Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  “Yes,” she murmured, smiling for the first time. “It’s not stealing, it’s only taking them from somebody who has already stolen them - isn’t it?”

  “Sure.”

  Not only was she beautiful, but she was ingenious as well, I thought.

  Chapter Five

  The DC3 landed at Lanseria in the early hours of the morning. Trichardt in his Mercedes with his driver was there to meet us. The moment Trichardt greeted Maria, I realized that they knew each other. While this did not come as a total surprise - I had not forgotten her reference to Kowalski’s boss, it still left me with a feeling of apprehension. The briefcases were still foremost in mind. Some of that fortune, probably most of it, belonged to Trichardt. Had she lured me into a trap to establish my true bona fides? A feeling of concern washed over me.

  Again, I had to relate what had happened, this time in the presence of Maria who confirmed everything I told the man. I started to relax and realized that that apparently she was not that close to the man; it seemed our secret was safe.

  “Look, Mr Trichardt, I’m sorry about Kowalski and your aircraft... it all happened so fast,” I said.

  “Nothing you could’ve done about it,” Trichardt said, his attitude tainted with a degree of nonchalance. “When doing this type of thing, the loss of an aircraft is an occupational hazard. But then I’m sure you know that such an eventuality is built into the price. Still, you did well to off-load the cargo; that was the real value. It’s just such a damn shame about Kowalski - he was a good man. I’m just surprised that he abandoned the briefcases, but then, I wasn’t there.”

  “It was quite a shock - the landmine, I mean. Kowalski was very concerned that he had not rescued the cases from the flames, but the aircraft was already on fire when the plane eventually slid to a stop. We barely made it out with our lives. An explosion was only seconds away,” Maria said softly.

  Trichardt nodded his head.

  “Look, Peter, the plane’s loss was not your fault. In fact, I’m amazed and pleased that you got away with your lives. I’ll pay you your other half as soon as you come round to the office and collect the cheque. I want you to do further flights for me: I’ll reward you well. And had Kowalski had any family here, I would’ve looked after their needs. I would like you to know that.”

  I was amazed. So he did care. I hoped that I concealed the sudden feeling of guilt that came over me. God, here the man was offering me an opportunity to earn further money and I had already comprised the loyalty and honesty between us!

  “Well, I’ll talk to my partner about it and discuss it with you when I come round to collect the cheque - that’ll be soon.”

  “Can we give you a lift?” Trichardt asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get my partner to fetch me. Anyway, it’s nearly dawn; our offices are right here.”

  We said goodbye, Maria’s farewell a sort of “nice knowing you” greeting indicating that we would not be seeing each other again. Of course, she had my number, and I had a contact number to get hold of her. We would phone each other at the first available opportunity.

  I phoned Gavin who responded immediately, arriving about forty-five minutes later. He opened the office, and while he started the percolator and prepared the coffee cups, I proceeded to tell him the events. Gavin was elated to hear that we could collect the other half of the payment despite the loss of the aircraft. I also told him that Trichardt had asked that I undertake further flights.

  “Christ! The money would come in handy. I mean, this last lot will tide us over, but we’ll need more. But, of course, Peter... it’s entirely up to you. I would not want to persuade you,” Gavin said, trying hard to be offhand.

  You lying bastard, I thought. The man’s infatuated with money. That I could die, be damned! I noticed that he had yet to volunteer to take one himself. I decided that I should press him into doing a few flights. The business about being a jet jockey and not a bush pilot was no more than a bloody excuse. Let him lay his life on the line for a change! I knew it had nothing to do with fear. Was his reluctance because he was married with two small kids?

  “You should do a flight or two,” I ventured strongly.

  Gavin appeared startled.

  “I don’t think so; commercial aircraft that size are not my forte. Anyway, I have the impression Trichardt doesn’t like me although, for what reason I wouldn’t know,” he said nonchalantly, as if the idea was not worth considering.

  I was about to tell Gavin about the briefcases but then, for some unknown reason, thought better of it and remained silent. Anyway, it would not be right to do so without talking to Maria; we had said we would keep it to ourselves.

  Promptly at quarter to eight Shirley and Mike arrived, both happy to see me. Shirley hugged me. They knew that I had taken a flight on behalf of Trichardt but really did not know much more, other than that a handsome fee had been obtained. Shirley looked after the banking and books of the company and knew of every cash movement and a lot more.

  “Glad to see you back, boss,” the burly aircraft mechanic come pilot said, shaking my hand, a wide smile on his mouth. He was the quiet type, seldom speaking, just getting on with his job. He too had been in the Air Force, on the maintenance side, an excellent all-round wizard with a string of certificates to his name.

  “Shirley, we’ll be fetching another of those nice cheques in the next day or two,” Gavin said this for Max and Shirley’s benefit.

  “That’s terrific; we can get all our payments up-to-date, which should stop the calls from the creditors,” she laughed. She gave Mike an “I told you so” look. I smiled to himself, Mike was a born pessimist and was sure the company was about to collapse. He did not know how close it had been!.

  “Incidentally, Peter,” Shirley said. “Francine enquired as to your whereabouts.”

  I merely harrumphed. From Shirley’s expression, it was clear that she was in the know; she and Francine were friends, often lunching together at the airport cafeteria. She probably knew that Francine had spent the night at my place.

  Not good, I thought.

  However, on the second day after my return, I phoned Francine. We agreed to meet for a drink at the airport pub.

  I walked into the crowded bar. It was one of those modern glass, chrome and mirror designs, the L-shaped bar topped with imitation marble slabs. The lighting was subdued other than behind the bar where mirrors reflected the hidden light into the interior. High tables with barstools were scattered on the open floor with ordinary tables and chairs along the walls. Large model aircraft hung from the ceiling, lest you forget you were at an airport.

  I immediately saw Francine sitting on a bar stool with another of the airline’s employees. Her features lit up noticeably the moment she saw me and she smiled, flashing perfect brilliantly white teeth. As I got to her, I was momentarily confused, not quite sure what to do. She solved the problem. She slid off the stool, grabbed my jacket’s labels, and pulling my mouth down to hers she kissed me on the lips. Not a peck but neither a lingering kiss. This did not go unnoticed by our other acquaintances in the bar!

  Francine patted the barstool next to her indicating, that I should sit down.

  “I missed you,” she said, taking my hand.

  I merely smiled; this was going to be difficult.

  We ordered drinks. A few minutes later Shirley and Mike joined us in the bar for a drink before going home. Shirley was clearly elated. Probably the fact that she no longer needed to field irate creditor calls, no repossessions by the banks or job losses being threatened. I could see that even Mike looked happier. No doubt, Shirley had told him there was no need to worry. Nothing is ever secret in a small business for long!

  As the evening progressed, I realized that Francine was looking to me to make some suggestion as to how we proposed to spend the rest of the night. I feigned being somew
hat exhausted; actually I was tired, but eventually suggested dinner at a small local country restaurant a few miles away from the airport. We left in our individual cars and at about eight walked into the Trattotoria Palermo, locally known for good wine and simple but exquisite Italian cuisine.

  Her beautiful blue eyes twinkled with happiness. She was gushing with bonhomie and warmth, clearly excited that the two of us were alone again. She had cast off any reserve she may have previously displayed.

  We settled for a bottle of Chianti wine and while I ordered the spaghetti mariana, she ordered flat chicken baked in the pizza oven, with an exquisite tomato based sauce, potatoes and marrows. We dispensed with the usual starters and dessert, but chose Irish coffees to end the meal, the sexual tension growing all the while.

  Standing at her car, we kissed passionately. I felt her tongue against my teeth and her pelvis against me. I grabbed her buttocks and pulled her close, sending a message of my needs to her.

  Hang on! I thought. This is not what you planned. Involuntarily I suddenly jerked away and held her at half arm’s length.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked frowning, her face upturned at me.

  “No, no,” I replied nervously.

  “Well, are we going to my place or yours? Rather mine, you’re so far out, nearly in the bush - let’s go to my place.”

  “Francine sweet, I don’t think so. I’ve a flight out of here to-morrow morning at five. That means up at four. Let’s get together when I’m back, okay?” I said, feeling like a true bastard.

  She was clearly disappointed, but being involved with aviation herself, she knew I was being sensible.

  “All right, when you get back let’s get together again - quickly.”

  We kissed again to seal the date.

  Three days passed with no word from Maria.

  I had wanted to send Gavin to collect the cheque from Trichardt’s office but Trichardt had been explicit that I was to come personally. His secretary immediately handed it to me when I walked in, reminding me to produce an invoice.

  “I promise,” I smiled, about to leave.

  “Don’t leave, Mr. Trichardt has insisted that you see him. I’ve been told to interrupt his meeting as soon as you arrive. Please wait.” She indicated a chair and disappeared into the boardroom.

  A minute later Trichardt stepped out of the room, greeted me with a smile and led me to his private office. He seated himself behind the large desk, waving me to a seat.

  “I’ve another job, an important one but it’s dangerous - that’s why I’m paying a handsome price.”

  He paused, letting me digest the significance of what he had just said. I didn’t show any reaction.

  “A hundred and fifty thousand - half up front, the rest when the job’s done,” he continued, removing a cigar from an ornate box in front of him and slowly peeling off the cellophane wrapping. Knowing that I didn’t smoke, he did not offer me one.

  I was momentarily stunned at the amount, but realized at that the price it had to be damn dangerous.

  “What does it entail?” I asked, not quite able to keep a croak out of my voice.

  Trichardt laughed. “I thought you’d ask.”

  I had to laugh as well. He’d read me well!

  “I’ve something extremely valuable I need collected from Lunda Sul, that’s north.....”

  “I know where it is,” I interrupted. “That’s beyond Moxico province on the edge of the Congo River basin. Jesus, that’s deep in MPLA controlled territory. That means flying almost directly over the Cuban Mig base at Luena in Moxico!”

  I thought for a few seconds and then continued, “Lunda Sul.... That can only be diamonds.”

  He drew on his cigar, blowing a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “You surprise me, you’re well informed.”

  “Christ! You can’t fight in Angola and not know that!” I paused, thinking hard. “You can’t do that with a prop-driven aircraft, the flight track will take you just past Luena Air Force base; you’re going to have half the Angolan Air Force after you. I mean, the place is a serious Mig fighter centre, it bristles with radar, missiles, and what have you - serious aerial surveillance equipment. Flying under the radar won’t work. Christ! I don’t think it can be done... maybe from Zaire, yes?”

  “You’re right again, but I’ve got a jet which can handle the runway at Lunda Sul and give any missiles or Migs a run for their money,” Trichardt replied, a smug expression on his face.

  “But that’s got to be more than a thousand miles from here! Your jet better have a good range. Not even a Mirage with drop-tanks could do it - and anything else would just be too damn slow. They’ll be coming at you with their Migs’ afterburners lit up!”

  A mischievous smile crossed Trichardt’s face.

  “Yes, it’s fitted with drop tanks, which of course, it will not drop. These will be filled at Lunda Sul again for the non-stop flight back.”

  “Another night flight, I presume?”

  “Of course. Well, what do you think?” “When is this supposed to happen?” Peter asked.

  “Within the next few weeks.”

  “You tell me what aircraft and I’ll tell you if I’ll do it.”

  Trichardt laughed, displaying his perfect veneered teeth.

  “You are in for a surprise - it’s a Northrop T38A Talon two-seater trainer; nine hundred miles an hour and a range of a thousand miles on internal tanks alone. No armaments, so it can carry two serious drop-tanks.”

  “How on Earth did you pick that up? I thought that was still an unobtainable piece of American military equipment,” I blurted in surprise.

  “Let’s just say it has been lent to me... ask no more.”

  “Okay... consider your offer accepted, but give me a few days will you? I’m going to mention this to my partner; he was a fighter pilot, he may be the better man for this particular job - are you all right with that?”

  Trichardt nodded.

  “I know of him.”

  I returned to Lanseria and waited impatiently for Gavin to return. He had flown a group of German tourists to the Fish River Canyon in South West Africa/Namibia with the Cessna Caravan, and was only due back that afternoon.

  I was in his office trying to keep busy and out of Shirley’s way when my phone rang.

  “There’s some woman on the line,” said Shirley, “who wants to speak to you. Her name is Maria Garcia and she insists that you will take the call.” Shirley was clearly not pleased. Knowing her, I realized she obviously had tried to bully Maria wanting to know what the call was about. Christ! I thought, I could just picture it, Shirley being persistent as only she could be and Maria being demanding, not prepared to state a reason.

  “Put her through.” With an audible irritated click of her tongue Shirley connected me.

  “Hello Maria, is that you?” I said, feeling my own excitement rise at the thought of hearing her voice.

  “Yes, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. Where are you?”

  “In Durban, I’m here for another ten days before I leave. Can we meet?” Maria asked.

  “Hold on,” I said, covering the mouthpiece with my hand. I called Shirley who stuck her head into my door.

  “Is there a charter flight booked to the Natal coast during the next few days?”

  “Yes, next Saturday.”

  “I’ll pilot it,” I told her with a grin on my face.

  “Maria, I’ll be there on Saturday, is that all right?”

  “That’s perfect. I’m staying at the Maharani Hotel on the Esplanade - you know it?’

  “Of course. I’ll book into the same hotel. I’ll see you around eight in the main lounge, okay?”

  Shirley looked disapproving as I told her I would personally take the flight and aske
d that she book me into the Maharani Hotel with an open-ended departure date.

  “Are you meeting with that woman?” she asked.

  “It’s business,” I said coolly. Hell, why did I say that? Now it really sounded like a seedy illicit liaison.

  Shirley merely harrumphed and ratcheted up her haughtiness a notch or two. She was probably wondering what business I could possibly have with this unknown woman. I ignored her. Christ! This thing with Francine really had been a mistake! Shirley was now taking a too close interest in my doings!

  Gavin arrived back after five. I dragged him into his office and made him sit down while I got him some coffee.

  “What’s this all about?” Gavin asked.

  “How would you like to fly a Northrop F5 - well a T38A rather - same thing really, but no weapons and without any hard points for armaments?”

  “Bloody hell! You’re shitting me. Where did you find that?” Gavin asked a look of shock on his face.

  “Trichardt’s got one; he says he borrowed it. I didn’t ask from whom. He’s looking for somebody to fly it non-stop to northern Angola, fitted with drop tanks. Oh, it’ll be a night flight - flat-out without the afterburners kicked in... you only use those if you get into the shit. He’s paying one hundred and fifty grand. But it’s dangerous. Are you interested?”

  “Damn sure I am,” Gavin replied, just about able to contain his enthusiasm.

  So, his reluctance to fly other flights into Angola had nothing to do with balls, I thought. Well, that was a comforting thought; he was still the devil-may-care fighter pilot.

  “It’s dangerous,” I repeated. “You’ve got to pass Luena in Moxico province. You know all about the place. They’ll pick you up on their screens, but whether they’ll launch their fighters at night, well, we don’t know. Anyway, you won’t be looking for a fight. He’ll pay a hundred and fifty thousand, the usual half now, and the rest on return. All you have to do is collect a parcel from Lunda Sul. I rather gather the government is going to be looking the other way considering your point of departure. This is sure to carry their blessing otherwise Trichardt wouldn’t be doing it.”