Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  That was a lie but I needed to convince him.

  “It’s just that they don’t want to be seen to be involved in an operation like this.”

  “Savimbi’s diamond mines?”

  I nodded. “I think that the MPLA is about to overrun the mines, or so rumour says.”

  “Fuck! A hundred and fifty thousand, that’s a bloody fortune. Do you think he’ll let me do it?”

  “I think I can persuade him; you’re the jetfighter whiz-kid on the block, not me.”

  “Talk to him.”

  “I have, I just needed to be sure you’re A to go!”

  The next morning I phoned Trichardt and confirmed that Gavin was up to the task.

  “I’ll put wheels in motion; the job has to be done within the next few days,” Trichardt replied. Trichardt certainly had the clout. Gavin was to take-off from Waterkloof Air Force base near Pretoria, a high security area; that certainly needed government approval. You’d have to be well connected to be granted permission to make use of their facilities.

  Gavin and I discussed the proposed flight. We decided that he would follow a track that took him into Zambia at a flight-level of forty thousand feet. Abeam of Lunda Sul, he would turn west to enter Angolan airspace from the east, descending in a long shallow dive, which would allow him to wind his airspeed up to about Mach 1.6 when entering Angola. Nobody would complain about the sonic boom. The stay on the ground at Lunda Sul would be brief, only long enough to refuel the aircraft, and he would follow the same route on his return journey, but first flying south and then east just to confuse the Cubans... The Cubans were not known to enter Zambian airspace and it was hoped they would not consider doing this now. The flight would be done the coming Saturday, when I would be flying to Durban.

  Chapter Six

  I landed the Piper Seneca at Durban’s Virginia Airport, a municipal airfield on the outskirts of the city. After assisting the three passengers through the terminal and to the waiting car that would whisk them off to their hotel, I collected my own holdall and then also collected a hired car. I smiled to myself as I thought of the conclusion Shirley would make when she saw the bill. That woman really was something, but she certainly was an asset. I shrugged. Normally, the business considered this an extravagance but if anybody complained, I’d carry the expense myself.

  I booked in and immediately went up to my room. It was only three in the afternoon. I turned on the air-conditioning and then collapsed on the bed, promptly falling asleep.

  I woke with a start and looked at my watch. It was a quarter to seven; I had an hour in which to get ready. I showered and dressed in navy pants with a light blue lounge shirt without tie, black slip-on shoes, and a lightweight grey sports jacket. I thought this was smart, but casual.

  The lounge was on the first floor, with a row of huge windows from ceiling to floor looking out over the beach and Indian Ocean. The sun had set, the very last of the day disappearing. Already all the lights in the lounge were on. The room was half-full, the waiters busy serving drinks. I found a table in a corner and sat in a big easy chair facing the entrance. A waiter hovering nearby quickly approached; I ordered a beer.

  Just after seven, Maria Garcia entered the lounge, her red cocktail dress reaching just above her knees revealing long beautiful bare legs. Her shoulders were also bare except for the two thin straps holding up a bodice, which subtly revealed some cleavage while making the upper prominence of her breasts clearly visible. She wore a pair of plain gold high-heeled shoes with sharp pointed toes, and carried a small matching handbag. With makeup and jewellery, a necklace, a watch and a bracelet on her wrist, I could not believe the transformation -the woman was radiant, a truly striking beauty.

  She sauntered up to me and shook my hand, a friendly smile on her face, her white teeth flashing.

  “My God,” I blurted. “You’re beautiful!” I realized I was possibly making a fool of myself and quickly added, “Sorry, I was just bowled over for a moment - what a transformation from Angola!”

  She laughed. “I just love it when men say such things about me. Although I must add, you also look a little different. Quite nice, in fact.”

  She sat down and the waiter appeared.

  “Bacardi rum with coke with a slice of lemon,” she smiled.

  “Did anybody ask why you’re meeting with me?” she asked, looking over the rim of her glass as she took a sip from her drink.

  “Well, my secretary thinks it’s some liaison. I didn’t tell her that, she just assumed.”

  She chuckled. “Interesting, woman’s intuition.”

  What was that supposed to mean, I thought.

  “That’s okay, as long they don’t know the real reason. I’ve mentioned this to nobody.”

  “What are you still doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m actually taking a break. I thought Durban was a good place to have a holiday... and I have just a little business to conclude. I’m leaving next week. I can’t tell you much, except that it involves your friend Trichardt and some officials from your government.”

  I had been right; she had to be employed by some American intelligence agency.

  “Incidentally,” she continued, “Trichardt questioned me again about the diamonds.”

  I jerked up my head and looked hard at her.

  “Do you think he’s suspicious?” I asked in a lowered voice.

  “I don’t think so. But rest assured, I think he is exploring every avenue. It is a lot of money, the cash, and diamonds - he knows it’s quite a temptation. I think he just finds it difficult to believe that Kowalski just abandoned the cases knowing the value of what they contained.”

  This is some woman, I thought. The more we interacted, the more I liked her.

  “If he gets the slightest suspicion, he’ll make it his business to follow-up. The man’s dangerous - he’s got quite a reputation. We’d be in serious trouble if he even thought the diamonds were still around. Let’s not even talk about his connections with the South African government.” I said.

  She could not but notice the concern in my voice or the look of apprehension on my face. She took another sip of her drink.

  “I know the man - and you’re right. However, what’s done is done: what now?” She lifted her empty glass at me indicating that she was looking for another.

  The woman did not frighten easily.

  I ordered another round, taking my time to reply. When the waiter left, I spoke quietly.

  “We leave everything as it is, and let things cool down. I’m talking a generous period here, maybe six months or more. I’m assuming that we’re going to keep the spoils and split these fifty-fifty?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. We keep an eye on developments in Angola - that’s your forte. And when things cool down and all is forgotten, you sneak back here, I mean nobody knows you’re around and then we just go and dig them up... just you and me.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going back to the States as I’ve said, but we’ll keep in touch. I’ll give you a special private number where you can leave a message.”

  She bent forward to retrieve her bag from the floor and I caught a brief glimpse of her ample breasts. I felt a surge of desire. The woman attracted me.

  We exchanged telephone numbers: I gave her my private number at the bungalow where she could leave a message, and against her number, I wrote the name, Mary.

  “We have a problem, however. All the diamonds are rough,” I said. “What are we going to do with them? Possession of rough diamonds in South Africa is a criminal offence. Christ! We wouldn’t want to rescue the lot and then find ourselves locked up.”

  “That’s not going to happen. The biggest danger is when we try to sell them. If word gets back to the wrong people, we’re as good as dead. We’ll have Trichardt and Savimbi’s operatives
after us. They both have people in Europe and the States - I know,” she said. “This would not be the first time that’s happened. They have pursued people all over Europe. They’ve killed more people than you’d like to know and this in the biggest cities of Europe.”

  Changing the subject, I filled her in on my background and career history, and she told me a little about her family’s escape from Cuba and how difficult it was establishing a new home in Florida, USA when the near penniless family spoke little English and initially had to rely on hand-outs. I gathered that she was not married and that her job left her little opportunity to see to the needs of her private life.

  “Listen, before we get off the subject,” I said. “I’ve got a partner and we’re very close: I’ve been through wars with this guy. It’s difficult to hide something like this. I want to tell him, besides he could eventually help us. Actually, I think his help would be essential.”

  She just stared at me for a while. “You know the old adage, the more who know the more dangerous it is,” she finally replied.

  “I know... I know!” I had to agree.

  She seemed to come to a decision. “Okay, he’s in for a third, but he must share everything with us. Is that okay?”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  She looked at her watch. It was after nine.

  “I’ve not eaten yet. Why don’t you join me in the dining room for a late supper?” she said.

  I agreed. The dining room was not a dining room in the old sense, but rather a restaurant with a distinctly eastern flavour. Numerous round tables with chairs surrounded a small dance-floor, and a four-piece band was playing modern-day tunes. Already a few couples were on the floor.

  “You dance?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  She said no more but took the menu proffered by the waiter.

  I was hungry and the food was excellent. We discussed America and my flying experiences, and she related a few of her own humorous incidents of flying into Africa.

  I found myself strongly attracted to her, aware of her every movement, gesture, and expression and it seemed that she found my company similarly pleasant, her face lighting up with laughter every time the occasion arose. The band played music that befitted the atmosphere of an upmarket place of entertainment frequented not by the young but rather well established business people and well-heeled tourists. There was no wild gyrating on the floor.

  The waiter had just brought liqueurs when I asked her whether she would like to dance. She flashed me a wide smile.

  “I’m Cuban; of course I’d love to dance. It’s my home country’s favourite pastime,” she replied laughing, rising from her chair.

  I took her hand and led her to the small dance floor where she stepped forward, her face close to my right cheek. I was acutely aware of her breasts against my chest and the smell of her. I had to suppress a slight shiver of apprehension. We then glided across the floor in unison.

  “You dance well,” she whispered in my ear.

  Did I imagine it or had she moved even closer to me? Our cheeks touched, I was aware of her leg between my thighs, and the subtle touch of her pelvis. Were it not for the other guests I would have kissed her; I knew that taken up in the ardour of the moment, she would reciprocate.

  This was not what I had in mind, I thought bemusedly. This lent a new dimension to the relationship. She worked in a predominantly male world and with her beauty must often be confronted by the overzealous advances of her male counterparts. She was probably well versed in handling such situations.

  Still, I sensed an invitation.

  “You are beautiful,” I whispered.

  “Hmmm, you’ve said that before,” she said in a breathless husky voice. As one we moved slowly across the floor, our bodies merged, her face nuzzled in the nook of my neck. I was aroused, she was surely aware of my hardness pressed against her. She did not avoid it, but appeared to want her body to rub against me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a waiter signalling at the edge of the dance-floor, trying to draw our attention.

  “Oh, that could be for me,” she murmured regretfully.

  She disengaged herself and walked over to the waiter, who handed her a note. Realizing that the dance was over, I returned to the table.

  “Peter,” she said, using my name for the first time. “I’m dreadfully sorry. Somebody is waiting for me at reception. I’m afraid its work related. I must go, but please remember, we stay in touch.”

  She moved close and kissed me fleetingly on the lips before picking up her purse and walking towards the exit.

  I made an effort not to reveal that her sudden departure left me with a profound feeling of disappointment. At the entrance, she turned and gave me a wave. She seemed sad.

  I abandoned the table and walked down the stairs to the ground floor, taking a stool in the Cane Cutters bar and ordering a double whiskey on the rocks. I sipped slowly, my elbows on the counter. I felt as if somebody had just pulled the rug from under a very pleasant evening. Dejected, I thought that after a second drink I would retire to my room.

  About fifteen minutes later the bar phone rang and answering, the barman walked over to me and handed it to me.

  “Sir it’s for you,” he said.

  Surprised, I took the phone. “Hello?”

  “How’d I know you’d be in the bar?” she laughed. “Peter, I’m truly sorry. I would’ve loved to have stayed, but could not. All I can say is that a serious matter called me away; I had no alternative. I had a wonderful evening and I can’t wait to let’s say... bring the evening to a proper conclusion - maybe next time.” There was a clear inference, into which I could read what I wished.

  “I’ll make sure there’s a next time,” I grinned into the phone.

  “Good. So remember - phone me.”

  With that, the line went dead.

  Chapter Seven

  I arrived back at the office in Lanseria around eight on Sunday morning. No more than ten minutes later, Gavin’s Range Rover swept into the parking lot and my partner stepped out of the car.

  He burst into the office still carrying his holdall, his old fighter flight suit drabbed over his arm, his scratched flight helmet clasped in his hand, his face flushed and a smile on his lips.

  “I take it you had a good flight?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Christ! What a flight! I entered Angola from Zambia so bloody fast the Cuban’s didn’t have time to react. Man, was I moving! What an aircraft - you can’t believe it, Peter. I didn’t spend more than thirty minutes on the ground. As soon as I was fuelled, I was out of there, afterburners kicked in, first south and then making for Zambia at a thousand feet and eight hundred miles an hour. It wasn’t long and I was in Zambian airspace.”

  “Glad to hear it was so easy.”

  “Lusaka Control picked me up on radar. Hell, they screamed! Who was I? What were my intentions? Where was I going? The guy was beside himself! I tell you, I put a good distance between me and the border before I eased off and turned south again. Christ! Then next, it was our chaps. Hell, I think they were ready to scramble a few Mirages but somehow they must have been told what was going on. They cleared me through to Waterkloof.” He couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I know what you mean - I’ve been there,” I chuckled. In my mind, I could picture the consternation in Lusaka tower.

  “We’ve made another one hundred and fifty.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Hell, you’ve done more than your bit.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “How was Durban?”

  “Okay. Look Gavin, I think we need to stop these covert cross-border flights now. They’re too dangerous. The business is okay right now. Why take any more chances? What do you think?”

  “I
agree.” He smiled. “Unless of course, they give me another flight on that T38!”

  “I’ll tell Trichardt.”

  We spoke some more about his flight: he was still infused with enthusiasm.

  “You look down, what’s wrong?” Gavin asked suddenly, clearly concerned. “Shirley said you were meeting some woman in Durban. Was it business or...?”

  “It was both, or at least I hope so, maybe...I’m sure she also thought it was both.”

  “Hmm, what about Francine?”

  “Ja.., what about Francine - that’s a problem, but of my own making. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Peter listen, I’m worried. Trichardt keeps asking me about the briefcases - wants to know whether you’ve said anything to me. Is something going on that I should know?” Gavin asked suddenly serious.

  “Come on, let’s go and find breakfast, I’ve got to tell you something,” I said making a decision as I rose from my chair.

  Gavin dumped his stuff in his office and we walked to the terminal building and the cafeteria. We both ordered coffee and the full breakfast, taking a table alongside the glass wall overlooking the airport apron.

  “How close to Trichardt are you?” I asked.

  “Not at all, I can’t understand why he keeps bugging me,” Gavin said in a surly tone, cutting his food. “But it’s beginning to worry me, what have you done?”

  I had no choice, I needed to nip this in the bud. I could not have Trichardt pressing Gavin.

  “Gavin, please just stay calm. I’m going to tell you something really wild. Listen carefully - remember no wild exclamations hey? Just stay calm. I know where the briefcases are. They never were destroyed,” I whispered.

  He looked up at me in shock. “What! What about that other guy? What really happened to him?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “You guys didn’t kill him or something?”

  I tut-tutted. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous! Please man, don’t let your imagination run away.., he really died in a mine explosion! It was an accident,” I said exasperatedly. “We had already buried the diamonds. We did that immediately after the crash - he was going to come back later and fetch them. In fact, he asked me whether I wouldn’t help him to collect them again. Now it’s only the American woman and I who know where they are.”