Jack thought about telling Enzo of his conversation with Danzig. On some level, Enzo had a right to know that. It foundationally and fundamentally changed how they went forward. Or if they even did. After all, this deal got Jack a way out but there was nothing in it for Enzo. He’d have come all this way and risked his life only for Jack to get a deal.
But that’s not an easy conversation to have, even with a friend. I’ve got a deal, you don’t, but you should give me your share of the take anyway.
“I think we just focus on how we sell these things. Rusty is really for me to worry about, I guess.”
“If you’re sure.”
Was he?
In their conversation earlier, Danzig shared a version of Thursday’s events that sounded to Jack’s ears like an abstract painting being described by an unreliable narrator. Reginald’s buyer was not a Chinese smuggling operation or criminal outfit but an undercover FBI agent. Jack established his alibi in telling her that he’d shot and killed Reginald, which she would no doubt verify with Detective Navarro. It seemed he was clear for the time being.
Until they broke Vito.
Aside from Rusty, Vito was the only one who could actually place Jack in Los Angeles.
Danzig had offered Jack a new deal, rather than compelling him into cooperating on the basis of his other one, and she used the only real carrot that she had left.
She’d make Frank Fischer permanent.
The other thing was that she’d request that Jack’s previous conviction be amended so that Frank Fischer could hold a passport. Danzig didn’t know that Jack had a place in Tuscany, just that he wanted to be able to travel.
He would get to be Frank Fischer for real and forever.
All he had to do was find the diamonds and deliver them to her in Rome in forty-eight hours.
The diamonds that were already in his possession.
The deal was predicated on the fact that Jack had been at home in Sonoma when Reginald and Vito attempted to make the sale and that there was an unidentified third accomplice, rather than Jack, who took the diamonds from that Inglewood cop. He had no credible story for showing how he could come up with that haul in the forty-eight hours she’d given him, and if he said he was involved, it would be a violation of the deal he already had.
Jack won, only to lose.
But Danzig was also pragmatic. Maybe she wouldn’t ask too many questions about how he found them. Jack could just make up a bunch of bullshit about criminal networks and contacts and such. That sounded thin as he thought it, but there was, perhaps, a thread he could pull on. Maybe he could convince the FBI to let Vito out of custody on the premise that Jack would follow him to the stash. No, that wouldn’t work, they’d just follow Vito themselves.
If this was going to work, Jack had to figure out a way to convince Danzig—in a way that would stand up in an official report—that he found the diamonds. The “don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to” defense would work with a civilian, but it wouldn’t fly with a federal agent. Or would it? Jack knew firsthand that Special Agent Danzig would push the rules to the breaking point if it served her.
The FBI let these things slip right out of their grasp, and if they could quietly get them back before the public found out the depth of the blunder, they would do it.
The thing Jack had learned about diamonds was that people never really wanted to know where they came from.
32
When Fuery told her the story of how one of LeGrande’s companions stole the diamonds right out from under the FBI’s and the police’s collective noses, he described it as the craziest shit she ever heard. And up until that point, it had been true.
Vito Verrazano didn’t want to deal.
Or at least Vito De Angeles didn’t.
Because the entire time he was in FBI custody, he didn’t waver from his story that he was Vito De Angeles and not Vito Verrazano. The one thing he did do was lay everything at his partner’s feet. Reginald Burton organized the import of the diamonds into the United States, had organized the flight that carried them, and had arranged the sale with Pan Pacific. Did Mr. De Angeles think it was strange that members of an Italian organized crime family showed up at the exact moment of the sale and attempted an armed takeover? Of course he did, but he had no advance knowledge of that and didn’t appreciate the insinuation that because he was an Italian that he had mafia connections. De Angeles did find it strange that his two “private security” men didn’t have any identification on them or badges or anything that identified them as licensed private security. But again, he didn’t ask too many questions.
He was an old man, you see, and simply wanted to close this deal and retire.
Mr. De Angeles didn’t seem to deny much that he and Burton were running a shell of a company, which was not in and of itself illegal. Whenever they pressed on where the diamonds came from, De Angeles told them that he and Burton had acquired them through a series of deals over the years from smaller wholesalers, most of whom went bankrupt during the various global economic downturns of the past decade. They’d been holding them for the right time to sell, which seemed like now.
And he didn’t know who the third person was and stuck with that through several rounds of questioning. De Angeles told them he started to suspect his partner might be trying to double-cross him once they got the diamonds into America and had them stored at WorldSecure. Obviously, they would want them in a secure location, but though the account was in their business’s name, only Reginald Burton could access them. De Angeles asked to speak with the Italian consulate several times and continued to deny any knowledge of the identities of any organized crime figures that had attempted to steal from them. Nor did he know how they knew where and when the sale would be.
At one point during questioning, Fuery suggested that maybe if De Angeles thought that Burton was going to double-cross him, he’d try to flip the tables and make a deal with the mafia to bring his own heat. De Angeles got so furiously upset by this that Fuery admitted to Danzig in his recap of it that he was almost starting to believe that Verrazano was actually Vito De Angeles, mild-mannered gem broker.
Mr. De Angeles repeatedly denied knowing anyone by the name of Reginald LeGrande, Vito Verrazano, Niccoló Bartolo, or Gentleman Jack Burdette.
Monday morning, they had to cut him loose.
They couldn’t charge him with smuggling diamonds. The customs paperwork checked out, and they’d paid the import duties through their company. The FBI couldn’t actually prove there had been any crime committed, at least as far as Vito De Angeles was concerned. They had his passport, and it wouldn’t take long to prove that was fake, but the most they could do there was just kick him out. And that was a Customs and Border Protection problem, not an FBI problem.
The US Attorney agreed that the company De Angeles and Burton allegedly ran was bogus, the two security guards they had (now deceased) were most certainly hired muscle with illegal weapons, and the mafia connection between the diamonds and De Angeles was much more solid than he was letting on. But the US Attorney said they didn’t have enough to hold De Angeles on and they couldn’t keep him. He also wasn’t interested in having the Italian government bark at him for detaining one of their citizens unless they could absolutely prove that he was complicit in a crime. The new administration was keen to distance itself from that legacy.
Fuery said they had to let him go but were going to follow him to see if he linked back up with LeGrande.
Choi shook his head.
“That is the craziest shit I ever heard,” he said. He and Danzig were at their spot in the LEGAT office at the US Embassy in Rome at a table they’d been able to confiscate. They had a table that was barely able to accommodate their squad and a wall where they could tape up case information. It was late and there were a pair of empty Birra Moretti bottles on the table and fresh ones in their hands. Like most buildings in Europe, the embassy didn’t have central air and it was stuffy. A fan lazily p
ushed air around the room. “So, where does that leave us?”
“Burdette,” Danzig told him. “Something tells me that Verrazano wants out. The way Fuery described it, that guy just wanted out of the room and out of the situation. ‘I’m an old man and I just want to retire.’”
“Like maybe his heart wasn’t in it?”
“Or he’s cutting his losses. He makes a play with Cannizzaro, decides not to do that. Cannizzaro now wants him killed. He makes a play with LeGrande and that falls apart. LeGrande is dead. I think the guy just wants to GTFO.”
“Can we use him?” Choi asked. “Extradite him home and use him to help with Cannizzaro?” Choi took another sip of beer and then answered his own question. He was in chinos and a navy FBI polo, his feet were on the chair in front of him. “Though without the diamonds, I suppose what can he help with, other than affirm that Salvatore Cannizzaro is an asshole.”
“He could testify that he intended to sell the diamonds to Cannizzaro, but unless we have them in hand, that doesn’t do us any good. And it doesn’t give us Sokolov. I could give a shit about a mafia boss.”
“But our friends here do,” Choi said.
Danzig exhaled and nodded. He’d been advising her all along to attempt to play nice with their Italian counterparts. For as much a festering asshole as Bruni was, obstructing his investigation did not serve the Bureau.
Choi knew they were alone, had been for some time, but still twisted his body around to check his surroundings. Their squad were the only ones in the embassy that were read in on Operation Flipside. “What gives you any confidence Burdette is going to play along?”
“Because I’m giving him legitimacy. That’s what he’s looking for. The setup would work like witness protection, but he’s already got a name. It’s a paperwork exercise.”
“You talk to the marshals yet?” Choi asked, smirking.
“If it helps us get Sokolov, we’ll get whatever we need. But it’s still risky, I admit that.” Danzig sipped her beer and was quiet. “And I’d only trust this with him. Burdette has too much to lose. He could have stolen those diamonds from Verrazano any time in the last two years, but he didn’t. If he wanted them, he’d have taken them already and vanished. But that’s not what he wants. You were there.” Danzig tipped the end of her beer bottle toward Choi to emphasize the point.
“I don’t know,” Choi said. “But I agree that we don’t have any better options. With LeGrande dead and this unknown in the wind…” Choi let his voice trail off.
Their lack of leads on this third accomplice bothered Danzig, but she didn’t want to put voice to it. She was putting a lot of hope on Burdette and counting on him to be able to reverse engineer the plans of a dead man in a matter of two days, get the diamonds back, and then transport them safely to Europe. She could manage the latter, would have to, but there were a hell of a lot of “ifs” between now and that point.
“Is there a way to get Sokolov without the diamonds?”
Danzig laughed.
That line had become a running joke between them. Operation Flipside hinged on them being able to arrest Sokolov for attempting to traffic a reported hundred million in stolen diamonds. Choi asked at least once a day, usually to break the mood, if there was another way. The first time he’d asked, it’d been a serious question. They could approach him, “they” being a representative of the United States government, with an offer to help him out of his current predicament in exchange for the intelligence they were after on the Russian president. However, that mode fell into espionage territory and would be an operation better suited for CIA. The FBI’s play here was already incredibly tenuous. Flipside was a bold, daring, and extraordinarily risky operation. If this went badly, the downside impacts would be catastrophic and generational.
Which was why Danzig was willing to take a gamble on Gentleman Jack Burdette.
If there was anyone in this world she could trust to steal something out of spite from Reginald LeGrande, dead or alive, it was him.
The question wasn’t would he do it, it was could he do it in time?
33
Jack dialed Salvatore Cannizzaro’s number from the burner.
He had to hold the phone in his left hand because his right side still hurt from the gunshot.
“Speak English, and I don’t have a lot of time for bullshit,” Jack growled. “Don’t be stupid and hang up. You already know why I’m calling.”
Cannizzaro answered the phone in Italian, which Jack spoke with near fluency, but the man he was impersonating did not.
“Is this LeGrande?”
“He’s dead. And Vito was arrested. You don’t need to know who I am.”
“If I don’t need to know who you are, then I don’t need to talk to you. So fuck off.”
“Sturdevant,” Jack said. “Clint Sturdevant. You heard of me?”
Cannizzaro actually laughed at that. “Of course I fucking haven’t.”
“Good. I was partnered with LeGrande. Vito didn’t know about it. The intent was always to cut him out. Shit went sideways.”
“Is there a point here, Mr. Sturdevant?”
“I have the diamonds.” Jack let the words just hang there. No one spoke for a long time.
“Are you asking me to congratulate you?”
“I’ll sell them to you. Right now.”
“What’s your asking price?” Cannizzaro’s voice was hesitant, tentative. Jack wished he could see the man’s face because there was something in the tone that said he didn’t completely believe him.
“I’ll give you the entire load for thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five million?”
“That’s right.”
There was another long pause. Jack heard a scratching sound that he thought was a hand going over a phone.
“Thirty. And you need to bring them here, to Rome.”
“Ha,” Jack scoffed. “So you can ambush me and take them without paying? Fuck that. And if you want me to smuggle them into Europe, that’s going to be extra. I already know you have people here, or did they all get killed?”
“Choose your next words very carefully, Mr. Sturdevant,” Cannizzaro said.
“I’ll bring the diamonds to Europe, but I’m not going to Rome.”
You’ve got an FBI informant in your organization, Jack said to himself. You’re lucky I’m stepping foot on the continent.
“Neutral site, but close to you,” Jack said. He forced a smile. “You’re a businessman with many demands on your time. I don’t want to inconvenience you.” The Clint Sturdevant he remembered would never have been that diplomatic. “Monaco,” Jack said. “It’s close, and the police are, well, they’re flexible if you need them to be.”
There was another long pause, though this time, without the shuffling sound.
“I agree to your terms.”
“I’m not done yet,” Jack said, grinding out the words.
“As you Americans are fond of saying, you are pushing your luck and trying my patience.”
“You need to pay me immediately or there’s no deal. None of this ‘half up front, the rest when you move the stones’ bullshit. You want to try that and I’m better off selling for full price.”
“So what do you propose?” Jack could hear in Cannizzaro’s voice that his patience was running out.
“There’s a bank I use in the Seychelles. They work with businessmen such as yourself. You set an escrow account up, and when I see that, I’ll know it’s safe to come to Europe with the diamonds. I’ll meet you in Monaco and we’ll make the exchange. You transfer the money to my account, and I disappear happily and you get a hundred and twenty million in diamonds for thirty-five.”
“A hundred and twenty?”
“I don’t think Vito was adjusting for inflation,” was all Jack said. “You have my number.” And he hung up.
Jack went home.
He needed Megan to drive him because he hadn’t been back to the house to get his car yet. When they arrived, she t
wisted in her seat to face him, putting a hand on his. “Are you okay? Do you want any help?”
“No, I can handle it. Probably better that I do this myself, anyway.”
Megan nodded and didn’t pretend to understand him. But she smiled and said, “I love you, Jack.”
“I love you too, Megs.”
Jack got out of the Jeep and walked up to his door. There was heavy cloud cover that morning, and it was cool.
He’d always made a point of being long gone from a place before the crime scene tape went up, and it was jarring seeing it on the door to his own home. He didn’t know if the police forgot to take it down because they were in a hurry or if that just wasn’t part of the checklist. Jack removed the two strips of yellow tape, crossed over his doorway in an X. He balled it up and held it in his left hand while he opened the door with his right. Jack stepped through the doorway and dropped the tape just in the entryway.
The first thing he saw was the blood.
It was a big, dark stain on the carpet, dried now so that it was almost black.
Jack walked around it, as though the ground were somehow cursed. Reginald had died there. Long before LeGrande was his enemy, he was Jack’s friend. He supposed. Thinking back on the history of their relationship and the legacy of betrayal, Jack wondered how much of that friendship was ever genuine. In those heady, early years, was it just because Jack was an exceptional driver? A kid with racing chops and no fear behind the wheel? Later, when he’d become Gentleman Jack and one of the best jewelry thieves and crew runners in the world, did Reginald just keep up a veneer of friendship because that’s what the job was?
Given the ease with which Reginald sold Jack out to the police, it certainly seemed that way. Had any part of their friendship ever been real? The question bothered him more than it should and more than he thought it would. Jack long believed, long told himself that when Reginald died, he would just be gone, dried up like the rain on the sidewalk. But Reginald’s ghost hung in that room, almost as if to say, You’re not rid of me yet.
Once a Thief (Gentleman Jack Burdette Book 3) Page 34