course?” he offered.

“That would be terrific,” I replied, figuring it might also help me gain his confidence.

“Okay then. Let’s go into the back room,” David said, and led the way into a space about the size of a closet.

Inside was a table that held a small wooden box. David opened the lid and pulled out a handful of envelopes, each of which had something written in pencil on the front.

“I like to file my inventory of diamonds according to size, color and clarity,” David explained, while tapping a stone out of the first envelope and onto a piece of white cloth. From there, he picked up the gem with a pair of tweezers. “This one is two carats and the color is glacé, which is the very best. See how it matches the white fabric?”

I watched as he held the gem over a bright light. Then he raised a jeweler’s loupe to his eye while holding one end of his wire-rim glasses in his mouth.

“I next check for clarity. That means I’m looking for any flaws,” he said, and examined the diamond. “Okay. Now take a look and tell me what you see.”

He removed the loupe from his neck and handed it to me, along with the stone. The diamond felt cold to my touch. Then I raised it to the light.

“I don’t see any flaws. It appears to be perfect,” I remarked.

The stone dispersed sparks of light that danced about the room like fire. It was strange to think that lying in my hand was a gem that had been created under the Earth’s crust over a hundred million years ago.

“There are also flashes of light all across its surface and very few dull spots,” I observed.

“Yes, diamonds are full of surprises. That’s very good,” David remarked, and put the diamond back in its envelope.

I felt as if I’d just been given a gold star.

“Now take a look at this one,” he instructed, and placed a diamond that appeared to be six times as large in my palm.

“Well, the color is slightly yellow and there seems to be a number of flaws,” I noted, holding it up to the light.

“That’s right. Although it’s bigger, the stone is of inferior quality and not worth as much. I’ll make you an offer. Come in every day, study diamonds for the next six months, and I’ll make a dealer out of you,” David said with a smile.

“It’s tempting,” I teased.

He put on his coat, slipped a handful of manila envelopes into his pocket, and locked the wooden box in a safe.

“You’re going to walk around like that?” I asked in surprise.

David chuckled as he went to his desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out his gun. “Most gem dealers carry at least a half million dollars of stones in their pocket while making rounds to cutters, setters, and retailers. Still want to come along?”

“Absolutely,” I responded, wondering if he knew that I was an adrenaline junkie.

The street was now bustling. It was filled not only with tourists and customers rushing between stores, but also Hasidic Jews in their broad, fur-trimmed hats, long black coats, and beards. It was as though I’d been transported to Eastern Europe as I caught snatches of conversation, all conducted in Yiddish.

“The windows on the street are just for retail,” David related, as we passed by them. “The trade workers and manufacturers are all located on the upper floors.”

I gazed around at the old multistory buildings on the block. None were spiffed up, but had a tired, depressed feeling about them. We entered one and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Even the hallway felt musty and old. But that
was nothing compared to what I found as we were buzzed through one of the office doors.

Inside was a space that had been converted into a small, dark workroom, its every inch filled with wooden tables, benches, and equipment. Desktops were cluttered with pliers, screwdrivers, and tweezers, along with lamps, microscopes, stained coffee cups, and old cookie tins. Taped to the walls were cheesy girly calendars displaying beach babes dressed in nothing but thongs. Meanwhile the windows in the room were useless. Their panes were filthy and black, having become caked with decades of grime.

I spied a husky man who looked like a miner wearing a visor. Its band, bedecked with magnifying glasses and a miniature swivel lamp, encircled his head. He sat in front of a tray of diamonds with a flame torch in one hand.

“Ged, I need you to set these diamonds. You’ll do a good job for me, won’t you?” David asked, and handed him four of the small manila envelopes.

“Of course,” Ged said in a thick Romanian accent, while giving me the once-over.

Then the two men shook hands and, without another word, we left.

“What? That’s it? No receipt?” I asked in astonishment. “Aren’t you going to get some kind of proof as to the number of diamonds that you left, along with their size and color?”

But David shook his head as we walked out of that building and into another.

“No need. Everything is based on a handshake in this business. The Diamond District operates on a strict honor code.”

I’d always heard that the diamond trade was secretive and
mysterious, but this seemed ridiculous. It was as if I’d stumbled into an arcane, medieval world. No wonder there was so much crime what with lax record-keeping, and piles of cash and loose gems lying about.

We next entered an office where an old man sat hunched over a revolving wheel, his fingertips blackened and bandaged. The wheel’s hum filled the room with a continuous whir as he carefully polished a diamond.

David tapped some gems out of an envelope and placed them in the old man’s hands. “Izzie, you’ll call me when they’re ready?”

“Don’t I always?” he responded with a smile, and then nodded to me. “You hear that sound? Sometimes a stone will cry. But not this one. This diamond is singing to me sweetly.”

From there we stopped at a place called Red Sun. David left a two-carat stone with a Chinese diamond cutter, along with exact instructions as to how it was to be cut.

“Do you know everyone in the trade around here?” I asked as we left the room.

“Just about. It’s a pretty close-knit community. One in which we live and die by our reputations,” he said, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me into the elevator. “All right. I know you have more questions about blood diamonds. So, go ahead. What are they?”

I felt as though I’d just been given a free pass.

“If blood diamonds are illegal, then how are they brought into the country?” I asked.

“Diamonds are easy to smuggle. Do you know why?” he quizzed.

“Because they’re small?” I ventured a guess.

David slowly shook his head. “It’s something that few people realize. Diamonds can’t be detected by X-ray, nor can they be uncovered by drug-sniffing dogs. And once
they’re here, there’s no way to tell where they came from. That’s what’s so fascinating about the stones. Diamonds are conducive to secrets. They’re virtually untraceable, giving no clue as to where they originated.”

We entered yet another building and approached an ominous-looking black door.

“Okay, this next stop is a dealer who wants to buy some uncut diamonds from me. If he asks, you’re my assistant. That way you won’t make him nervous,” David instructed.

We were buzzed inside, where a diminutive man with large glasses and small suspicious eyes immediately “pounced” on me.

“Who is she?” he asked David, without so much as hello.

“Saul, this is my cousin Rachel. I’m teaching her the business. Not to worry,” David assured him, and pulling out a pouch, tapped five uncut stones on to the counter.

Saul quickly went to work, placing a small digital scale, a sheet of white paper, and a clear glass plate next to the stones. Then, using a tweezers, he picked up one diamond at a time, placed it on the plate and held it over a bright light. He carefully studied each gem with his loupe.

“Their clarity is very good,” Saul finally pronounced.

But the transaction wasn’t yet over. The diamonds were next transferred to the digital scale and scrupulously weighed, after which Saul’s fingers pecked at numbers on a calculator.

He handed it to David, who checked the total and then tapped in his own set of figures. I listened to the staccato rattle of calculator keys flying back and forth between the two men until they finally reached an accord. That done, they shook hands and said
mazel,
the Hebrew word for “good luck.”

Then we walked back outside having concluded today’s business.

“Now tell me. Would you have known where those uncut diamonds came from?” David asked.

I dodged to avoid colliding with a harried dealer, but to no avail. We silently bumped shoulders.

“No way,” I replied.

“Well, neither do I or my friends. The only one who knows is the original buyer,” he explained. “And people who launder dirty money usually don’t care if rebels mutilate and torture civilians to force them to work in their mines. By the time a diamond arrives at Tiffany’s, its origin has already been changed or concealed. Just remember, nothing is what it seems to be in the diamond trade.”

That apparently was true, including a diamond’s carefully cultivated image—that of romance and eternal love. Instead, the stones were stained with blood.

“Do you think blood diamonds are being traded and sold in the Diamond District?” I questioned.

David seemed to cringe. “Anything is possible. There are disreputable people in this business, just as in any other. I’ve heard of jewelers that buy diamonds from shady characters. Most of the rumors involve drug dealers anxious to convert their cash profits into stones. No question that diamonds are more portable than gold.”

I began to wonder if Tiffany Stewart might possibly be connected with a drug ring, though that wouldn’t seem to involve national security. Still, it was clear that behind the street’s facade was a nebulous world of murky financial transactions.

“You have to realize it’s hard to hide cash assets, while diamonds can easily be moved around the world. Word is that Al Qaeda has made millions selling diamonds mined by Sierra Leone’s rebels. It would certainly be a smart way to
sneak funds into this country. Their operatives could set up cells, buy weapons, and carry out terror operations without attracting any unnecessary attention,” he mused. “And it wouldn’t take much. Once the stones were smuggled in, all they’d need was a front man to sell the diamonds for them. Who would be the wiser?”

A chill grabbed hold of me, though I said nothing. What David had just proposed made frightening sense. Then I remembered something else I’d heard. Al Qaeda operatives had been caught using stolen South African passports. I feared this was beginning to turn into a spider’s web of arms, diamonds, and ivory.

I jumped as my cell phone rang, having become buried deep in thought.

“Excuse me, but I have to get this,” I told David.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to quiet my heart.

“Hello?” I answered.

“This is Giancarlo. I’ve arranged a meeting today with my ivory contact. He expects you within the next few hours,” he said, sustaining both his pitch perfect accent and charade.

“Hi Ralph,” I responded, just to irritate him. “Is it to take place at the ivory factory?”

“Yes,” he replied, maintaining his cool. “It’s in Chinatown. Here’s the address.”

I rummaged through my bag and grabbed hold of a rumpled receipt and pen to quickly write it down.

“You’re to tell them your name and say that you’re there to pick up a blue ballgown,” he continued.

“Pick up a ballgown at an ivory factory?” I asked. “Doesn’t that sound rather strange?”

“Not at all. There’s a tailor shop in front that serves as their cover,” he explained. “The ivory factory is in the basement.”

Just hearing his voice made my blood begin to boil. I felt sure Giancarlo had arranged for my beating. However, I had to keep a lid on my anger until I’d obtained all the necessary information.

“Who should I ask to see?” I calmly inquired.

“I wasn’t given a name. They’ll tell you when you get there,” Giamonte instructed.

That was all I needed to know.

“So listen, Ralph. That was quite the surprise you had waiting for me yesterday afternoon. If I were you, I’d keep your windows and door closed and locked, because you’re going to be sorry,” I advised.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Giancarlo responded, sounding confused.

“Oh come on. Don’t play dumb. I know damn well that you set me up. Those two thugs outside the Beaver’s Den? They said it was you that sent them,” I lied, hoping to use it as bait.

“Thugs outside the Beaver’s Den? You’re losing your mind, Porter. Whatever happened, I had nothing to do with it,” he vehemently insisted. “Those aren’t the kind of people that I associate with. You should know that by now.”

“You’d better hope I don’t get proof. In any case, try it again and you’re a dead man,” I warned.

“How did I ever think that you were a socialite? You have absolutely no couth,” he retorted.

“Uh-huh. Unlike the polish and gentility that you display in those DVDs of yours,” I reminded him.

Giancarlo Giamonte, aka Ralph Goldberg, was silent for a moment.

“Do you still want to go through with this meeting? Or don’t you trust me enough? I imagine that you think it’s a setup,” he finally said, getting straight to the point.

Giamonte was right. I remained suspicious, but had no intention of backing out now.

“I’ll take your word that you had nothing to do with the attack,” I said, knowing there was no way to be absolutely certain. “In the meantime, don’t mention this to anyone. I’ll be in touch,” I told him, and hung up.

I turned to find David staring at me with a look that fluctuated between distress and horror.

“Rachel, is everything all right?” he asked in a worried tone.

“Sorry about that,” I responded, having momentarily forgotten about him. “I’m afraid I have to deal with some skeevey people in this business. That’s probably another thing that we shouldn’t tell your grandmother.”

David gave an understanding nod, but I could tell that he’d never regard me the same way again. He headed back to work, and I took off for Chinatown.