Simon Says: Case of the Deadly Diamond Dupe (standard:mystery, 3950 words)
Author: pjlawton	Added: Jan 19 2004	Views/Reads: 3564/2447	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A hard-boiled private investigator reluctantly gets involved in a terrorist plot.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


I reached behind to the small of my back and with practiced ease brought
out my hideout gun a Walther P22 .22 caliber semi-automatic pistol. On 
the back strap of my shoulder rig I had cut and placed a small leather 
holster to hold the P-22. It would hang handgrip down and barrel up far 
enough down my back so that a normal search around the neck would miss 
it. It was also high enough that a belt search wouldn't find it either. 
 In less than a second it was lined up with Mister Bigshot's right eye. 
He quickly realized that with a gentle squeeze of my finger he was a 
dead man. Raising his hands he yelled, "Wait, wait Simon, we're the 
good guys." 

"Look Simon," he breathlessly continued, "I'm agent Smith with the
Bureau of Homeland Security. We just want to ask you a few questions." 

With a grunt snort of disgust I said, "So, you're a BS agent!  Pretty
appropriate I think. Do I look like some type of terrorist? That's what 
you guys do right look for terrorist? Well, I hate to break the news to 
you, but I'm not one. I think I'll go home now, if you want to talk 
come by my office tomorrow. I'm sure you know where it is." 

With that I grabbed my Varjag from his clammy hands and hustled out the
side door that I had earlier seen. Just as I thought, they figured I 
was a pushover and didn't bother to guard the other exits. Typical 
Feds! 

I was able to grab cab after a short jog-walk of about three blocks. It
was more of a walk than jog because my right knee was made of plastic, 
a gift from one of Saddam Hussein's misdirected Scud Missiles. Not only 
had the near miss taken out my knee it also effectively ended my police 
career. So, I had taken my meager savings and along with my tiny 
Veterans Administration pension and purchased a failing detective 
agency. That had been almost eight years ago. Some days it seemed 
longer. 

*** 

The next morning I was in my office with a cup of coffee and the morning
paper when the BS boys walked in. As they came forward I casually 
reached under my desk and gripped the butt of my Smith Wesson .38/357 
revolver where I had it attached with Velcro. It was a big powerful 
handgun and had been my first weapon after leaving the police academy. 

I'll give Agent Smith his due; he knew exactly what I was doing and
quickly lifted his hand. 

"Easy Simon, we just want to talk." Turning to the other agent he
pointed and said, "Wait outside and don't let anyone come in unless I 
say so." 

I could have told him he was wasting his time; I hadn't had a visitor in
more than a month. Instead, I just sat and stared. I noticed him casing 
my office; he wasn't impressed. 

"Okay Simon, I'll lay it out for you. You do know Isaac Wallman, right?"


I nodded my assent and said, "Yeah, I know Isaac, he's a friend." I
figured I could give him that much. 

"Well, he's dead." 

"What do mean dead, I just talked to him two days ago? We're going to a
game this weekend."  I had known Isaac Wallman for several years since 
I had worked a case for his company, The Proctor Diamond Exchange. 
Silas was a courier and I had ridden shotgun for him on a particularly 
large diamond shipment. He was a good guy and we had become good 
friends. I would miss him a lot. 

"Yes we know when you last talked to him. Last night about two hours
before our little get together he was killed in an automobile accident. 
What you probably didn't know was that he was one of our agents." 

He was right; I hadn't known that. 

"Actually his name was Isaac Walinsky." He pronounced it like E-sock. I
had always heard him called I-zek. "He and his wife were Polish Jews 
that immigrated here 15 years ago. I guess he changed his name to 
better fit in." 

I hadn't known that either. I guess there was a lot I hadn't known about
my late friend. 

"We have been tracking a terrorist cell for several months; he was
helping us with it. Now that's where you come in," he said as he tossed 
a small leather bag with a drawstring top onto my desk. 

I had seen that type bag before. I casually open the top and poured the
contents into my hand. Out poured diamonds, hundreds of diamonds. I sat 
stunned for a few seconds then I realized something. They weren't real! 
Oh they looked real enough but I knew the Fed sitting over there 
wouldn't have been so casual it they were real. They must be glass or 
cubic zirconium. Carefully pouring them back into the bag, I looked 
expectantly at Smith. 

"Okay." I said, "Tell me what this is all about." 

*** 

For the next half hour he laid out what had previously gone down. It had
been a simple plan. First of all, the BHS, Bureau of Homeland Security, 
had learned that the Russian Mafia had some chemical weapons and were 
offering them to a certain terrorist group for five million bucks. The 
only stumbling block for the terrorist was that the Russians wanted the 
five million in diamonds. Of course the terrorist didn't have any 
diamonds. That's where BHS and Isaac Wallman came in. 

Word was put out to the street where the terrorist networks were sure to
hear that Isaac was on the take and for the right money diamonds could 
be had.   Isaac had been contacted and the plan was put into motion. 
For one million cash, he would provide five million in diamonds. 
Feigning concern of exposure, Isaac had set up the exchange to take 
place concurrently. The three parties would meet, the terrorist would 
give Isaac the million cash, Isaac would give them the diamonds and 
they would then give the Russians the diamonds for the nerve gas. The 
BHS would then sweep in and arrest all the parties. Simple right? I 
didn't think so; too many things could go wrong. 

Smith finished the story and we just sat there and stared at each other.
Finally I broke the silence. 

"Okay, what has all that got to do with me?" 

"We want you to take Isaac's place." 

"What, you can't be serious!" 

"We are deadly serious. In fact we have already leaked that when Isaac
contacted you two days ago he was bringing you in as a partner. We 
think . . ." 

"Where the hell do you people get off? You Feds think you can just push
and shove everyone around. Besides, what was that little episode last 
night all about?" 

"Last night was a test. We had to know if you were as tough as your
reputation made you out to be." 

"A test? And I didn't even get to study. Did I pass? You realize you
almost died last night, right. That was one of the stupidest moves . . 
." 

Waving me to silence he continued. "Yes, you passed the test. In
hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best move we could have made. By the 
way, Agent Willis is really pissed since he still can't stand very 
well." 

"Gee, that's too bad! Next time maybe he'll pay attention. Anyway I
don't like anyone putting hands on me, plus he slapped me. Nobody gets 
away with that!" 

"Okay, okay, truce. We really need your help. The United States
Government needs your help. You were an outstanding Army officer once, 
which must mean something?" 

He could see that I wasn't too awfully impressed. "Yeah well, that was a
long time ago. You've got to do better than that." 

I saw his shoulders slump a little. "There is a bounty set aside for
capture of terrorist. If you help us get these guys I will see that you 
receive a substantial reward." 

"Oh yeah, just what do you consider substantial for putting my life on
the line?" 

"Let's say five figures. Is that substantial enough?" 

"Good enough!" 

He got up and moved to the door. "You'll be contacted to set up the
swap. Once we get the word we'll position everything. It's too 
dangerous to wire you, but we will have you covered. We will place our 
new SMS-120 Pro Series Shotgun Microphone Sets at two locations in 
front and back of the building. Once we hear the exchange take place we 
will move in.   I am confident that everything will work out okay." 

With that he moved out the door. I am glad he's confident I thought.
After all it's not his butt that's going to be on the line. 

*** 

While waiting for the contact I decided to formulate a little back up
plan. I placed a call to TJ's cell phone. TJ was Tommy James a Metro 
Police Detective Sergeant. He was my old partner and my best friend. 

He answered in his usually charming growl. "James. What do you want?" 

"And a nice day to you too Mister Police Officer." 

"Hey Sherlock, what's happening? 

"Hey TJ, I need some assistance." I quickly filled him in on what had
happened and what was going to go down. 

"Okay Simon, I've got your back. You just be careful. You know how the
Feds work. They'll use any one or any thing to get what they want. Just 
let me know where and when. Later Dude." 

I felt much better after our little talk. It always helped to have a
little Guardian Angel looking over your shoulder. Of course at six feet 
four and 260 pounds TJ wasn't exactly little and he sure as hell wasn't 
any angel. 

About five minutes after talking with TJ my phone rang. 

"Simon." 

A slightly accented voice spoke. "You have the diamonds, yes?" 

I figured I had better play this one straight. "Yes, I have the
diamonds." 

"Be at the old riding stables on Country Lane at 11:00 P.M. Make sure
you are not late." 

"Okay pal, you just make sure you have my money. Small unmarked bills,
got it?" 

"Do not worry; you will get your money. Remember 11:00 P.M. 

"Will the Russians be . . ." I was talking to a dead phone. I guess I'll
just have to wait and see, I thought. 

I called TJ and then the feds and gave them the info. Now, all I could
do was wait, only eight hours to go. I stretched out and took a nap. 

*** 

At exactly 11:00 P.M. I pulled to a stop at the entrance of the old
abandoned riding stables.  I would like to have gotten here earlier for 
a quick look-see but I didn't want to get in anyone's way. A quick 
glance about didn't show me any signs of the Feds. I sure hope they 
weren't held up in traffic or something. Exiting my car I started 
casually walking toward the light I could see at the end of the row of 
empty stalls. 

Standing beside the doorway of the last stall situated in the shadows
was an Arabic featured fellow holding a mean looking Kalashnikov AK74 
Assault Rifle. I had seen the AK74 before up close and personal and I 
didn't particularly like them but I had great respect for what they 
were capable of doing. The sentry motioned with the rifle for me to 
enter the stall. It wasn't a stall at all but what must have been at 
one time the stable office. Inside were three men sitting around an old 
table. 

Facing me as I entered were two men that had to be the Russians. Both
had the big ugly dark Slav features. On the table in front of them was 
an ice chest cooler, the size made to hold a six-pack.  Sitting on the 
near side with his back turned slightly toward me as another Arab. His 
hand was casually placed on a slim metal attaché case also on the 
table. The hairs on the back of my neck were tingling as I walked to 
the other empty chair. I didn't like having that other Arab behind me. 
A trusting fellow I wasn't. With my hand partway in my jacket near the 
butt of my Varjag pistol I stopped beside the empty chair. 

With a growl I said, "Tell the doorman to come inside where I can keep
an eye on him." 

"Do not be alarmed Mister Simon, he is simply there to ensure that we
are not disturbed." The Arab spoke with a slight British upper class 
accent, the same voice I had heard earlier on the phone. 

"Being disturbed is not what concerns me. I'm not going to ask again!" 

Just them the smarter looking of the two Russian thugs chimed in. "Yes.
Do as he says. I also wish to be able to see." I guess a light bulb in 
his pea brain suddenly came on. 

With a wave of dismissal the Arab shouted something in what I assumed
was Arabic. The outside man stepped through the door and positioned 
himself along the outside wall, his dark angry eyes never leaving the 
table. 

Slipping into the waiting chair I reached in my pocket and withdrew the
black velvet drawstring bag and lightly placed it on the table. "Just 
how are we going to do this," I asked? 

The Arab spoke first. "Why don't we all show our wares at the same time?
Then if all is satisfactory we can make the exchanges." 

"Da," the Russian said while reaching for the cooler. A man of many
words he wasn't. 

"No problem," I said. I gently opened the drawstring and poured a
handful of diamonds out onto the tabletop.  I noticed the eyes of my 
two new Russian friends shining almost as brightly as sparkle of the 
diamonds. There was also a slight smile on the Arab's face. 

With a flick of his finger the Arab snapped opened the attaché case.
Inside were stacks and stacks of twenty- dollar bills. I guess my eyes 
started shining a little brighter too. 

By now the Russian had the top off the cooler. Now, that was a sight
that scared the hell out of me. Inside were six vials fitted in a 
Styrofoam holder. I saw that there were two types. Three vials were 
labeled GB and three were VX. GB I knew from my military training was 
SARIN, a deadly nerve agent. The other was worse; VX was also a nerve 
agent but was of the persistent type. In other words it would hang 
around for a long time making decontamination much harder.  By and 
large, they were both very nasty fellows. 

Hoping that my Fed friends were listening I said, "So, that's what nerve
agents look like. GB and VX, must be some bad stuff." 

"Enough talk! Time for exchange," more words of wisdom for the Russian. 

Just then the sound of a loud speaker blasted the stillness. "Federal
Agents! We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up." 

The Russians looked fearfully about. The Arab didn't seem phased as
though he had not even heard. With a glint in his dark eyes he yelled 
something in his own language. The Arab by the door brought the AK74 up 
and started firing! 

The burst of heavy bullets hit the Russians full force flinging them
backward away from the table. They hadn't had a chance. I on the other 
hand had been partially prepared for something like this for I had not 
at all trusted the Arabs.  As the AK74 started it pounding I shoved 
back and attempted to dive away from the table. I didn't quite make it. 


In the middle of my spectacular dive one round managed to find its mark.
 It struck me in the back of the left shoulder just at the edge of my 
body armor. Luckily it didn't hit anything vital, just went clean 
through and logged in the backside of the front of my Kevlar vest.  It 
hurt like hell. I had forgotten how much I hated being shot. The force 
of the round along with my own momentum threw me forward and partially 
behind an old musty bale of straw. 

Unexpectedly there was a loud bang and the AK toting Arab flew across
the floor. He had a hole big enough to put a fist through right in the 
middle of his chest. The shot must have come from a Barrett .50 caliber 
Sniper Rifle with thermal imaging sights.  Those sights were powerful 
enough to see through these thin walls and the Barrett was more than 
capable of breaching them. 

The other Arab must have realized this also for he attempted to hide
behind a set of metal I beam posts. I didn't think that would help and 
I guess he didn't either. He turned and aimed a Mac-10 automatic toward 
the table. I hadn't noticed he had a weapon but I had been a little 
busy trying to put my big butt behind this little straw bale.  It took 
me a few seconds to realize what he intended. 

Shouting something in what sounded like gibberish but I'm sure was his
own language he prepared to fire. He was aiming at the cooler of nerve 
gas! If he shot up that cooler all hell would break loose.  He and I 
and a whole bunch of other folks were going to die. I guess that's what 
he had in mind but I was not quite ready for that just yet. 

I had been bleeding pretty heavily but I didn't know how weak I had
gotten until I tried to lift my Varjag to line up my shot. I couldn't 
hold it steady and was waving it all around. I figured what the hell 
and just started pulling the trigger. I must have sprayed the 15 rounds 
all over the place. 

I supposed luck is better than skill for four or five rounds found the
mark, in this case the screaming Arab and shoved him backward.  He 
landed on his rear end against the far wall. I tried to eject and 
insert a new magazine just in case but when I got my eyes focused I saw 
that it wasn't necessary. One of my bullets had hit him just above the 
bridge of the nose, entering at an upward angle and taking out the top 
and back of his head. He was very, very dead. 

Suddenly I was exhausted, mentally and physically.  I somehow managed to
get my cell phone out and speed dialed TJ's number.  In one second he 
answered. 

"Hey Sherlock, you okay?" 

"Just barely pal; I'm hit but I'm not sure how bad. Hurts like the devil
though. Tell the Feds that the area is secure and not to shoot me when 
they come in. I got enough holes in me as it is." I heard him yell 
something and in less than a heartbeat the doors were busted open and a 
swarm of Feds hustled in. 

My words were getting slow and quiet. I really couldn't hear TJ anymore,
partly because of the noise the Feds were making and partly because I 
was going into shock. 

"Hey, Hey you hang in there, I'm coming to get you," TJ shouted into the
phone. 

"Okay buddy, I'm not going anywhere. Come and get me," were the last
words I managed before the phone slipped from my fingers and my eyes 
gently closed. 

I later learned that TJ had rushed in picked me up and carried me out to
the waiting ambulance. People said he was yelling like a madman to 
folks to get out of his way as big tears ran down his cheeks.  You had 
to love the guy, the big baby. 

End 


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