The Money Stones

by Ian St. James

  Whoever it was was taking his time. Four, five minutes passed, and still the light drew nearer. Mines, tunnels, caves - the whole damn lot are the same as far as I'm concerned - are spooky, unnatural places, and for the hundredth time I promised myself I'd never set foot in one again. I debated whether to call out, a greeting of some kind, or a challenge, but instead I just sat there, watching and waiting, until a minute later I heard the sound of steel clashing on rock and saw the light jerk in time with the swing of a pick. Ten minutes passed. I timed it exactly, the luminous dial of my watch bright in the pitch black. Then the noise stopped and without further hesitation the light started towards me and I heard the positive crunch of footsteps in the stillness.

  'Mike?'It was McNeil.

  I switched on my lamp. 'Over here.'

  He saw my light and walked over. 'Sitting in the dark? What are you doing?'

  'Watching you.'

  I made no attempt to get up and waited for an explanation. None came, so eventually I asked: 'Find any diamonds back there?'

  'No bloody chance.' He sounded disgusted. 'You couldn't swing a Woolworth watch on diamonds found here.' ' I choked back my disappointment: 'So what were you doing back there?'

  'Nothing. Forget it, eh.'

  We resumed the back-breaking work of filling tubs and lifting them to the higher levels, and two hours later I was alone at the rock face again. According to the system Pepalasis should have joined me for the next lift, leaving McNeil at base camp sifting ore. But - when he came - it was McNeil, and again he spent half an hour deep in the tunnel before joining me.

  The following morning we transferred to the second site, hopes dying an inch at a time with each successive lift. McNeil and Pepalasis must have arranged a change in the schedule because from then on McNeil made all the journeys and Pepalasis stayed at base camp. It made no difference to me of course, and I wouldn't have questioned it if McNeil had not gone missing so often. But his increasing absences made my job even harder, and bone weary as I was, my feelings towards him hardened and soured with resentment.

  By the end of the fourth day I was bruised and aching all over, and bitter with disappointment. The wonderful dream was fast fading and we all knew it. Yet Pepalasis had been so confident! Every mile of the journey out from London had seemed certain to bring him closer to a fortune and me nearer half a million in a Swiss Bank. Now I felt as cheated as the man who won a lottery and lost his ticket.

  But the next day we found a diamond. It was in the ore taken up on the third lift. Pepalasis came scrambling down to the diggings alive with excitement. But when I looked at the stone, smaller than a shrivelled pea, all that registered was that we had a long way to go to meet the requirements of the contract. Still it was a start, and drawing encouragement from it we worked an extra shift, seven instead of six, before collapsing after fourteen hours of non-stop grind.

  The next day, day six, I made two lifts as good as singlehanded. McNeil disappeared for hours on end, and joined me just long enough to help with the hoists, a two-handed job anyway. And finally three days of pent-up resentment boiled over: 'Where the bloody hell are you going now?' We were at the foot of the chimney leading to the second stage and I'd caught him moving off towards another tunnel instead of returning to the diggings with me.

  'Prospecting,' he avoided my eye.

  'Prospecting be damned, staying clear of the work more like. For God's sake! It's hard enough for two - damn near impossible for one.'

  'Mike, it may seem that way but -'

  'But nothing. You've been swinging the lead for days now. Prospecting? You've found damn all and -'

  'Who says so?'

  'Well?'

  'I'm not sure yet. It's inconclusive and -'

  'Oh, go to hell!'I swung round and stormed back down the tunnel, leaving him to follow or not. Not sure! He'd been bloody sure enough in London. Full of how clever he was. How experienced. I threw myself at the rock face - spiked with the gut ache of disappointment - and filled the tubs in half the usual time before trudging back to start the Gardner. I met McNeil on the way.

  'Mike, I'm sorry about this but -'

  'Just answer one thing. Have you found diamonds and kept quiet about it?'

  'Jesus, no! What the hell-'

  We stood facing each other, the lights from our helmets bright enough for me to watch his expression. He was telling the truth - I was sure of it. I shrugged, turned away, started the Gardner on the second pull, and walked back with him following behind.

  That one tiny crystal of diamond was all we ever found. Eight days of back break to move the best part of seventeen tons of ore for a crystal worth a few hundred pounds. The Greek's gamble had failed and we all knew it. And my hopes died at the same time. A dream of a half a million. Enough to bank-roll me for the big time. But, as we discussed plans to break camp early the next morning, I was just too damned tired to care any more.

  Four

  If McNeil and I were exhausted when we left the island, Pepalasis was on the verge of collapse. On the way out from London he'd been shot full of adrenalin. But now his yesterdays weighed heavily on his shoulders and his tired face was lined with bitterness. He'd gambled, maybe with all he had, and lost. And it showed. Even his passion for secrecy had exhausted itself, and the flight back to New Caledonia was made without any attempt on his part to disguise the route. We flew south-south-west for five hours at an air speed of about a hundred and fifty knots, and although neither McNeil nor I said anything, we both knew that we had a good idea of the island's location.

  Yet if the Greek's disappointment was easily understood, McNeil's behaviour was downright puzzling. It began as we were leaving the island. With the business of the rucksack. Each of us had one - standard sort of things, army surplus probably. During the week I'd left mine at base camp. It contained soap and a razor, a couple of towels, odds and ends, nothing of value. If. I thought about it - which I didn't - I would have imagined the contents of theirs to be much the same. And I would have been wrong - at least about McNeil's.

  We were climbing from the shallow water into the single inflatable to be used for the return to the other island, and McNeil couldn't pull himself aboard. He'd got this pack strapped on his back and it was absolutely bulging. I was already in the boat so I stretched out an arm to help, but the weight he was carrying almost had us both in the water.

  'Good God - what's on your back - half the island?'

  One look at his face told me I was right. The pack was loaded with rocks.

  'Shut up, can't you ? Mind your own damn business.'

  It seemed an astonishing reaction for. which he instantly apologised, but it showed how tense he was. And at exactly that moment the Greek appeared at the mouth of the cave, took a look over his shoulder like a lover saying farewell, and slipped down into the water. He gave no, sign of having overheard the exchange, nor did he remark on McNeil's pack, though he could hardly have overlooked it. And McNeil kept that pack close by him all the way to New Caledonia.

  It was early afternoon when we berthed at Noumea. The fact that there was no Customs intervention seemed unimportant at the time, but looking back on it McNeil must have blessed his good fortune. We took ourselves up to the hotel we used on the way out, staying overnight anyway, to pick up the scheduled Qantas to Sydney in the morning. After a late lunchtime meal the Greek excused himself and went to his room and I did the same, taking my aching body to the luxury of a hot bath and a soft bed as quickly as I could get there. But McNeil went out, saying he'd see us at dinner.

  I slept the rest of the afternoon away, bathed again, dressed and went in search of a drink at about seven, and on the way to the bar tapped on McNeil's door, only half expecting an answer.

  He ushered me in and returned to the bathroom to knot his tie, while I turned to examine the view from his window. The rucksack was on his bed, as bulging and misshapen as ever, and obviously not yet unpacked. But on the dressing table were more rocks, a dozen or so of variou
s shapes and sizes, next to a small pot of paint with a still wet brush resting on its closed lid. And all of the rocks had been daubed white.

  'You expecting CO's inspection?'

  'What?' He emerged from the bathroom, shrugging himself into a linen jacket.

  'Painting rocks? I haven't seen that since I was in the Army.'

  'Oh those.' He was dismissive but uncomfortable, as if embarrassed that I'd seen them. 'They're from the hills round here. I collected them this afternoon. Come on - let's get a beer.'

  Pepalasis had done better than that. He was a third of the way down a bottle of white wine when we found him and, if you excused his hangdog expression, seemed well on the way to recovery. 'So, Kirk?' he grinned. 'Enjoy your afternoon as a tourist?'

  McNeil smiled back but saw me watching and I knew he would have to mention what I had seen in his room. 'I've been gathering rocks. Just a few. It's a hobby - a collection - I try to add to it on my travels. And I've arranged a Customs certificate of no commercial value - so it won't hold us up in the morning.'

  I was quite certain that we weren't hearing the whole story, but if Pepalasis shared my view he gave no sign of it. 'You must have rocks in your head.' He growled. 'To do that after what we've been doing.'

  Over dinner the Greek tried hard to put a brave face on things but his mood of depression was never far from the surface. Even returning to London seemed in doubt. 'What's the point?' he asked at one stage. 'Mike's consortium won't do business now. Not when we return empty-handed.'

  'I dunno,' McNeil said surprisingly. 'Sometimes as one door closes another opens. And unless you're washing your hands of the whole thing London's as good as any place to cook up a deal.'

  Under the circumstances it seemed an astonishing thing to say. It was as plain as a pikestaff that the consortium wouldn't want anything to do with Pepalasis now. And neither would anyone else. I would have pursued the point but for rubbing salt in the Greek's wounds, so I stayed as non-committal as possible. But after half an hour's chat Pepalasis decided, to return to London anyway, mainly, I sensed, because he didn't know what else to do and McNeil's comment about London being as good as anywhere seemed to convince him. That resolved, McNeil produced his own surprise: 'I've got a few calls to make in Sydney. Old friends. You know how it is - if they found out I'd been in town without looking them up I'd never hear the end of it. So I'll stop over for a day or two - see you guys back in London next week.'

  'See if she's got a couple of friends,' Pepalasis suggested. 'And Mike and I'll keep you company.'

  But McNeil smiled and shook his head, so that's how things worked out. We arrived in Sydney at four the next afternoon and the Greek and I caught the evening Jumbo to Heathrow - leaving McNeil 'down under'.

  The long flight home couldn't have been more different from the outward one. No excited talk. No reminiscing. No sense of adventure. Just the stale tiredness of defeat. We drank too much, over-ate, and slept. But I suppose that it gave me a chance to think. To see things in perspective again. My 'get rich quick' dream was behind me. I'd enjoyed it and wasn't sorry to have had it, and I comforted myself with the thoughts of Hill Street and the resumption of a life spent earning money my way. Instead of gambling with holes in the ground. I smiled. I wasn't really cut out to be a prospector. An adventurer. At the end of the day I'd settle for what I was - an accountant - and for perhaps the first time in my life I felt truly happy to be one.

  Two miles above London I wrote Pepalasis a cheque for fifty thousand and that was an end of it. Generously he protested, saying that I should keep it, but I insisted and felt good doing it.

  It was late afternoon when we touched down. Friday the twenty-sixth of August. McNeil had promised to let Jean know our flight details and I hurried through Customs knowing that I'd discovered something else about the things I wanted from life: that Jean was one of them.

  Five

  It was Bank Holiday weekend. Jean and I spent it together and without doing anything spectacular it became a special time for us both. We never as much as stirred from her flat until Sunday morning, when we roused ourselves for a drive out to Marlow for lunch, and then spent the afternoon downriver in a boat, just looking at each other and talking. God how we talked! Two people who had known each other as long as we had should have learned everything there was to know about each other long ago. But our new curiosity was boundless. And every revelation added to my enjoyment of her. The weather was balmy; we trailed bottles of wine in the water and made a honeymoon of it.

  But Tuesday came and we were back at the office, trying hard to pretend that nothing had happened when all the time everything was fresh and exciting.

  Things had been quiet during my absence, August always being our slowest month, so that by the end of the day I had brought myself up to date and started to plan September's work. Hallsworth had phoned to say he would be in the next afternoon and I pulled a face about breaking bad news whilst busying myself with other things. The day ended, Jean and I went out to dinner and back to her place afterwards. And the Greek's island seemed a million miles away. Until Harry Smithers phoned us on Wednesday.

  'Recovered from your exertions?'

  I misunderstood, my mind too full of last night with Jean, fumbling an answer to his question with one of my own: 'I thought you were holidaying in Bermuda?'

  'Don't remind me. I was all set to go Saturday when I got Kirk's cable. Marion and the kids had gone and I'm supposed to join them at the weekend. Not that they're speaking to me right now.' He laughed without sounding amused. 'Still that's life. How're you feeling about this island?'

  'Sick. I'd have sent you a report but I thought you were away.'

  He paused before asking: 'Mike, is there someone in your office with you?'

  'No. Why?'

  Another pause. 'Perhaps we shouldn't discuss it on the phone anyway. Can you get across here? Kirk's with me now as a matter of fact - got back last night and stayed at my place.'

  'It sounds urgent, Harry?'

  'It is urgent.'

  'How about lunchtime?'

  'Sure - but don't plan on getting back much before the end of the afternoon.'

  I finished the figures needed for my meeting with Hallsworth and then took a cab across town to A.W.F., curious about the mystery in Harry's voice.

  Harry's secretary led me directly to the Board Room where Harry was waiting with McNeil and Peter Emanuel from the Bank. The table was laid out with a map of the Western Pacific, marked up with enough pencil lines to suggest that McNeil had been pinpointing the island for them. We shook hands, Harry mixed me a drink and ushered me to a chair, while I tried to work out what all the excitement was about.

  McNeil broke a nervous silence. 'Harry tells me I owe you an apology, Mike.' He hesitated. I guessed apologising didn't come easily to a man like McNeil and he was wondering how to phrase it. Then he said: 'Well - I may as well come right out with it. As a matter of fact - I did find something on the island.'

  I kept a tight rein on my reaction and my silence forced him to continue: 'I was pretty sure at the time, but I wanted an analyst's confirmation,' he said. 'Harry says I should have confided in you and - er, well I'm sorry I didn't. But for one thing I wanted my findings checked in a lab, and - ' he hesitated. 'And, well I didn't know whose side you'd be on. Harry's or the Greek's.'

  'I thought it was a joint venture,' I said coldly.

  He gave me a stubborn look and said, 'My function was to report my findings to Harry.'

  'Are you saying that you found diamonds and kept quiet about it?'

  'Jesus no! That would have been unethical. Forget. diamonds. Pepalasis has a one-track mind. I've seen it before in prospectors - they get their heads fixed on something - like maybe they're after gold for instance - and that's it. They'll turn up copper and iron and every damn thing imaginable, but because it's not gold they'll go right past it without a second look.'

  'But we found a diamond,' I said firmly. 'Disappointing I know bu
t-'

  'Forget it, will you. Okay there's a bit of kimberlite there - but tiny - not worth mining in a thousand years. Not commercially.'

  He was as near hugging himself with excitement as I've ever seen anyone get and throwing quick, sideways glances at the others as if seeking approval. 'Shall I tell him, Harry?'

  'It's nickel, Mike,' Harry announced. 'Kirk reckons the biggest strike since Poseidon.'

  'Maybe even bigger,' McNeil burst in. 'Look at the map.' He hurried around to my side of the table. 'The island's somewhere in that triangle there, agree? New Hebrides, Fiji, New Caledonia. That's the clue! Manganese and gold at Fiji and just about everything under the sun at New Caledonia. But mainly a hell of a lot of nickel. They're still the second largest producer in the world, even now.'

  'The point is,' Harry interrupted. 'The assay results of Kirk's samples, are, to say the least, exciting.'

  'Exciting!' McNeil's grin almost reached his ears. 'Some of the results made their hair curl back in Aussie I can tell you.'

  I raised an eyebrow.

  'Oh yeah, that's right.' He avoided my eye. 'That's what I did as soon as you left Sydney. Went down to the School of Mines with the samples. Now get this - this is the mind blowing bit - the first official figures out of Poseidon showed assay results of 3.5 per cent nickel and .55 copper. September 1969, remember? And stock markets went crazy the world over - right? Well, we averaged 4.8 nickel! Averaged! And 1.22 copper. Can you believe that?'