Kipstein. And conspiracy to commit fraud.”
“You set my client up,” Mel was quick to charge. “You lured him into an illicit act. You put his life, and the life of his family, in danger. That’s entrapment. It’s more than entrapment. It’s reckless endangerment in my view!”
Booth leaned back. “All I can say is, maybe your view’s a little cloudy over there, Counselor.” He had a face like someone concealing a winning poker hand.
Booth nodded to Ruiz, who reached inside his folder and came out with a cassette. “We have his voice on tape, Mr. Kipstein. Your client has made six visits to Colombia in the past eight years. Do you want me to play what was said?” He slid the tape across the table. “Or can we just get down to the business we came here for today, which is saving your client’s life?”
“Be my guest,” Mel Kipstein said.
The agent shrugged and reached forward for the recorder.
Raab put his hand on his lawyer’s arm. “Mel …”
The lawyer stared at him.
Raab always knew that one day this would happen. Even when he pretended every day that it would never come. That it would go on forever.
They had his relationship to Argot, the monies he’d received. They had his voice on tape. The RICO statutes only needed to establish a pattern of racketeering. Just the knowledge alone of such activity would be enough to get a conviction. Under the kingpin statute, they could put him away for twenty years.
He knew. He always knew. He just wasn’t prepared to feel so empty inside. He wasn’t prepared to have it hurt so much.
“What is it you want from me?” He nodded dully.
“You know what we want from you, Mr. Raab,” Booth replied. “We want you to testify. We want Trujillo. We want your friend. You tell us everything you know about Paz and Argot. We’ll see what Mr. Nardozzi is willing to do.”
They laid out in a very matter-of-fact way to Raab how they were going to seize his assets. The house. The bank accounts. The cars. They wanted him to turn on everyone—including his friend—otherwise they’d toss him in jail.
“Of course, if that bothers you, we could just do nothing.” Ruiz shrugged with a gloating smile. “Let you hang out on the street. Go about your business. Tell me, Mr. Raab, after what happened last night, how long do you think you’d last like that?”
Raab pushed away from the table. “All I did was buy the gold!” He glared at them. “I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t hurt anybody. I put two people together. All I did was what a thousand people would have done.”
“Look,” Mel said, his voice betraying a tone of desperation, “my client’s a well-respected member of the business and social community. He’s never been implicated in any crime before. Surely, even if his actions inadvertently assisted in the commission of a crime, it’s a stretch at best, these charges. He has no information you’re seeking. He’s not even the person you really want. That ought to count for something.”
“It does count for something, Mr. Kipstein,” Agent Booth replied. “It accounts for why we’re talking to you, Mr. Raab, and not to Harold Kornreich.”
Raab stared at him and touched Mel’s shoulder. It was over. No more. He suddenly saw all the consequences crashing in on him like the girders of a building caving in.
“You’re cutting out my heart, you know.” He stared at Booth. “My life, my family. You’ve killed it. It’s all gone.”
The FBI man crossed his legs and looked at Raab. “Frankly, Mr. Raab, considering last night, I think you’ve got even bigger things to worry about than that.”
“We’re talking about the matter of your personal safety,” Agent Ruiz cut in.
“My safety …” Raab suddenly turned white, flashing back to the events of the previous night.
“Yeah, and that of your family, Mr. Raab.” The agent nodded.
“I think it’s time we explain a few things.” Booth opened a file. “There’s a war going on right now, Mr. Raab. A war of control—between factions of the Colombian drug cartels. Between those operating in this country and those back home in South America. You’ve heard of Oscar Mercado—”
“Of course I’ve heard of Oscar Mercado.” Raab blanched. Everyone had.
Ruiz pushed a black-and-white photo across the table. The face was gaunt and hardened, the hair long, the eyes callous and empty. The chin was covered in a thick goatee. It brought to mind images of murdered judges and families who got in their way.
“Mercado’s been thought to be in hiding in the United States or Mexico now for several years,” Agent Booth started to explain. “No one knows. The people you were doing business with are part of the finance arm of his organization. These people are cold-blooded killers, Mr. Raab, and they protect to the death what they think of as theirs. In the past few years, their organization’s been rocked by some key defections from within. The family patriarch has died. There’s a war for control going on. They’re not going to let some ‘white-collar, Jewish, business-school type’ who’s been living high off their proceeds for several years take down the rest of it in a trial.”
“You’ve seen what these people do, Mr. Raab,” Ruiz put in. “They don’t just go after you, like in those Mafia movies. This is fraternidad, Mr. Raab. Mercado’s brotherhood. They kill your family. Your wife, your lovely kids. They’ll kill the fucking dog if it barks. You heard in the news about that whole family that was murdered in Bensonhurst last month? They left a six-month-old kid in a baby chair with a bullet through its head. Are you prepared for that? Is your wife prepared for that? Your kids? Let me ask you, Mr. Raab: Are you prepared not to have an easy night’s sleep for the rest of your life?”
Raab turned toward Mel, an ache widening in his gut. “We can fight this, right? We’ll take our chances in court.”
Booth’s tone intensified. “You’re not hearing us, Mr. Raab. You’re in danger. Your whole family’s in danger. Just by your being here.”
“And even if you choose to fight this,” Ruiz added, coyly, “they’re never really going to be entirely sure just what you might say, are they, Mr. Raab? Are you prepared to take that chance?”
The ache in Raab’s gut intensified, accompanied by a wave of nausea.
“You’re in bed with them, Mr. Raab,” the Hispanic agent chuckled. “I’m surprised you never thought about this stuff when you were driving around town in that fancy Ferrari of yours up there.”
Raab felt as if his insides were slowly sliding off a cliff. He was finished. No point in keeping up his defense. He had to do what had to be done now. He couldn’t stop the ball from rolling. From rolling over him. Twenty years of his life ripped away …
He looked forlornly at Mel.
“You
