THIRTY-NINE

Cairo, Egypt

Atta Zimler watched the ceiling fan in the little gem shop. He was killing time while waiting for Donkor, the diamond dealer. Donkor was in the back room examining three of the diamonds that Zimler had brought with him. Zimler noticed that the fan was wobbling slightly off-balance.

Donkor reappeared through the faded curtain and swept around to the other side of the counter. He laid a soft cloth on the counter with the three diamonds.

“Do you want to know how to fix that ceiling fan?” Zimler asked, pointing up.

Donkor rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Just get a clothespin. Do you have one? I will show you.”

“Atta, you know something? You’re always trying to remind people how smart you are … I mean … smarter than they are.” The words came out too fast. The gem dealer swallowed.

Atta leaned forward, a little too close, and Donkor took a step back.

“Was that meant to be funny? I’m sure you meant it as a joke.”

Donkor struggled to flash a quick smile, but his lips, suddenly dry, stuck together. “Of course. You know me. Always joking.”

Zimler said, “I want to talk business, Donkor. What will you pay me for all these diamonds?”

Donkor swallowed again. He shrugged. “One million … Egyptian pounds.”

“I said I wanted to talk business. No more of your stupid jokes.”

“Atta, I’m sorry, but that is all that I can pay for these …”

The offer was only a third of what Zimler was expecting, but cash was drying up. Things had become complicated. He could make a clean exit from Dubai with the diamonds, with no trail behind. But the pretty girl at the bank window at the Desert Palm Bank gave him an idea. He had wrangled a dinner date with her. Then another, this time on his rented yacht. Zimler had figured she knew the bank codes so he could get to the bearer bonds he knew would be stored there. But she didn’t have the codes. And even under torture, he couldn’t get what he was after. So he ended up killing her and dumping the body.

It turned out that the Dubai police were quicker to investigate a missing bank teller than he had anticipated. Once more he was on the run. Now he was forced to return to this jewel fence he had worked with for years. A small-time dealer but sufficiently black market and extremely well-connected in the Middle East.

Donkor stood there, shifting on his feet. He erratically reached out to sweep some dust off one of the shelves behind him. Then he brushed his hands and cleared his throat.

“I don’t think you understand the market for these diamonds,” Zimler said in a casual tone.

“Oh, no, but I do,” Donkor replied. “Diamond market is very different now. All of this blood-diamond fuss. Dealers can’t afford to just buy and sell. Now there is a big problem because of conflict gems. People want to know where you got them.”

“You’re not the only dealer …”

“Any dealer will tell you the same. Really, Atta, I’m telling you the truth. And in Zimbabwe, Côte d’Ivoire, places like that, it’s even worse.”

Zimler smiled playfully and took a step back, thrusting his hands in his pockets. He was fishing. “Okay, so you tell me why I ought to take your lowball price, you scoundrel.”

Donkor grinned and loosened up. “Because I’m telling you the truth, my friend. Look, I’m willing to buy the diamonds. You need the money. Let’s call it a deal …”

That was what Zimler was waiting for. He leaned forward on the counter and picked up one of the diamonds. He then set it apart from the others. “How about this one …”

Donkor leaned toward the counter to inspect it. That is when Zimler struck. His right hand flashed out toward Donkor’s throat and gripped it. The gem dealer gagged and struggled to breathe as Zimler’s powerful fingers closed slowly like an industrial press.

Just when Donkor thought he would pass out, Zimler eased up, but only slightly, keeping his fingers locked around his throat.

“Why do you say I ‘need’ the money?”

The diamond dealer was coughing and gagging. When he could finally speak, he simply said, “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I don’t believe you …”

“I know … you … can kill me … very strong … but please don’t …”

“Why did you say that? Tell me, and I won’t kill you …”

“Just something I heard — ”

“What?”

“You had some kind of problem … in Dubai — ”

“What else?”

“I don’t remember …”

He squeezed a little tighter. “What else?”

“Just the Caesar Demas thing.”

“What about it?”

“He didn’t pay you for some job in the States.”

“What else?”

“That’s all.”

He was now satisfied that Donkor knew enough to be valuable. He released his grip. “I’m removing my hand now. Don’t you move. Just stand there.”

Donkor did as he was told, rubbing his neck and panting for air. Then he said meekly, “Atta, I want to do business with you. But not like this. Let’s deal with each other, please, like businessmen.”

“Is this your final offer?”

Donkor rotated his head a little back and forth and massaged his neck. He was thinking. Then he said, “In cash, yes. I can pay with Egyptian pounds, or euros, or the new international CReDO. Anything you want.”

Zimler countered. “How about other than cash?”

“What do you mean?”

Zimler was feeling pressed. The Dubai thing hadn’t worked according to plan, and he still had several law-enforcement agencies looking for him as a result of the Grand Central Station fiasco. Things were closing in on him. Cash was good to have, but information might be just as good. Maybe better. “You are a man with information, Donkor. How about your cash offer, plus some information I can use. But it better be good.”

Donkor shrugged and gave it a few moments of thought. Then his face lit up. “Well, I just might have some information.”

“Tell me.” Zimler was expecting to get something about the local cops being alerted to his presence in Cairo or Interpol agents nosing around. But what he heard was something different altogether.

“Well,” Donkor said, “that American guy is not far from here right now. He’s up in Israel, supposedly. Don’t know why. Just that he is meeting with the Israelis.”

Zimler looked into Donkor’s eyes. He stared him down. “What American guy?”

“You know,” Donkor said cautiously, “the guy you were chasing down on the Demas job. The American …”

“Joshua Jordan?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

Zimler’s mind lit up like a kaleidoscope. A whole spectrum of possibilities lay before him.

“Donkor, do you think you can get some more information on Jordan? Where he is right now?”

Donkor nodded. “I think so, maybe. Yes. So, do we have a deal? For the diamonds?”

Atta Zimler smiled and held out his hand to shake. “Of course. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”