Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  Trichardt fumed at this inactivity, and after a week gave instructions that the Learjet on Grand Cayman fly to Cayman Brac and that the pilot find accommodation near to the airport. Time and time again, he gave thought to abandoning the vendetta. Van Onselen would eventually have to return to South Africa, yes, but what about the woman? She would disappear forever; he would never be able to find her. He was convinced that it was she who had seen the opportunity once the landmine explosion killed Kowalski, and it was she who probably masterminded the operation.

  If she escaped, he would never get his revenge.

  The atmosphere in the bungalow was strained and tense. The men resented being cooped up and allowed access to only a small strip of beach directly opposite the house. They were permitted no trips into town, no nightclubs, no women, and little to drink. Carruthers’s call for patience began to fall on deaf ears as the first rumblings of discontent were heard.

  A car arrived, and one of Carruthers’s homburg-clad henchmen alighted and climbed the wooden steps to the porch. Carruthers lay on the sun porch clad in a pair of surfer’s swimming trunks that took him to the knees. The man spoke briefly, and then drove off again.

  Carruthers stood and slipped his feet into a pair of sandals and sauntered off in the direction of the beach, a towel over his shoulders and his head protected by a straw-hat.

  Trichardt was not a man to flaunt his wealth but he had a penchant to play the part of a leader in industry, a successful and powerful businessman. He considered his daily attire and appearance the best medium through which to denote his success. A healthy tan was paramount. This conveyed a love of outdoor sports, sailing, golf, game fishing, and the other outdoor sun sports enjoyed by the rich. He lay on a collapsed deckchair on the beach, a beach umbrella nearby next to a cooler box. His skin glistened with suntan lotion and he was reading a folded newspaper. A portable radio played light music.

  Carruthers grabbed another deck chair and sat down next to the burly Afrikaner.

  “I’ve just heard that they’ve left the hospital. Van Onselen’s vehicle has been returned to him and they have driven back to the Beach Hotel, accompanied by a police vehicle. However, the police finally drove off leaving one officer to look after them or probably just to signify a police presence.”

  Trichardt looked up from his newspaper and stared out over the ocean.

  “Only one officer? Surely that can’t be?”

  “That’s all he left. Our new police chief here probably thinks we will not do anything if we see that they are involved. Be sure, that guard must have some means of calling for back up if something goes wrong.” Carruthers replied.

  Trichardt shook his head. “Dammit man, I’ve got to get home. I can’t hang around here sitting on my ass much longer; I’ve things to do back home. Once that woman leaves, I’ll never find her. I’ve got to deal with this now, while they’re at this hotel.”

  Carruthers lay back in the deck chair pulling the hat over his eyes, muffling his voice.

  “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for days. I want to deal with these fuckin’ people in one go, that includes the owners of the hotel. I’ll deal with all these motherfuckers one time. You stay here at the bungalow, just give me Rockell to report back to you and I’ll make sure that you get you monies’ worth.”

  “What are you going to do?” Trichardt asked raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  Carruthers grinned wickedly. “First I’ll take out that fuckin’ policeman, and then I’ll kill the others, and burn the whole place down with their bodies in it. Destroy the bloody evidence. It’ll take months before the cops sort through that shit and come up with any evidence, if ever.”

  “I want to be there,” Trichardt insisted, still consumed by his desire for vengeance. “God, I’ve waited long enough for this. I want to see them dead.”

  Carruthers sat up and turned to face Trichardt. “No, it’s too dangerous - we must remain distant from all activity. If things go wrong, we’re not implicated. It’s the only way to survive in this game,” he countered.

  Reluctantly, Trichardt agreed. It was pointless being stupid about this.

  The next day Carruthers sent out two of his men to reconnoitre the hotel and its surroundings. They posed as telephone linesmen complete with uniforms, a van, and ladders. They even entered the hotel premises under the pretext of checking the wiring. They determined exactly where the police officer’s place of concealment was.

  “Hiding the guard - it seems the police want us to walk into a trap.”

  “Bloody cops, that’s why it’s dangerous to jump before looking. There’s a tropical storm on its way. It should hit the island sometime tomorrow - that’s when we’ll attack. It’ll give us excellent cover,” Carruthers snarled.

  “How many men do you propose to use for this operation?”

  “Six - that ought to sufficient.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The storm had not quite reached hurricane status. It approached slowly from the east, its epicentre still just beyond the Caribbean in the Atlantic. The atmosphere was grey and heavy and a mass of turbulent cloud scudded across the sky. A southerly wind had replaced the usual easterly trade winds, slowly increasing in velocity, causing a wild chop on the sea and whitecaps racing across the waves. The palm trees bent before the onslaught, the green palm-fronds beginning to stream horizontally in the wind, accompanied by a banshee of whistles, moans, howls and the occasional crash.

  From the garages, Christopher produced shutters manufactured from solid wooden board. I decided to give him a hand. We placed them across the windows, using special slots affixed to the frames to accept them. With bolts and nails, we secured them into place as the temperature plummeted.

  The wind whipped our clothes and to communicate we had to shout. It swept up anything not secured, and drove it across the ground. I saw a steel dustbin, the size of a forty-four gallon drum, tumbling and rolling before the force of the wind.

  “It’s better to be safe - you never know what these storms will do. They suddenly change direction or increase in strength and before you know it, you’re in a full-blown hurricane. Just wait until the rain arrives - that’s another experience,” Christopher shouted, the wind taking his words so I was hardly able to hear what he said over the roar of the approaching storm.

  “Com’on, let’s get inside.”

  The first drops of rain arrived, falling almost horizontally. He opened the door and hung onto it while I slipped through. We had to both hold it to bar it from the inside.

  I saw that the black police constable had abandoned his hiding place on the veranda, not that I blamed him. He now sat on a barstool. I smiled at him.

  “I don’t blame you,” I said smiling.

  “Mon!” he said. “I think we’re in for quite a blow here.” He returned my smile.

  “Where are you going to station yourself now?” I asked.

  “This place has an attic with a small window overlooking the approach from the main road. I think I’ll keep a watch from there. If this gets any worse you’d be mad to be walking around out there.” He was obviously convinced that an attack in this weather was not possible.

  “Well, if you need anything just give me a shout, okay?”

  He nodded and made his way up the stairs clasping a Royal Enfield .303 rifle, a relic from the First or Second World War, but still a lethal weapon. He also wore a Brown belt with a holster, which held what I recognized to be a Webley .45 revolver, the butt protruding from the leather to which a lanyard was attached with the other end clipped to his belt. Provided he knew how to use these somewhat antiquated weapons, we appeared to have sufficient firepower.

  A few additional guns would be better, I thought.

  Maria and Bess were preparing a few kerosene storm lanterns, and had them standing on the bar counter, Bess ca
refully filling them from a round tin canister with a wire-handle and spout. She saw me watching.

  “The power is sure to go out. It always does in these storms,” she said.

  “We’ve even got two kerosene stoves,” Maria chipped in, “so, we won’t go hungry either.”

  Having completed their task the two women disappeared into the kitchen. Just Christopher and I sat in the kitchen.

  “Come with me,” he said leading me down a passage that led to a storeroom. This had a few stand-alone shelves filled with tinned foodstuffs, bags of sugar, bottles and containers of cleaning materials, and a host of other items. From a box labelled Hill’s Jams, he extracted two cloth-wrapped items, which he handed to me.

  I immediately recognized the feel and weight.

  “Christ, Chris! Where the hell did you get these? If Whittle knew about this you’d be in shit up to your eyeballs, my friend,” I blurted.

  “Do you really think that one policeman is going to stop our friend Carruthers? Let me tell you, I know him - he’s fuckin dangerous. After what’s happened, there’s only one-way to stop them - that’s kill them. They’re on the island, and I believe I know where they’re holed up - the Montrose place; it’s a fancy beach bungalow directly across the island from us, no more than two miles away. There’s a track that crosses the island. If they’re coming, that’s where it will be from.”

  I looked at the weapons; they were two identical Glock 9mm automatics, each with a full magazine. They were clean and ready for use.

  “Take them both,” he said.

  “What do you mean - both?” I asked surprised. “And you?”

  “We’ve got our own,” he replied and pulled a Beretta from under his shirt. “Give the other to Maria - she seems to know what to do with it.” He gave me a condescending smile.

  Christ, if Whittle found us with these we’d never get off the island.

  “Oh, by the way; this time we’re not waiting for them to shoot first,” he added. He had drawn the Beretta from where it had been hidden beneath his shirt. He twirled it by the trigger-guard and then let it slap back into the palm of his hand, the barrel pointed straight ahead, ready to fire.

  “Impressive,” I murmured. He laughed. He probably imagined himself a triggerman, I thought. Never be over-confident, that’s how you get killed!

  I made my way to our bedroom and slipped the automatics under the mattress.

  During the course of the day, the wind continued to increase and anything that wasn’t tied or battened down was swept before it. The sea changed to a cauldron of churning water and flying foam, the horizon no longer discernible. Huge waves battered the outer reefs, and a seemingly never-ending mass of dirty froth and water surged over the exposed coral, accompanied by a continuous succession of squall lines, which followed one upon the other, bringing torrents of rain. The lagoon was no longer a safe-haven.

  The deluge ran off the high ground, the water seeking the sea, and the ground beyond the hotel became a raging torrent. I marvelled at the palms bending horizontal before the storm. Miraculously, their trunks did not snap.

  By eight in the evening, it was dark. We sat at the bar eating a light meal of fish, fries and salad. Without a flicker or any other warning, the power failed, interrupting our dinner.

  “Dammit, I was waiting for this. Mon, the power-lines are down. It always happens,” Christopher grumbled. He dropped his knife and fork onto his plate and then rummaged under the counter. He produced a flashlight, its beam flashing over the walls and us. Soon the hurricane lamps were lit and he took one of the lamps to check on the fuse boxes to make sure that it was the lines that were down and not some other fault. Bess had gone back to the kitchen to hang one of the lanterns.

  Sitting on a stool next to me, Maria leant against me and took hold of my arm.

  “Do you know where we should be? In bed. This is just the right weather for some fun. I’m better now and I’m horny.” She beamed a smile at me: there no mistaking the ‘come-on’ expression on her face, her dark eyes flashing.

  “Let’s go to bed and forget the world that’s going mad around us.” She slid off her stool but still hung onto my arm.

  I laughed. “You are definitely better.”

  “Bet your ass I am - just you wait and see.” She grinned and dragged to me off my stool and led me to our room.

  I closed the bedroom door behind us. She immediately moved towards me, moulding her body against me; we both found each other’s lips and kissed passionately, her tongue probing mine. I could smell her, a mixture of shampoo, and a scent I did not recognize. The nearness of her, the feeling of flesh against flesh, pushed all the right buttons; I was aroused, aware of my erection. She lifted my pullover and t-shirt over my head and then undid my belt, my jeans dropping to my ankles. She wore a woollen top, which I removed and then unclasped her bra. I rolled her nipple under my thumb pulling her hard against me. She broke away and pulled me towards the bed.

  I ran my hands over her body as we lay down, gripping her firm butt. I stripped off her jeans and panties. We crawled under the sheets. She rolled me onto my back and then straddled me, and taking me in her hand, she guided me in her.

  “I love you,” she whispered, “Are you serious about me being fiancée?” This was the first time she had brought up my remark. Clearly, it had been on her my mind for some time.

  There was no turning back. Yes, I did love her.

  “I love you,” I said and kissed her passionately. “I want you as my wife.”

  Soon an orgasmic shout of victory rent the air. I wondered whether any others had heard this over the sounds of the storm.

  We both fell asleep still clinging to one another.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  An insistent loud thumping sound, other than the shrieking, and howling wind, woke me. There it was again - somebody pounding on the door. I threw off the sheet and felt my way to the door, opening it a crack. Christopher stood in the passageway, a flashlight in his hand. He looked at my nakedness and studiously ignored it.

  “I think we’re getting visitors. Samuel - that’s the cop, says he saw lights moving outside.”

  “Christ! They must be insane!”

  “I think not - nobody will come to help us with this storm. The power’s down and so is the bloody telephone. We can’t call for help!” I saw the concern and anxiety etched in his features.

  In a flash I suddenly, recalled the satellite phone.

  “Give me a number to phone. I’ll get us help,” I exclaimed. He rattled off a number.

  “Come inside,” I said.

  Maria lay on the bed, the sheet pulled up to her chin, a bewildered look on her face. The light from the lantern revealed the clothing strewn over the floor, it obvious what had occurred. I pulled the satchel that contained the satellite phone from under the bed, opened it, and set it up, the ready light eventually flashing. Again, he repeated the number. I entered the prefix numbers followed by the digits he rattled off and soon heard the phone ringing. I handed it to Christopher. I pressed a button, and the phone was suddenly on speaker.

  “Royal Cayman Island Police,” I heard.

  “This is the Beach Hotel. This is Christopher Bennett speaking. We’re being attacked. Please tell Superintendent Whittle..... Hurry!” Christopher shouted.

  “Difficult to get help to you in this weather,” the voice replied dubiously.

  “Just tell Whittle and let him fuckin’ decide what to do! He knows how serious this is,” he shouted.

  “I’ll tell him right away. He’s here in the police barracks,” came the reply.

  He replaced the receiver and I switched the phone off.

  “What are we going to do now?” I asked.

  “Get dressed - you don’t want to be caught without clothes. Make sure you’re warm and follow
me.” he said with a cynical smile, again looking at my nakedness.

  I had the distinct feeling that somehow I was going to land up outside in this god-awful weather, again due to Trichardt and his associates. We chose our clothes with care and dressed for the storm - jeans, sweaters, and waterproof anoraks. I pulled the two Glocks from under the mattress and handed one to Maria. She took it with wide-eyed surprise.

  “Where did these come from?”

  I nodded towards Christopher.

  “God, we owe you,” she said, expertly pulling the ejection mechanism back and sliding a round into the chamber, then flicking the safety on. I followed suit.

  “Look, I know our way around this building so let’s extinguish the lamps. I’m going up to Samuel. Just wait here.”

  The islander bounded up the stairs. A minute later, we heard the crack of a rifle shot followed by the faint chatter of an automatic weapon from outside. Christopher came down the stairs two at a time.

  “All the windows are barricaded. If they try to open these, they’ll make a helluva noise. Watch the doors.” He indicated to Maria and I. “You two take the front entrance; we’ll look after the back. There are two very small windows in the kitchen that aren’t shuttered. They’ll give you a view of the porch. You should be able to see if anybody approaches.” He pulled an object from his pocket and threw it towards me. “Here, it’s another full magazine for the Glock.”

  Maria and I pressed our faces close to the window. Although sheltered by the veranda roof, the rain still splattered the windowpanes. The position was not ideal; our field of vision did not cover certain areas of the porch. In particular, the wall of the building was hidden, which would allow somebody to sidle unobserved along its length and approach the door.