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 a
nd 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.”
CHAPTER 50 – ‘I CAN LEND YOU SOME HANDCUFFS’
They were sitting in her library, drinks and cigarettes in hand. Scarne needed both, badly. Alana was once again remarkably composed.
“It’s over, Alana. Josh Shields made a copy of all his notes. I found them. He didn’t have everything, but he had more than enough.”
/> “We went through his apartment.”
Scarne told her about the flash drive.
“Priceless. What did you do with it?”
“The newspapers have enough to bring Ballantrae down. And the Feds have it, too. They were closing in anyway. The F.B.I. was at your pool party, taking pictures, and followed us to Antigua. For a time, we were giving Brad and Angelina a run for their money.”
“Do you think they’d give me some for my album? For my grandchildren.”
“Then there’s the Seattle police. They’re going to want Garza. The New York cops will want Keitel. And they’ll all want you. They’ll look closely at all those suspicious deaths of Josh’s sources.”
Alana looked at him calmly.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You have to cut a deal. Your best bet is in Seattle. There’s a homicide cop there with a one-track mind. He wants to settle accounts for Maria Brutti. He may be able to get you immunity while we work out something with the Feds, if you can convince him you didn’t know about what happened out there. You can probably put a lot of bigwigs in jail. Some Federal prosecutor can make his bones on your testimony. Might even offer witness protection. It will be a rough few years, but you’ll be free, and alive. But you have to act fast.”
“And where will you be?”
“Back in New York, trying to forget I ever met you.”
She smiled. No one ever forgot her.
“Somehow, I can’t see myself running a hair salon in Iowa.”
She tilted her head, looking up at him with doe eyes. She never looked more beautiful.
“It might not be quite that bad. You don’t have a choice.”
“And if I say no? Do you ‘take me in’? I can lend you some handcuffs.”
“This isn’t the movies, Alana. I can’t arrest you. But after Friday, everyone connected to Victor Ballantrae will be radioactive. It may be weeks before you’re arrested. But by then, you will have few options. Victor, Garza and Keitel will cut their deals. You’ll be on your own.”
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