Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  Common decency dictated that Maria see to her ablutions alone. However, I was not prepared to let Maria collect water from the river - a crocodile, when attacking, exits the water at an incredible speed, often catching its prey in this manner, dragging it under to drown. So we stayed with Maria and saw to dousing her with water, she clad only in bra and panties. Of course, Gavin could just had to give me a wicked wink when we saw how small the panties were.

  We all felt more upbeat after our wash and a change of clothing. Gavin was the scrounger, returning the metal container to the villagers but arriving back at the plane with a large tin of hot water to which coffee, this more chicory than coffee, and sugar had been added. We all drank from our mess cups - it was delectable.

  With a laugh, Gavin commented that the home brew cost considerably more than three coffees at the Mugg & Bean.

  There was not much else to do so I took a torch and made a very careful check of the aircraft. We then retired. We thought it too dangerous to sleep outside the aircraft - crocs, hippos and other wild animals roamed the area at night. There was only one other option - to sleep on the cargo mats in the aircraft.

  The only way to sleep on the floor and have sufficient room between us was to lie crosswise across the fuselage. Maria lay down nearest to the cockpit and then after a discreet distance both Gavin and I took our places, with myself nearest to Maria.

  “Don’t try anything,” Gavin whispered to me.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed.

  He just laughed. I wondered whether Maria had heard.

  Chapter Eleven

  The An2 is an incredible aircraft. I had hardly built up speed on the gravel road when the main wheels bounced once or twice and we were airborne. The sun had yet to show itself, although the bush was already aglow with diffused light.

  Climbing to no more than a few hundred feet, I banked to cross the river and flew towards Luiana airfield. Below us, we could see that during the night the river had risen significantly, overflowing its banks, and partially flooding the flood plain. I realized that any use of a boat at this stage would be very difficult, if not impossible. We had completed clearing the gravel strip just in time!

  There was no wind, so I landed the plane from northwest to southeast, this towards the personnel carrier, then swinging it round to face the length of the runway. This put the burnout personnel carrier no more than a hundred and fifty yards away and the An2 ready for a quick take-off. Getaway was probably more appropriate considering how I felt - that DC3 still bothered me.

  We walked to the end of the runway and then in single file, me leading the way, we carefully approached the spot where the briefcases were buried. Gavin carried a small trenching spade similar to those used by the troops in the army. We all kept a sharp lookout for mines. This didn’t necessarily mean we would see one if there was one on our track, so we all had our hearts in our mouths.

  We stopped at the spot where the cases were buried, the exact position imprinted on my mind. I indicated to Gavin and he immediately started to dig. Very soon, we heard the sound of metal on metal. Maria stood next to me as Gavin removed the soil from around the briefcases. She surreptitiously took my hand, clearly excited.

  Gavin lifted the cases out of the hole placing them on the ground. Slightly out of breath and unable to contain his excitement, his eyes flashed a wide grin. He looked around the bushveld nervously.

  “Okay, let’s get the fuckin’ hell out of here before somebody comes!” he blurted somewhat out of character, oblivious of Maria presence and his language.

  He and I each grabbed a briefcase and retraced our steps to the aircraft. Immediately everything was aboard, I threw myself into the left-hand seat and started the engine. I didn’t even check whether everything was secured and only carried out the most rudimentary pre-flight check. I then rammed the throttle open, sending the plane hurtling down the cleared airstrip, finally pulling it brutally into the air. The moment I had sufficient ground clearance, I swung the plane towards Zambian territory and only expelled my breath when the river passed below us. Of course, all of this was unnecessary - if someone wanted to take a shot at us out here in the wilderness, they wouldn’t be giving a damn whether we were over Angolan or Zambian territory.

  But once over Zambia we all looked at each other and then erupted into shouts of jubilation.

  “Hey guys,” I said cautiously, “we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “Don’t worry; this was the worst, the rest we can handle,” Gavin replied excitedly. I wasn’t quite so sure. The aircraft that had over flown us still worried me. I detected a similar feeling of apprehension from Maria.

  “Let’s open the cases,” Maria said impatiently, clearly keen to verify their contents.

  We agreed.

  The cases were locked requiring that we force them, open. I had to crane my neck round to see what was going on as Gavin gingerly lifted the lid. They must have been almost airtight; the contents were still pristine. The first case was stacked to the top with bundle upon bundle of US dollar banknotes in various large denominations.

  “Holy shit!” Gavin whispered taking out a bundle of one hundred dollar and thousand dollar notes.

  “Put it back and close it,” Maria said jokingly.

  Gavin complied. “I don’t see why, nobody else’s around, but I’ll do it.” He probably hadn’t forgotten that she had allowed him into the scheme. I said nothing.

  He then opened the other case. This also contained bank notes but also a few steel boxes, similar to a petty cash box and about the same size. These were not locked but merely clipped shut. He opened a box: it contained a number of small black cloth pouches. I didn’t have to guess what these contained.

  Gavin opened the drawstring of one and poured part of the contents into the palm of Maria’s outstretched hand. I looked at the opaque stones, which looked likes pieces of glass roughened up by the sea on the beach. All were rough diamonds, none of them very small.

  “My God!” she whispered. Her body seemed to quiver with excitement as she inspected them. “We’re fuckin’ millionaires!”

  Gavin and I laughed uproariously again.

  Now that we had damaged the briefcases, we emptied two of our holdalls and transferred everything from the cases into these. The aircraft still winged its way across the arid Botswana semi-desert so Gavin opened the cabin door and cast the empty briefcases out.

  “Better not be found with any incriminating evidence.”

  “What do you think we should do with these?” I pointed to the two holdalls. “Don’t forget the over-flight of the DC3 - it could mean nothing or it could mean everything. But we’ll soon find out.”

  “Look,” Maria said. “Nobody knows of our stopover at Alldays. When we get there, we take these to the bank and put them in a safe deposit box.”

  I laughed. “Christ, I don’t think the bank in Alldays has a safe-deposit box big enough to accommodate these!”

  “That’s their problem.”

  “Said like an American,” I retorted. She ignored me. “Okay, let’s give it a try. Maria, when we get to Alldays, we’ll arrange a taxi for you to get you to the bank - you look the most decent of us all. You pay whatever fee upfront, but you produce both Gavin and my identification documents and you arrange that any one of us three can withdraw wholly or partially the contents of the box. Okay? The IDs contain our signatures, so they must photocopy these.”

  They both agreed.

  “Something else has just struck me,” I said. “I think that Maria shouldn’t return to the airfield at Alldays but make her own way back to Johannesburg, this straight from the bank. This will allow the two of us to return to Lanseria alone in the Cessna Caravan, with hopefully, nobody the wiser.”

  “How is she going to make her way back to Johannesburg from Alldays, I mean, there’s nothing ther
e,” Gavin complained loudly.

  “Maria, with money not being an object...” Gavin had to smile at my remark, “...do you think you could make a plan?”

  “Of course I can. For what we’ve now got, I’d sell my body for a lift,” she joked.

  “Okay, that’s what we are going to do,” I said with finality. For a while now I had donned the role of authority and surprisingly had met with no opposition. Anyway, I expected a member of the CIA to be a person of unique qualities: finding a way to get to Johannesburg should not present Maria with a problem.

  We spent most of the day at Alldays, the idea being to arrive at Lanseria after dark.

  We flew back in the Caravan leaving the An2 on the airfield at Alldays, it ostensibly still out on hire.

  Chapter Twelve

  I phoned Francine when I got home. She was surprised to hear that we were already back, as she was only expecting to see me on the Tuesday morning. She wanted to come round immediately, but I was exhausted and told her so.

  “I’m going to sleep late tomorrow but why don’t you come round at about eleven thirty? I’ll prepare us a light lunch which we can have on the terrace and discuss what we propose to do with ourselves for the rest of the day,” I said, still hounded by my guilt and wanting to make amends!

  I also realized that it really was an exercise in futility; my mind still dwelt on Maria. I could not forget lying next to her in the aircraft, aware of her nearness, my mind, and body overcome by a feeling of exhilarating sexual energy and desire.

  I got up around ten and drove down to the small local supermarket, which surprisingly, sold excellent meat. I selected two nice rib-eye steaks and then chose some fresh vegetables for the salad. The supermarket also sold wines and I bought from there as well.

  Back at the bungalow, I got the barbeque going and prepared the steaks. I was busy with the fire when Francine arrived, dressed in three-quarter white cotton pants and a white top with cut-out sleeves. She showed a bit of bare midriff.

  She leaned over and gave me a hello-peck on the lips, and then threw the Sunday papers down on the wrought-iron table.

  “Well,” she said, “You seem well-rested. What went wrong with the planned break?”

  I gave her our rehearsed story, which she accepted without a problem - it made sense anyway. Collecting all the necessary cutlery and tableware, she proceeded to lay the table on the porch, adding the salad, which I had already prepared. She got me to open the wine bottle and then poured us each a glass.

  I did the steaks, nearly burning them on the outside but keeping them succulent and pink on the inside. She looked at the steaks and raised her eyebrows.

  “You said a light meal,” she giggled. “Well, there’s nothing small about those.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  We sat down to lunch, saying little, just enjoying the meal, the warm sun, and the tranquillity around us.

  We finished the bottle of wine plus another half. Both somewhat mellow, Francine decided an afternoon nap would round things off rather well. I grinned as we retired to my bedroom. Fortunately, I had made the bed.

  You probably know that premonition you get when you’re absolutely sure that something is about to happen. Your whole body begins to tingle and there is an air of awareness in the atmosphere, it only waiting for something to trigger it. I drew the curtain just leaving a small gap, some light still streaming into the room. We both flopped down on my bed, we only having removed our shoes. Without a word, we turned to each other and kissed passionately.

  My hand slid down her pants into her groin, aware of the warmth therein.

  Afterwards, she lay naked on her back, her legs parted, her eyes closed, and a faint sheen of perspiration on her body, her breath still quick.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re back to your normal self,” she murmured. When it comes to love and sex, women don’t have short memories.

  I raised myself up on an elbow and stared down at her body.

  “That was a couple of days ago, this is today. What can I say - I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, my love. You’ve made amends, you’re forgiven.”

  My love? Had our relationship progressed to this stage already?

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Tuesday morning, I got to the office early but it seemed that so had everyone else. Both Shirley and Gavin were behind their desks. Gavin immediately beckoned me into his office, asking that I close the door behind me.

  “Shirley just told me that a Mrs Mary Donkin phoned that everything had gone fine with the aircraft she hired,” he said, “Mean anything to you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s Maria just saying she’s back.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Of course, Shirley wants to know how we once again, if you don’t mind, hired out an aircraft without paper work. I told her it was your doing.”

  “Thanks, that’s kind of you, I’ll look after it,” I replied sarcastically.

  “Better you than me - she’s in a shit mood.”

  I was sure Maria would not phone again and would leave the contacting of one another to me. I was still ill at ease, sure that we had not heard the last of the fly-over. I turned to Gavin.

  “For God’s sake, whatever happens, don’t ever reveal that you know anything about those briefcases. They never involved you, and Trichardt knows that. If anything goes wrong, I’m going need at least one ally. Have you got that?” I said.

  He looked at me, alarm on his face.

  “Got it,” he whispered.

  I walked into the main office and greeted Shirley. Gavin was right; something irked her. I was about to tell her that Mary Donkin was an old friend and then thought better of it. Somehow, she would put Maria Garcia and Mary Donkin together - I just knew it. I got another idea.

  “Sorry Shirley, I was in such a bind last week. Please make out an invoice for the hire of the Caravan with pilot for four and half hours to Mary Donkin. I’ll see to the collection of the money. She said she’d pay me cash on receipt of the invoice. It’ll probably be in US Dollars.”

  Little did Shirley know that I would pay this out of my pocket, so as not to arouse any suspicions. A small price to pay to safeguard millions, but the less she knew, the better.

  I was busy in the office trying to catch up on my paperwork when around ten Shirley rang through.

  “Mr. Trichardt is here to see you - he’s with another gentleman,” she said chirpily.

  The news hit me like a thunderclap - this could not be a coincidence. I realized that I was going to need a minute or two to collect myself.

  “Ask them to take a seat. Tell them I won’t be a moment.”

  I was sure I had gone pale. I stepped into the washroom that Gavin and I shared and stared at myself in the mirror, trying to see whether my face would give anything away. It certainly was paler than normal. I washed my face and then vigorously towelled it hoping to get some colour back into it.

  In the reception area, I saw both Trichardt and a man named Rockell sitting around a coffee table. I cringed: Rockell was just what I didn’t need. A truly despicable man, a pilot-for-hire whom I had known ever since my Air Force days. He was one of the many who had not made the grade, and had never completed his Air Force pilot training. However, he still had pursued a flying career, financed by a wealthy father. First a private pilot’s licence, and then he’d done a commercial licence, slowly gathering experience as a co-pilot and pilot. I thought him a swollen-headed, supercilious arsehole. Trichardt hired him from time to time but had once indicated to me that he did this against his better judgement.

  Although in fairness, I had to admit the man wasn’t a bad pilot.

  “Please come in,” I smiled. I wanted to ask what brought them here, but then thought better of it, frightened that Trichardt would respond with some
sarcastic reply. He just gave me a rather overlong stare and then rose from the reception chair to pass me into the office.

  We sat down. I felt I had to say something.

  “This is a surprise.”

  “That it is..., that it is,” he responded. He then proceeded to introduce Rockell. I cut him short and said I knew the man.

  “Look Peter, let me get to the point. Rockell here was returning from Rivungo with one of my DC3’s and over flew Luiana. As you know, the old airfield is just about on the same track that takes you to Muan. He saw a number of people busy clearing the runway.”

  I interrupted. “Some coffee?” I asked. Trichardt dismissed the offer with a flick of his wrist.

  “He turned round to over fly the field again, swinging out over Zambia on the other side of the river, the boundary with Zambia, he saw a South African registered aircraft parked next to the road at Simjembela. Do you know the place?”

  I said I did.

  “He then passed over the airfield again and took two photographs.”

  He removed these from his pocket and slid these over the desk to me. I looked at them carefully. An inner wave of relief swept over me. The photographs were not very good. Yes, the persons on the runway were clearly visible, but nobody would ever be able to identify who they were or whether they were male or female, locals or white.

  Be brave, I thought.

  “So, what’s that got to do with me?” I nonchalantly enquired.

  He tensed immediately, and I thought that maybe I should have worded that differently.

  “I had my people check that registration,” Trichardt said, and then quietly added, “That’s your aircraft. You recently purchased a Russian An2.”

  ‘I had my people’, I thought. Christ, those people were probably from BOSS, the South African Bureau of State Security. The man was well connected. BOSS were a bunch of thugs without any respect for the law; torturers and murderers who regularly flaunted human rights in their quest to keep the country white- dominated. You didn’t want to cross them!