Читать книгу Inside Passage - Burt Weissbourd - Страница 5

Prologue

In 1987, the former USSR supplied roughly a quarter of the world’s uncut diamonds. Not surprisingly, corrupt Russian government officials began to smuggle rough diamonds to California and sell them on the black market to cutters in Antwerp and Israel. Before long, the Russian mob was selling the uncut gems to cutters all over the world.

September 1989

Lester Burrell was a method-of-payment specialist. He was an expert in gems, drugs, various contraband currencies, and laundering. Whenever he could, Lester worked with diamonds. He would use them to pay for weapons smuggled through the Eastern Bloc arms markets for terrorists. Or to buy classified military technology to sell to North Korea. He was always the middleman.

So it was unexpected for Lester to be partnered with a Russian seller of stolen state-owned rough diamonds. Nevertheless, in 1989 Lester found himself in a bungalow at the Miramar Hotel in Santa Barbara with his Russian partner, a gangster named Yuri. The declining hotel was between the beach and the railroad tracks. Kids liked to put coins on the tracks. Lester liked to knock them off with his cane.

The Russian gangster had worked with Lester on lucrative three point arms deals. Most recently, it was Afghan drugs for stolen Soviet weapons. Diamonds had been the method of payment. Yuri trusted Lester, especially when it came to diamonds. He even liked the outdated suits Lester wore on his king-sized frame. Yuri said they reminded him of home. So he listened carefully when Lester proposed he steal fifteen million dollars of state-owned diamonds. Lester further proposed that they take the rough diamonds to Canada where he knew a diamond cutter who could launder the stones.

Yuri had the stones in a Nike gym bag. He had spread a sample on the formica kitchen table where they were being inspected by Lester and his diamond guy, Nick Season. Lester deferred to the guy, which surprised Yuri. The guy wanted to weigh and inspect each of the stones. So Yuri was cooling his heels—he had already counted the cars of two trains that went by out loud—while Lester and Nick inspected diamond after diamond. Yuri liked that Lester was so thorough.

When Nick Season was satisfied, he stood and stretched. He walked around the table, pensive.

“Good,” Nick finally said, and came around behind Yuri.

Yuri was thinking Nick was too good looking for a diamond guy, and he didn’t look Jewish. Still, Lester knew what was what. Yuri would already be dead if Lester hadn’t bailed him out of a broken-down arms deal. The man he answered to would have squashed him like a bug. Boris would be going crazy right about now, throwing his vodka bottles at the wall. Good. Fuck you, Boris.

Nick put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, interrupting his musing. “Very nice.”

Lester poured shots of tequila, one for each of them. Nick was adjusting his belt while Lester raised his glass to Yuri. Then Nick had the buckle in his right hand. Attached to the buckle, somehow concealed under the belt, was a thin icepick-like instrument. In one easy motion, Nick thrust the pick through Yuri’s right eardrum. In one ear and out the other. Just as quickly, the pick was withdrawn. And Yuri lay dead on the tabletop.

Lester made a churlish sound. “Nice,” was all he said.

“Al’s waiting in Seattle. He’ll take you to Vancouver.” Nick left.

Lester lifted Yuri’s head by the hair, looked at his lifeless face. “Nice,” he said again.