Just after one o’clock in the morning the Challenger touched down at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, fifteen minutes outside Paris, France. Having made the hotel reservation, Kate checked in when they arrived at the front desk of the Hotel du Quai Voltaire, a quaint establishment in the heart of historic Paris along the river Seine, across from the Louvre.
Now inside a suite on the hotel’s second level, they were struck by the beautiful setting; oversized windows framing a picturesque view of the river.
They woke early, had breakfast at a cozy café nearby, then James prepared disguises as Kate stuffed falsified passports into her shoulder bag. James didn’t want to leave a trail for Interpol to pick up when they traveled between France and Belgium. At the train station, they went through security and, since the tubes were made of lead, the x-ray machine was unable to detect the diamonds. All clear, they boarded the Eurostar, a high-speed train running between Paris and London.
Speeding along at 180 M.P.H., they reached Brussels in less than an hour. Outside the station they hailed a taxi and rode twenty minutes north to Antwerp, Belgium. Arriving in the Renaissance town, Kate started out for the churches and museums. James agreed to meet her later in the day, then he headed for the Diamond Quarter, an area within the city where thousands of gem cutters and polishers ply their trade. With more than three thousand brokers and merchants, the district sees more than $16 billion in polished diamonds pass through its exchanges each year.
The research James had done gave him a guide to the most aggressive buyers of loose diamonds. The type of stones they had demanded from Alec Specter would be easily saleable because of their size, cut and shape. The task was to unload all two hundred of the gems. He planned to sell them among a total of ten merchants. He would have to settle for steep discounts because of the substantial spread between the wholesale and retail price of diamonds. Not being a dealer himself, Specter had paid near retail when he acquired the gems.
It would prove to be a long day.
James entered the shop of the first proprietor and approached the merchant; an elderly man, graying hair, a long beard and quick, sharp eyes. His voice barely above a whisper, the old man invited James to join him at a table in the rear. As they sat down, James opened the draw string of a small velvet pouch, emptying the stones on a cloth spread across the table. The morning sunlight streaked through the windows, set the gems aglow.
The merchant’s eyes grew wide.
The gems sparkled as though alive with a magical energy. Having been cut brilliantly to perfection, each of the stones was absolutely flawless. James waited patiently as the merchant carefully scrutinized the merchandize.
Raising the final stone to a small magnification device near his eye, the merchant nodded his approval.
“A thing of beauty,” he commented.
Since there were no internal defects to distinguish the stones, he knew they were completely untraceable. James estimated the diamonds on the table had been purchased by Specter for about $2 million. He understood the calculus: the sum the merchant would pay would be a wholesale price, allowing for mark-up and profit. Technically, it was the merchant’s responsibility to determine the origin of the diamonds he was buying. However, given the tremendous volume of diamonds flowing through the district, merchants seldom paid attention to such details. Especially when confronted with the opportunity, and the temptation, to buy diamonds at a price assuring a hefty profit.
The merchant showed no emotion.
“Did you have a figure in mind?”
“One point four,” James said flatly.
“Oh my,” the merchant said, holding his hands in the air. “I couldn’t possibly go above six hundred.”
“One point two.” James was genuinely amused by this back and forth ritual.
The merchant’s mind raced: He knew he could quickly resell the precious gems for a nice profit. But the wily veteran stiffened his posture, hoped to keep the price low.
“Eight,” he countered, his face like a sphinx.
“One million. Take it or leave it.”
The merchant exhaled, rolling a stone between his index finger and thumb. He locked eyes with James.
“I take it.”
James handed a slip of paper across the table which had wire instructions for transferring the sale proceeds to an account in Switzerland. An hour later, the transaction was completed and he moved on to the next merchant on the list.
And so it went.
Having conducted his business in the district, James was exhausted and hungry. He met up with Kate and they enjoyed a nice dinner at the Dome restaurant in Antwerp. The architecture of the Art Nouveau building presented a splendid atmosphere, complimented by delicious cuisine. After dessert, Kate went to the ladies room, and James leafed through confirmations of wire transfers received by the bank in Switzerland. He had opened the account several years ago using a falsified Swiss passport.
Returning to Paris, they strolled lazily along the wide avenues where Kate shopped and James wandered nearby, pretending to be interested. When they got back to the hotel, Kate showered first, and ten minutes later James emerged from the bathroom. He saw Kate lying on the bed, looking sexy in a white silk negligee she had purchased on the sly earlier in the day.
The atmosphere was more romantic than any he could imagine: a light breeze gently rustled through the trees along the river Seine, a golden twilight suffusing the room. Through open windows, the scent of jasmine hung in the air, and the rhythm of historic Paris beat along ancient cobblestones.
Kate beckoned with her eyes.
What can I say? I’m hooked.
________________
They flew into Dulles International the following morning, and though the brief respite in Paris had taken the edge off, both of them knew it would not last.
Kate chewed on a fingernail.
James took Kate by the arm as they got out of a taxi in Georgetown and walked a few blocks to Ms. Van der Meer’s before slipping inside Bell’s passage. A few Minutes later they came up the basement stairs of the townhouse, deciding to settle in a couple of chairs on the front porch.
“My head is still in the clouds,” she began.
James slipped his hand in hers.
“Thanks for doing this. You’re the best.”
“How did we make out?”
He was still thinking about her passion and the hotel bedroom in Paris.
“Huh?”
His expression gave him away.
“The diamonds, silly.”
“Oh that, cleared just under nine million.”
“Wow. That should help.”
“I hope so.”
He paused.
“Alec Specter is the key to this, Kate. We need to know what he knows.”
She shifted in her chair.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just sit here and relax, like we used to do?”
“I feel the same way. By the way, how’s Daniel?”
“I’ve been checking in on a regular basis. No change so far.”
Both of them were thinking about the money in the Swiss bank account.
We’re going to need it.
CHAPTER 17
Kate and James had no illusions about Alec Specter and the methods he brought to bear in conducting his affairs. Among their concerns were the cleverness the man had displayed and the extensive measures he had taken to conceal his actions.
He’s going to be a hard nut to crack.
Kate poured some coffee and handed a cup to James.
“What’s the next move?”
“These assassins are obviously professionals, right?”
She nodded.
“They’re organized, which requires planning.”
“True.” She was curious as to where he was going with this.
“There must be a ringleader of some sort.”
“Right.” Kate shifted her weight to one foot. “Assuming these guys are mercenaries, their leader must be s
ome kind of an ex-military type.”
“And based on what we’ve seen, he must’ve had a high rank.”
“What exactly do mercenaries do?”
“They’re soldiers for hire. Former military, infantry, maybe even Special Forces, independent contractors employed by private interests. Most mercenaries are assigned to guarding important facilities or people. But some participate in active combat, especially in the Middle East and Africa.”
“Like you.”
He shot her a look of surprise.
“Yeah, like me, except I’m one of the good guys.”
“And with mercs and money, the sky’s the limit.”
“It’s a sad thing,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Offer enough money and the best-trained men in the world are available to anyone.”
“If a man is willing to sell his soul …”
“… and he has one to sell.”
James looked at her, saying, “The hits have been so clean. Too clean. Alec Spector has to be the link to his funding.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Follow the money. Hack, tap, beg and borrow.”
James walked over to a built-in desk and taking out a pad and a pen, began making lists covering their respective tasks. Minutes later he tore pages from the pad and handed them to her. It was a list of assignments she would allocate to a band of relentless, professional researchers. She studied it; basically a mandate for unleashing an army of aggressive—and expensive—private investigators in New York City and Washington, D.C.
James walked to the front of the townhouse, opening the windows and closing the wood blinds before turning to a large fireplace made of natural stone. From kindling and logs he prepared a fire to buffer a cool breeze of morning air that floated toward the back of the residence. A pass-through from the living and dining rooms to the kitchen ran the full width of the townhouse and created the feeling of a big open space.
He sank into a chair beside the fireplace as she began the task of coordinating the activities of her network of computer geeks.
“This is going to burn a lot of cash,” Kate said as she looked at her list.
James sipped from his coffee cup. “I figured a million or so.”
“For each task?”
“Right. A million for each of the assignments, plus a half-million for anyone providing a link to the ringleader’s funding.”
“And a million for a direct link to the leader?” she added.
James looked over at her as she stood near the sink. “Right now, that seems like a lot to hope for.”
Kate got situated at the dining table and James returned to his chair in the living room, expecting nothing less than a marathon.
“We need to cover the whole spectrum. The investigators should plunge into Specter’s life,” he said. “Business, personal and family ties. Everything, across the board.”
“How about contacting his enemies?” Kate suggested. “Someone might feel like talking.”
“Good idea.” James studied his notes. “Tell the P.I.’s we’re paying double their standard rate, and cash incentives for useful information. That should get them to dive in.”
James went into the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee and stood beside Kate, pointing to her notepad. “This item is important. The researchers need to dig into his past business dealings; court cases, phone records, travel records. They need to search high and low until something comes up.”
An hour later a team of high-priced talent was beginning to penetrate every crevice and recess of Alec Specter’s life: his first girlfriend, every place he had ever slept, the name of his kindergarten teacher . . .
Kate’s contacts hacked into servers, obtaining the mobile numbers of targeted individuals who were contacted at work, at home, on the golf course—even one on the commode. Inside of two hours, the work force had grown to dozens of men and women; a collective battering ram in pursuit of the truth.
At six-thirty in the evening, a researcher called James with an item he believed could be of interest. He had been delving into records on the server of a travel agency that serviced the Wolfe & Hunt law firm, eventually discovering Specter made two trips to Paris in the past six months. The pattern was inconsistent with his profile.
Specter did travel, but never overseas. Until recently.
“What are you thinking?” Kate asked.
“It could be something. Or maybe he decided that Paris is an attractive destination.”
“But the timing is suspicious,” she countered. “And he made two trips.”
“Good point. I like the idea of doubling the number of investigators. Burrow deeper into his pool of enemies.”
“It’s a rather large pool, James.”
“I know. But we might catch a break.”
He turned loose more private investigators who headed out in search of loose lips. James removed some items from the fridge and began preparing for an early dinner. An hour later, Kate cleared papers from the kitchen’s center island and they stood, eating and chatting—opting to dine standing because they were too amped.
They finished the meal and tried to take the edge off by sharing a bottle of red wine.
The minutes ticked by—each feeling like an hour.
The daylight receded and evening fell. The hour was approaching nine o’clock when one of the secure phones rang. James picked it up. Kate noticed his expression brighten as he listened to the caller.
A few moments passed.
He nodded. A grin swept across his face.
“Thank you.”
A silence.
“Well?” Kate prodded.
“I think we’re on to something,” he said. “This investigator—a very attractive woman on his team—she left a bar in New York City ten minutes ago where she had a long conversation with a guy. He went on and on about how he was burned by Alec Specter on some bogus tax shelter. Lost a bundle, wants revenge, but he can’t implicate Specter directly in the scam.”
“And?”
“I guess he was so drunk and enamored with this young woman that he unloaded on her. His lawyers heard rumors from credible sources about this slick lawyer, Alec Specter, and his involvement in hiding money in banks in Paris.”
“Interesting,” Kate said, looking up from her papers.
“You could have your contacts compare transaction data at banks in Paris to wire transfers on the Wolfe & Hunt servers. Any patterns and correlations in connection with this ringleader would be bound to surface.”
“That would take a long time,” she replied.
“Not necessarily. You could ask your contacts to help write some custom software programs. It could reduce the time from days to hours.”
“True.”
Kate added, “Given the extent of the data, the research personnel would have to be ramped up. The raw data will have to be analyzed by people who know what to look for.”
She paused.
“By offering some bonus cash, we could increase speed and efficiency.”
James rose to his feet and kissed her. “I married a smart woman.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, pleased by the compliment.
Given a new mandate, the geeks sprang into action, pounding away at servers in Paris and New York City—hardened security features erected for the purpose of keeping them out. The challenge would test their resolve and skills.
And the researchers sifted documents, reducing them from millions to tens of thousands with sophisticated computer software. But technology has its limits. Nothing can take the place of human analysis. Any clue—or piece of the puzzle—would be brought to light through personal application.
Two hours passed.
Nothing.
Kate drifted off.
A few minutes after eleven o’clock, a secure phone rang. James answered it.
“Talk to me.”
“I’ve got something really hot,” announced the caller.
“Go.”
�
��It’s an account at Baribus Private Bank Paris. Your buddy Specter controls it. During the past six weeks, a man named Max Baer has made multiple withdrawals from the account. The amounts range from fifty thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand Euros.”
“So?”
“James! The withdrawals were tendered in cash. You know, the man walks into the bank and comes out carrying a sackful of currency.”
“Better.”
“The bank’s archive of surveillance videos can be tapped into, but not remotely. Somebody has to actually enter the building.”
As James spoke, the caller heard a quick inhale. “Much better, terrific. Four hours from now the bank opens for business. We have to get those tapes.”
“Hey, wait a minute. We’re geeks, not operatives.”
“We need those videos,” James said flatly.
He explained to the geek how one of his colleagues in Paris would enter the bank under the guise of a maintenance technician employed by the bank’s security company. James contacted a friend in Paris who agreed to help with logistical support and assure the extraction went smoothly.
A few minutes later he got a callback from the geek, hoping the cash incentive had been sufficient.
“He’ll do it.”
CHAPTER 18
Andre was an extremely nervous computer geek when he arrived near the bank in Paris. Tall, wiry and in his late-twenties, his boyish appearance hid an intensity just below the surface. He rode in the passenger seat beside Nicolas, the man James had sent, and they pulled to the curb by the Baribus Private Bank, beyond the range of the security cameras.
Nicolas glanced at his watch: 9:45 A.M.
The morning was beautiful, the sun beating down along ancient cobblestones streets and buildings of grand architecture.
Nicolas turned to Andre. “Well, are you ready?”
They had planned extensively during the night, but Andre felt anxious. “Give me a minute to compose myself.”
“Sure, take all the time you need,” Nicolas said, enjoying the city’s easy beat and watching pedestrians and tourists as they walked by along the sidewalk.
Moments later, Andre exhaled heavily. “Okay, let’s do this.”
The Tangled Webb Page 6
