Streets lined with shops and jewelry exchanges, their windows filled with dazzling pieces. Crowded with shoppers, cops, street hustlers and courier; there was a constant state of motion.
Above and below these street level operations were back rooms where artisans toiled, cutting, polishing and sorting precious gemstones. There were more behind the scenes people, there were the graders, appraisers, designers and dealers, and lots of deals.
"Series K-7991, simply called 'the vault," Kuryakin noted as they were escorted downstairs in one of those shops in New York's diamond district on 47th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues.
Shlomo Khazanov, dressed in a rumpled black suit and wearing a yarmulke; his peyot or side locks were tucked back behind his ears. He was the guide escorting Solo and Kuryakin along a rather incongruous red carpet.
Solo, eyeing the massive the massive vault, whistled.
"Impressive."
"Yes Mr. Solo it indeed is. State of the art."Shlomo answered.
"Alarm system?" Illya asked.
"On the vault? No, unnecessary. The building has an excellent alarm system which alerts the police. Besides this vault we keep only the shlok here, the important diamonds like the …"
"Beg pardon," Napoleon said. "Shlok?"
"Sorry I'm forgetting that you gentlemen are goyim... shlok is trash, second-rate merchandise. "
"This is where you keep the lesser value diamonds?" Illya was impressed."Then where is The Eye Horus kept?" He could only imagine the vault for such a priceless diamond.
"Oh right here," Shlomo reached into his pocket, and in his hand was a diamond the size of an egg. "Take a look. Quite a Mame-zitser."
He tossed the stone to Kuryakin as if it were a merely a piece of candy. Illya caught it of course, though with a sigh of relief that he hadn't droped it. He was surprised at the cavalier way Khazanov handled the 125 carat, flawless diamond.
"Do you always throw valuable stones around in such a manner," Illya asked in Russian.
"Da, a stone is a stone. They come and go. There will be others, God willing."
Solo and Kuryakin both raised an eyebrow at that.
"Now Mr. U.N.C.L.E. agents, The Eye of Horus is now in your capable hands to deliver it to Southerly's to be auctioned off."
"I'd feel better Mr. Khazanov if we had some sort of case in which to keep it," Napoleon said.
"It would be less obvious in your pocket," Shlomo smiled, "but here if it makes you feel better."
The man pulled a small wooden case from his jacket pocket and opened it to reveal a royal blue velvet interior, with a depression where the diamond could safely nestle. "This I suppose will make for a nice display at the auction."
Illya took the box from his partner and set the diamond in it before closing the box with a snap. He handed it back to Napoleon.
"Well then, I guess we're on our way. Mr. Khazanov."
"Then I will say Mazel Tov."
A young man appeared behind them.
"This is my son Yiddel, he'll escort you back upstairs."
The young man who looked to be around fifteen years of age was dressed identically to his father; he sported a pair of dark framed eyeglasses, so large that they overwhelmed his skinny face.
"Golly you two guys are really U.N.C.L.E. agents, like in real spies maybe?
"More like enforcement agents," Napoleon smiled.
"I'd like to be an agent someday, but my father insists I stay in the family business. All day selling and talking, I can't stand it. I need a little excitement. There's got to be more to life than this? Still, it's my blood, my fabric, whether I like it or not." The boy swept his arm, gesturing at the rows of glass display cases full of gold, gems and jewels as they arrived upstairs to the street level. He laid his hand ever so briefly on Solo's shoulder as he spoke of his surroundings.
Before they headed out, Napoleon turned to young Khazanov.
"Well Yiddel take heart. When you're old enough you come look me up," he handed the boy his business card.
"Gee, thanks Mr. Solo, you're doing me a real mitzvah. I have to run now as my father is making mazl and I need to watch him work. Shalom."
"Shalom," Illya repeated, saying goodbye to the boy.
The agents made their way along the sidewalks of the diamond district. People were busy moving along, no doubt many of them carrying a fortune in gemstones in their pockets, though many stopped to window shop and perhaps dream.
Just as Napoleon and Illya arrived at the silver Impala convertible parked on the next block, a meter maid in her smart uniform and pillbox hat, was in the process of slapping a parking ticket on the windshield.
"Aw come on," Illya growled. "Mr. Waverly will have our heads if Accounting tells him we have incurred another parking ticket."
"I'll take care of this tovarisch," Napoleon stepped around the car, removing the ticket from the wiper blade. "Excuse me Miss, there has to be some mistake." He smiled, preparing to turn on the charm.
She turned to face him, dressed in her dark uniform and perky little cap, but she was anything but cheerful. She was however, attractive with dark chocolate brown hair and soulful eyes.
"Ain't no mistake mistah. You parked where you shouldn't had, and that's that. Got it?"
"Well isn't there something I can say or do to convince you otherwise," he practically purred at her.
She took a step closer, jabbing her finger to his chest. "You tryin' to interfere with an official employee of New York City? That Mista can get you arrested."
"No, but…"
"I'll but you; you fancy suits think you can get away wit anything," she shoved him back, not once but twice." I have a mind to call over a police officer."
"There's no need for that Ma'am, you're just doing your job, and doing it well. My apologies,"Napoleon raised his hands, this time backing away from her. "Sorry for the misunderstanding."
He got into the car, avoiding his partner's gaze as Illya started up the engine and pulled into traffic.
"I'll be glad when we get rid of this diamond. Let's get to Southerly's as quickly as possible tovarisch."
"And risk another ticket? I think not. I will do the speed limit and follow all traffic regulations. It is less than a thirty minute drive, barring any unforeseen traffic jams."
They arrived at the famed auction house located on York Avenue and parked the car nearby right within Kuryakin's estimated time.
"We should have no parking issues here," Illya remarked." No meters.
"Thank goodness for small favors."
The two men exited the car and headed into the 10 story building. Southerly's was famed for high end deals, selling artwork by the old masters, antiquities, jewelry of the rich and famous, pretty much you name it.
Napoleon flashed his identification to the receptionist, who picked up a telephone receiver.
"Sir, Mr. Horus is here. Yes sir." She replace it in the cradle and looked up and Solo with a smile. "Someone will be right out to escort you to the Director's office. Do you have an armored car waiting?"
"Armored car?" Napoleon asked.
"For the diamond," she whispered.
"That wasn't necessary. We're quite capable of …"
"Gentlemen, welcome." A well dressed man with a carnation in a pin striped lapel greeted them. He had a distinct British accent, and resembled the actor Terry Thomas. Beside him stood two burly armed guards in pseudo police looking uniforms.
"I'm Mr. Willoughby, the Directory of Southerly's"
"Napoleon Solo and this is my associate Illya Kuryakin."
"Will you follow me to my office, as we need to conduct our business in shall we say, a bit more privacy?"
They followed him through several art galleries where there were number of famous pieces by Toulouse-Lautrec, a Modigliani, and Jacopo Ligozzi's 'Abduction of the Sabine Women,' as well as countless other examples of modern art put on exhibition before going up for sale.
Once inside Mr. Willoughby's office, they agents were seated and offered drinks, which they declined.
"Oh yes that's right you're on duty aren't you?" Willoughby nodded. "Now Mr. Solo, The Eye of Horus, if you please."
"My pleasure sir." Napoleon reached into his pocket, but stopped. He checked another pocket, and then another.
"Umm, we have a problem," he mumbled.
Illya realizing what was wrong immediately spoke up . "Yes, we have a problem with your security. It is completely unacceptable, and before we deliver the diamond to you some changes will have to be made."
"I say, changes, what changes could you possibly be referring to? No one has ever questioned our security before. Good God, man we having in our possession thousands of priceless items."
"Ummm." Illya wasn't quite sure what to say, and this time Napoleon stepped in as he rose from his chair.
"We will notify you in writing of what needs to be done before we surrender The Eye of Horus to your care. Now good day to you sir."
He and Illya quickly exited the office and the building.
Getting into the convertible, both men were flabbergasted.
Napoleon looked down the the bench set, spotting the parking ticket.
"DAMN! The meter maid!"
.
.
Translations:
Goyim: gentiles
Mame-zitser - lit. a mother sitter- a really large diamond.
Mazel Tov/mazl: good luck
The most significant phrase on the street, and perhaps in the global trade, is mazl un brokhe — "good luck and a blessing" — which is commonly abbreviated to "mazl." It is hard to overstate the power of this oral handshake, which seals million-dollar deals without lawyers, witnesses or contracts. In "making mazl," diamantaires stake their honor (and that of their family), and the term garners near-universal respect.
Mitzvah: Literally, straight strength. Figuratively, may you have strength, or may your strength be increased. A way of congratulating someone for performing a mitzvah or other good deed. In essence, you are wishing this person the strength to continue doing this good thing, and you are also recognizing the effort that the person put into doing this good thing.
Shalom: meaning peace, harmony, wholeness, completeness, prosperity, welfare and tranquility and can be used idiomatically to mean both hello and goodbye.
