Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  “Christ! I’ve wanted to sock him for weeks... I don’t want the bastard ever to forget me, ‘cause certainly, I’ll never forget him.” I said fiercely.

  “Well, don’t you ever do that in front of me again - I mean it!” she retorted, her tone indignant.

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” I replied sarcastically.

  “I wasn’t embarrassed - you just showed everybody an ugly side to yourself. That’s our club, where all our friends go, not some bar in Jeppestown where behaviour like that is the order of the day. God, there are times where I think you’re impossible! You fight, and on top that you still mess around with other women!”

  I turned to stare at her, wondering at how quickly my fighting had escalated into our relationship. Now my fidelity had come into play!

  “No, no... Don’t deny it. Do you think a woman doesn’t know when a man has been fucking around? I know of at least one occasion when I was aware that you’d shagged somebody else. Sorry that I’ve brought this up now, but you’ve had it coming - best I put it all on the table while we’re at it. Also, I don’t know what you did to Trichardt, but that hasn’t gone away either - something still lurks. God, his men kidnapped me, I knew nothing, and still they hurt me! You owe me an explanation, damn it. I’ve waited and waited, but you just ignore me. You better decide what you want.”

  She rammed the car into gear and drove off, the wheels spurting gravel.

  “I just...” I started.

  “Be quiet. I don’t want to hear excuses..., only the truth. I’ve had enough.”

  I shut up. When a woman has the advantage, it’s best to stay silent.

  “I’m dropping you at the bungalow,” she said.

  “But my SUV’s at the airport...” I began.

  “I’ll collect you tomorrow for work.”

  I knew how much time that would add to her morning travelling, but said nothing. Maybe it was better that she did not sleep over at my place that night.

  She didn’t come in next morning, but merely hooted to let me know she was waiting. Little was said during the trip to the office and I realized that she probably would persist with this attitude until I poured her a clear wine, and dealt with all her concerns. I wasn’t ready to do that yet.

  I continued trying to contact Maria on her satellite phone but it remained unavailable. If Trichardt was still searching for her, it had to be an expensive operation; he would have a good few people working on it and people cost money. Clearly, this amount would be insignificant when viewed against his potential loss. We could not expect him to give up; the search would remain a priority.

  However, Gavin and I were comfortable. The longer the whereabouts of the money and diamonds remained unknown, the better it was for us.

  Francine’s attitude mellowed and we resumed sharing a bed; in fact, our period of abstinence was relatively short. Yet, I still detected some reservation, partly because I still had not shared everything with her. Still, she seemed to have forgotten her accusation regarding my infidelity. Or so I thought. Not since Maria had I strayed and surely, she knew this.

  I was aware of my weak areas. My quick temper had led to trouble more than once, usually after drinking brandy. I loved the stuff but then was prone to flare easily. I knew that if an opportunity ever presented itself to deal further with Rockell and not have to face the consequences of the law, well, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Every time I saw him, I was consumed by hate.

  Persistence prevailed, and finally Maria’s satellite phone played me a recorded message. It merely gave a number. From the dialling code, I realized she was in Paris.

  I bought a few twenty-Rand pay-phone cards and sought out the public phone ay my golf club. I knew Paris well, having lived there for a year or so in my late teens. The number had a RICHELIEU prefix, which put her in the Palais Royale-Louvre area. I dialled, and after a couple of attempts finally heard the telephone ring.

  “Hello?” I recognized her voice immediately.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I said in a jovial voice, unashamedly glad to speak to her.

  “My God Peter, this is terrific. You’ve no idea how I missed you. I wanted to phone so often but knew that we had to stay silent. Trichardt’s tried everything to find me.”

  “I know,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, actually doing very well. I’ve taken an undetermined leave of action from my... employers, which they agreed to, so my job’s still safe for a while. Nobody knows where I am and of course, I’ve a new name and everything else. And you?”

  I briefly filled her in, but left Francine out of it. I also mentioned Trichardt’s search of Luiana and warned her that all the blame had been placed on her shoulders. She merely laughed.

  “The bastard will never find me. I actually think he is going to give it up. Of course, we’ll need to continue being just as careful as we have been up to now.”

  “Where are the goods?” I asked.

  “That’s still a problem. I left these in Namibia. Oh, they’re safe all right but we need to get them out of the country. I haven’t come up with a workable plan yet. Maybe you can help?”

  “All right, let’s see what I can do. I’ll get back to you at the same number. Is that all right? Listen, I miss you,” I said softly.

  “And I you. Phone me on the same number. I miss you too.”

  I replaced the phone and leant back against the side of the cubicle, my thoughts agitated, a mixture of pleasure and guilt. Just speaking to her had reminded me of my feelings for her. I had never believed myself to be a cad, but what I was doing to Francine was not fair. Comparatively speaking whatever it was I saw in Maria was lot more physical and carnal and maybe less of the heart. I realized that eventually I would have to deal with this problem. But not now - the priority was to get the money and diamonds out of Namibia. I needed to discuss this with Gavin.

  Gavin had taken a charter to Cape Town and I had to wait until the next day.

  “Treat you to lunch,” I said as soon as I saw him. He immediately knew that something out of the ordinary had occurred.

  We went into a nearby trattatoria and sat down in a secluded corner table. We both ordered beers and the special of the day - Chicken Genoa and olive bread.

  “So... what’s the occasion?” Gavin smiled. He knew it had to be about Maria.

  “I spoke to her, she’s in France. In Paris, in fact. Oh, by the way, she’s fine and sends her regards,” I lied. “Trichardt hasn’t got anywhere near her - she’s safe. The problem is that the loot is still in Namibia and we’ve got to come up with something. We need to get the stuff to Europe. Christ! I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been racking my brains thinking of how to do it, but I’m a blank.”

  Gavin chewed on his chicken and then took a long swallow of beer.

  “We’ve got to be bloody careful - the man’s still watching us like a hawk. Although, I don’t think flights to Namibia would concern him, but a prolonged stay of absence is bound to get his wind up. Anything longer than a few days will make him suspicious.”

  “I know. I’ve got to agree with you there,” I replied.

  “Where are the diamonds exactly?”

  “Stashed in a safe custody box at the Standard Bank in Windhoek. She arranged that they be released to either you or me against a specific code that she’ll give me when we’ve devised a plan to get them to Europe. Remember, she had copies of our ID documents.”

  Gavin grunted with exasperation.

  “Fuck, that’s a tall order. Possession of illicit diamonds in Namibia is a major offence. If they catch us they’ll throw the key away!” he exclaimed with concern

  “Anyway, we’ve work to do. See if you can think of something, we can discuss it again in a day or two,” I said calling for the check.

  Call it a hunch, but som
ething told me that if either Gavin or I attempted to uplift the diamonds in Windhoek, we’d have Trichardt and his associates after us in force. I made a note of mentioning this to Maria.

  Gavin and I had a few beers at the office two days later, after everybody had gone home. I had to hand it to Gavin; he does have those moments of sheer brilliance. Doesn’t happen often though.

  He ripped the tab off a can of beer.

  “I’ve got an idea. Somehow, we have to arrange a charter flight using the Cessna Citation to some obscure destination where it’s relatively simple to board an airliner for Paris without being subjected to thorough customs and security checks. Hang on, before you ask, I still have to find that place, - maybe you can help. However, the flight would require a landing at Windhoek’s, Eros Airport for a refuel. I say Eros, because the immigration and custom controls there are lousy, not like at the international airport. Eros can accommodate a Citation, so landing there would not raise any questions that I know of. What do you think?” He looked questioningly at me.

  “Sounds okay, but where do we fly from there?”

  He raised his hands, turning his palms out. “I don’t know.”

  “God, the Citation’s a South African registered aircraft - it can’t land anywhere in Africa except for the neighbouring states!”

  “Why don’t we sell the Citation in the States, that’s normal practice as far as executive jets are concerned, isn’t it? We deliver the used plane and buy another in Witchita, and return flying our new aircraft; there’d be no reason for anyone to be suspicious. And, we’ve already spoken about replacing the aircraft. I mean, we did that when we purchased both the other executive aircraft. We just casually spread the word that we are replacing the Citation. Who knows, we could even score on the deal. “

  I mulled this over. It actually was brilliant. Invariably a flight to the States in a small executive jet calls for a refuel before crossing the Atlantic. Landing at Windhoek would not seem suspicious at all. Gavin did have his moments, as I’ve said.

  “What about Ile de Sol where our Airways refuel for flying around the bulge of Africa in order to avoid over-flying unfriendly African states? The island is just an airport, nothing else - we just land, refuel, and leave again. We remain within the confines of the international airport. No passports need to be produced and nobody searches our gear. A search could only happen if Trichardt was informed and got to us through BOSS, or if he initiated something through his connections. But we have to assume he sees nothing suspicious in what we’re doing,” I said cautiously.

  “Okay, I’ll go with that. Where to from there? We’re not taking this into the States, I hope.”

  “No, we stop over in the Cayman Islands and deposit it all into one of their fancy banks. Fuck, even the Mafioso uses those banks - they’re like the Swiss banks - all secretive.”

  Gavin’s eyes lit up. “I’m sold.”

  Well, at least we now had a basic plan.

  I contacted Maria again and told her of our plans. She thought the proposal good and undertook to come back to me with the name of a bank and the person I should arrange to see. The CIA used certain banks for their own covert operations, she said. This was the most Maria had ever volunteered with regard to her employer and her knowledge. I was surprised.

  Gavin involved himself with the business of selling the Citation and looking for a replacement. Our bankers would assist with regard to the difference in price, if any, and payment thereof in US dollars. They now saw us in a new light and not the credit-risk they had seen before. The manner in which we proposed to purchase the new aircraft against the trade-in of our Citation was standard procedure in the aviation business. He also did the calculations and suggested that we fit a long-range tank in the passenger section of the aircraft, which would enable us to fly non-stop from Windhoek to the Caymans via Ile de Sol - still, it was a long haul.

  We still congregated regularly in the airport pub and it wasn’t long before our plans became known. Hopefully having it all out in the open would belay any suspicions about our true intentions. Trichardt’s lot were smart but not that smart, we thought.

  My relationship with Francine had settled down again, and she had gradually lost that last bit of resistance. I think she got the impression that I was behaving myself, which I was.

  Francine was beautiful and refined, a true product of the white upper-class establishment in South Africa. She had never had to endure any hardship, coming from a reasonably wealthy family. Her father’s business as a preferred supplier of certain components that went into the assembly of aircraft at Atlas Aircraft Corporation, which manufactured fighter aircraft and helicopters for the military, was lucrative. Her father was Afrikaans, but his twenty-five year marriage to an English woman from Natal, the so-called ‘Last Post of the British Empire’, had done much to anglicize him. Their home language was English and I had never had the impression that he conformed to the hard-core Afrikaner clique.

  Francine had long ago left home, and had her own apartment in the Sandton area. I often stayed there over weekends.

  It was Sunday afternoon and I was sitting with a beer watching TV sport while Francine soaked in a brimming bath with a glass of wine at her side. The bathroom door was open and she was no more than ten yards from me.

  “Peter?”

  “Mmm,” I replied, listening with half an ear, intent on watching an inter-provincial rugby game.

  “Why don’t I come with you to the States?”

  I nearly dropped the beer glass, all thoughts of watching the game disappearing. I would need to handle this carefully.

  “This is not a commercial flight you know,” I replied.

  “God, I’ve been on hundreds of flights - what’s new? I could get leave, I would like to look at the States again, and at least we could be together,” she retorted.

  My good woman was about to throw a spanner in the works. And I couldn’t think of a single plausible reason as to why I should not take her with me.

  “Come in here,” she giggled. “And bring your beer with.”

  Reluctantly, knowing what was coming; I took my glass and entered the bathroom. As it was small, I sat down on the toilet flap.

  She lay back in the bath, her blonde hair wet, pulled back sleekly against her head. She was sipping wine. Some foam suds floated on the surface of the water, and her breasts broke the surface revealing her nipples.

  She smiled. “You like?”

  “Fuck, yes.” I replied. Naked women never fail to arouse me.

  “Good,” she replied. “But first let’s settle this America trip, okay? Can I come with you?”

  I just stared at her without replying. She probably thought I was contemplating getting into the bath with her. Finally, I had to say something.

  “Look, I’d love to have you with, but it’s not quite that simple. This is a deliver and collect operation, you know - in and out.”

  She smiled provocatively. “But we’re so good at in-and-out.”

  I was getting decidedly aroused. How was this possible with all the damn stress I was now feeling? She grinned: she could see what was happening.

  “My goodness, the man responds. You wouldn’t like to wash me, would you?”

  I never hesitated, ready to do anything to get her to forget America. Taking her to the States was not on; I would have to tell her everything. But Gavin and Maria would have a fit.

  I knelt down on the floor and took the sponge, soaped it generously and proceeded to wash her body. She raised herself to her knees, her breasts standing out like a precipice, her erect nipples dripping water. I kept on dropping the sponge, but continued the washing with my hands. Eventually I flung the sponge in the corner. Who needs a sponge?

  If I thought that was the end of the take-me-with saga, I was mistaken. Francine brought it up again in the c
ar on the way to work on Monday morning. I responded in monosyllables. The sooner I found a solution to the problem, the better it would be for us all.

  I was reluctant to approach Gavin on the matter but I had no alternative; it needed a joint contrived plan to dissuade Francine.

  I waited until after lunch and asked Gavin to take a walk with me into the hangar.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Francine. Christ, out of the blue, she gets this idea to take some leave and fly to America with us. What the hell am I supposed to do?” I blurted.

  Gavin’s face broke into a broad grin. “That’s fantastic!”

  ”Please Gavin, don’t joke, she’s bloody serious. I’ve been having nightmares about this.”

  “No, no, I’m serious as well. I might even take Liz with me and leave my kids with their grandparents. Taking the two women with us would be the best cover we could come up with! Nobody would ever think there was anything sinister about the trip.”

  I was dumbfounded. We were going to collect an absolutely unbelievable fortune, which could bring God knows what trouble in its wake, what with Trichardt and his thugs, and here he reckoned it was a good idea to take extra women along. The man was nuts!

  “Listen, just can the jokes, will you? This is not funny.”

  The sound of his footsteps on the concrete floor of the hangar came to a stop. He turned to face me.

  “Listen Peter, I’m deadly serious. Just think about it for a moment. It’s exactly the type thing others would do; it’s really a cheap holiday, all on company expenses and there are no airfares to pay. Of course, they’d take their wives with them! I can assure you that the guys from whom we are buying the replacement aircraft will lay everything on - accommodation, entertainment etcetera, all at their expense. Christ, we’re buying a multi-million dollar aircraft! Do you think they care that we’ve brought our woman with - no, not at all!”

  I had to concede that he had a point. However, there was one aspect that I couldn’t take up with him.