CONFLICT DIAMONDS: THE START OF THE BEGINNING

by Verner Jones

  “Err yes. We have these.” Stipe reached into the rucksack pushing the pistol out of the way and retrieved the black velvet bag and placed it in front of Henrick. The bag clunked heavily onto the mahogany desk. The others watched in silent, nervous anticipation. Henrick’s pulse raced, the crunch of the diamonds hitting the table echoed in his ear. There was weight in that pouch. He withheld his excitement under a veneer of practiced concealment that even the most experienced diamond trader would find hard to detect.

  “Come with me to my sorting table.” Henrick lifted the stones and walked over to a small flat table with two high stools stationed one either side. He switched on a light that covered the top with an even illumination and untied the purse strings and spilled the diamonds into the centre. He beckoned Stipe to sit and did likewise himself, then reached for his loupe and examined the first stone.

  What he saw in his eyepiece almost made his persona fade and his lips curl, but Henrick was too experienced a trader to reveal anything other than a solid business front. He reigned in his excitement and chose another stone. It revealed the same colour and purity as the first. He placed the diamond to one side and chose a third and a fourth and a fifth examining each one meticulously until all the stones had been sorted. Three groups had emerged; two piles and one isolated stone. What he had in front of him were a selection of blue white and fine white diamonds that were in the D, E, F range with a purity which if he had the certifications from the GIA would confirm to him that they were VVS (very very slight imperfections) and IF (internally flawless). Top grade diamonds all weighing between 2 and 3 carats. They were worth a fortune. A quick calculation put their worth at around half a million pounds, but only if they had the documentation to go with them. Henrick darted daggered looks over the faces of his three would be dealers. They knew nothing of the value of the gems in front of him. He was sure of that, but where the hell had they found them. Stones this rare weren’t ethereally transported as gifts from the gods and they were not from wealthy backgrounds, which could have been a possible source of the stones. No! They were stolen for sure. Henrick wondered how traceable they would be and whom he could deal with to safely dispose of them without any comeback.

  His quick assessment finished, he faced Stipe and the other two who had joined him at the sorting table. Henrick spoke. “These are nice diamonds, Stipe, but of a very poor quality. When we assess diamonds we look for purity and colour. The whiter the diamond with the least natural imperfections are the stones that are worth the most. These diamonds are coloured and impure but are still quite valuable; if they are legally obtained of course.” Henrick waited for their reaction. A short silence ensued.

  “Well I have to ask the obvious question. From where did you acquire the diamonds?” The three looked at each other unsure whether to reveal their secret. Marta took it upon herself to provide the answer.

  “We took them off of dead man in Bosnia along with these.” Marta reached into the rucksack and produced certificates for the stones. Certificates that they had discovered wrapped within the bundle of papers they had removed from the safe and had explored en- route to Amsterdam. Marta placed them in front of Henrick with a growing suspicion. When they had inspected the certificates, although she didn’t understand the system of grading that was used, she remembered reading ‘Top White’ and ‘Colourless’ and nothing about impurities.

  Marta distrusted Henrick. He had hawkish eyes and a polished patter that would shine in the dark. She watched him closely. Henrick scrutinized the papers giving little concern to Marta’s statement. They were independent certifications and at first glance the right quantity for the diamonds in front of him. It would be an easy task now to cut a deal through his connections for the whole batch.

  “Well I have never heard anyone acquiring diamonds in that manner before, but whether you took them from a dead person or not I would rather not know any more. The important decision now is what we can do with them. Fortunately, you have all the right documents for these stones, so as you are a friend of Tons, I am prepared to help you. I can give you £20,000 for all of them and might I had it is quite a risk on my part for doing so.” Henrick reached into his breast pocket and removed a cigar.

  “And what about the diamond you put to one side? How much is that worth? Asked Marta accusingly. Stipe and Toni watched Marta whom it seemed had taken over the negotiations. Henrick stayed calm and lit his cigar. Marta saw a flicker in his eyes that fuelled her suspicions that he was deceiving them.

  “That stone has a high colour tint, despite its large size it has many imperfections.” In truth the diamond was loupe clean and flawless; a stone fit for his Celine.

  Previously, Marta had patched the diamond to the certificate. As it was the largest stone, she had found the document with the highest carat rating and simply linked the two together. If she was correct she remembered the certificate had said Exceptional White. Henrick was lying. Marta reasoned that if Henrick was lying the stones were worth at least four or five times what he was offering them. And he seemed edgy. Her instincts told her he needed this transaction as much as they did and decided nobody was going to con them after all the trouble they had been through to get them here.

  “I think we both know Mr Van der Meen that you can do better than that offer,” pushed Marta. Stipe and Toni were both watching her, dumbstruck. She gave them a reassuring nod while Henrick's face was cloaked behind a cloud of cigar smoke.

  “I only wish I could. It is not going to be easy selling these on due to the nature in which you‘ve brought them to me.” Marta had had enough. It was time for positive action. She reached into the rucksack and retrieved the gun, speaking as she moved,

  “Did I neglect to tell you Mr Van der Meen.” The gun was out in the open and she removed the clip quickly went through the motions of checking its contents and inserted it back into the butt. “That it was I who put the bullet into the dead man’s head before we took the diamonds? Mmm, I mean he wasn’t dead at the time.” She pointed the weapon at Henrick who had turned whiter than a morning full of cumulous clouds. Toni sat speechless while Stipe tried to intervene. Marta put her free hand on his shoulder before he could stand and pushed him back into the chair, not taking her eyes once off of Henrick’s. “Make us a better offer,” demanded Marta.

  Alright, alright,” stammered Henrick. “I can give you £30,000. That is all. Marta knew they were being robbed blind but they had no one else to turn to. She clicked the hammer back ready to fire at Henrick.

  “You make it £40,000 and I will consider putting this away intact or else you will end up like the last man who tried to cheat me on a diamond transaction. Henrick was visibly shaking and so was Stipe. He remembered the ease at which she had killed the Serbian soldier and new that she was not bluffing.

  “Please, please don’t shoot me. I will give you what you ask. Put the gun away, please.” Marta dropped the pistol to her side.

  “Good. We have a deal then.” Marta strode over to the desk, collected the glass of water next to Henrick’s coffee, and returned. “Here, drink this. You will feel better.” Marta handed the glass to Henrick who had removed a handkerchief from a pocket and was busy dabbing his ashen brow, his shoulders slumped against the backrest of the stool. Marta looked at Stipe searching for approval. He turned his head aside and walked around her and faced Henrick. Toni stood and moved alongside Marta, close to her ear. He patted her on the back and whispered,

  “Frigging hell. You’ve got some balls woman. Let’s get the money and get out of here.”

  “We will don’t worry.”

  “Let me help you to a more comfortable chair Mr Van der Meen. Take deep breaths and you will feel fine in a moment or two. Henrick was unable to speak and his legs were like two sticks of rubber. Stipe aided him to a couch and sat him in the centre. “We will need the money before we leave Mr Van der Meen. Under the circumstances I’m sure you will agree that is a reasonable request.” Stipe took two paces back and observed Hen
rick’s colour slowly filtering back into his cheeks. Marta and Toni joined him and stood menacingly along the breadth of the sofa. Henrick stared at the three of them one at a time fixing his glare on Marta.

  “You are all fucking lunatics, especially you, you crazy bitch.”

  “And you are still alive at least for the moment. Now get your shit together and tell us how you intend to pay us our money.” Marta snapped back. Henrick’s composure was at a workable level. He offered his hand to Stipe. “Help me up.” Stipe eased the overweight frame onto its legs. Henrick shrugged his shoulder free, straightened his jacket and walked over to a safe in the wall. He removed all of the monetary contents and returned to his desk.

  “There is the equivalent of £35,000 here. That is all I have in my office. I will have the rest for you tomorrow. Be back here at Midday. You come alone. Don’t bring her with you.” Stipe looked at the others for approval.

  Marta said, “That will be agreeable. I knew you would see sense in the end.” Marta picked up the cash and gave it to Stipe who put it into Toni’s bag. “Let’s go,” said Marta. They started for the door. Marta came alongside the sorting table and turned to face Henrick “And Mr van der Meen, we’ll all be back tomorrow.” She patted her rucksack where she had replaced the gun, “So don’t even think of trying anything stupid, understand?” Marta picked up the solitary diamond. “Seeing this one isn’t worth very much,” she said holding the stone above her head admiringly, “I’ll keep this one as a souvenir.” Marta grinned at Henrick and put the diamond in her pocket and closed the door behind her as they left. Henrick fumed. That girl is unbalanced, he thought. Henrick buzzed his secretary to bring him a large Turkish coffee and then gathered the stones from the table and put the gems and the certificates into his safe. Despite his ordeal, Henrick managed a wry smile. He had made a killing. Within a couple of days he would have the stones sold and a large part of his debt to the bank paid. The smile departed as quickly as it arrived. He only had a further five days to find the remaining quarter of a million pounds.

  12

  The dismal, grey, concrete structure of the military hospital was a sight that Zoran was pleased to be leaving behind him. The doctors discharged him with an appointment for physiotherapy at the local hospital in his home town and instructions to return to have a prosthetic arm fitted on a date they would notify him on. In his opinion, a useless piece of flesh-coloured plastic which was suited only for scaring young children. Transport had been arranged for him to return to his unit where an adjutant filled in a report of the events leading up to his wounding. With sufficient bluster, lies and scant recollections the report read as if Zoran, while on patrol, had been ambushed and left for dead. He knew nothing what had happened to the rest of his unit and neither did the adjutant. They presumed they were captured, but were officially listed as missing. Zoran was informed that when all the red tape was completed he would be discharged from the army and probably be receiving a medal as well. Little compensation for his loss, he thought.

  He left the interview frustrated. He knew nothing of the whereabouts of Toni Popovic and had hoped to gain a clue to his location from the army hierarchy. The thought of that little weasel spending his money inflamed him and the sight of his re-tailored shirtsleeve fired him up further. Zoran kicked a stone and cursed Toni’s name. He still had one good arm though and that was all he needed to squeeze the life out of that nerds throat. Zoran spotted a corporal that was under his command and shouted to him to stop. The corporal turned and waited for Zoran to walk over to him, looking at his missing arm, and believing there was justice after all for the hard times that Zoran had made him endure. His voice was transparent as he spoke.

  “Hello Zoran. Sorry to hear about you getting shot. How are you getting by?” Zoran's arm twitched uncomfortably as the corporal stared at the missing limb.

  “I’m doing fine. Do you know anything about Toni Popovic? He was with me on patrol when we got hit.”

  “It’s funny you mention him. I heard a whisper that he has deserted. They found the other two in your patrol, both dead, but no Toni Popovic. Then a friend of mine in admin’ gets a report relayed to him from a police station in Split saying that one of our jeeps was found abandoned next to where a car was stolen on the same day. Popovic was the only one from your patrol left to drive. Makes me wonder if there was an ulterior motive for being in that location and old Toni didn’t pop you all off because of it.” Zoran bored his eyes deeply into the corporals.

  “We were on a routine patrol, get it?”

  “Whatever you say, Zoran. I’m on your side, remember?”

  “Hmm. Don’t forget it. We don’t want any misguided rumours getting around do we?”

  “No, Zoran,” replied the corporal remembering his rank and the fact that Zoran with one hand was more than a match for him.

  “Has the jeep been collected?”

  “As far as I know it hasn’t. The police are holding it.” Zoran thought for a moment then he placed his arm around the corporal’s shoulder taking a firm grasp on his neck.

  “This is what you are going to do for me,” commanded Zoran. They started walking towards the administrative building. “You are going to see your friend now and get him to prepare some official type of paper authorizing me to collect the jeep from the police station. Make sure it has plenty of official looking rubber stamps on it. You know what bloody bureaucrats the police are. Go and do it now and don’t return back here without it.” Even in Zoran’s depleted status, the subordinate officer-relationship, the ground between bully and the bullied, remained unbroken. The corporal meekly agreed and went to find his friend.

  Zoran pondered this fresh piece of information. So Popovic had made a run for it, but why Split? Who was there that Popovic knew? Maybe he was headed south to Dubrovnik. He could easily loose himself there. Or more probable he would head for the border, maybe crossing into Italy or Austria. That was more logical. Zoran called after the corporal to wait. Zoran rejoined him.

  “I want you to do one more thing for me and that is dig out a photo of Popovic. We must have one on file somewhere.” The corporal said he would search out his references and see what was in there. Zoran left after arranging to meet the corporal later that afternoon.

  At the appointed time the corporal returned with the information Zoran had asked for. He had found a photo from an application form for membership into a social club that had been left unprocessed and a bribe out of his own pocket had secured the letter. Zoran took the documents, examined them and folded them into his inside pocket.

  “Locate a vehicle. I need a lift to the train station. You will have to drive me there.” The corporal left Zoran pondering the fresh Intel and with no word of thanks for his endeavours. He would be s glad to see the back of Zoran. Three hours later Zoran arrived at the station in Split and booked a room in a cheap hotel. In the morning he would see where the trail of Toni Popovic went from here.

  Looking suitably dressed in a freshly pressed uniform, Zoran ate a breakfast of cold meats and cheese with two cups of strong, black coffee, and after receiving directions from the waiter, left the hotel for the police station. He entered the front office radiating an air of authority, and tapped with his batten on the counter. A startled rookie, unaccustomed to having an important looking officer enter his domain at such an early hour stood briskly, dropping his pen onto the report he was writing, and with an inquisitive expression asked how he could help.

  “My name is Zoran Jovanavich. I have been sent to collect an army jeep that was abandoned here and that you have in your compound.” Zoran offered the letter to the policeman who scrutinised its contents. “I would like to speak to the person who has been dealing with this matter if that is at all possible?” Satisfied with the letters authenticity, the policeman said,

  “You will need to speak to sergeant Luka Begovic. He has been dealing with it” At that moment a side door opened and a tall man, balding heavily and sporting angry looking eyebr
ows came over to the desk.

  “That is your man,” whispered the rookie and handed the paper back to Zoran. Zoran repeated his request to Luka who took the paper from Zoran and beckoned him into his office. He read the paper and then looked at Zoran with scepticism, wondering why the army would send a man with half an arm missing to collect a vehicle when it would be difficult for him to drive the thing. He had given up trying to understand the military a long time ago. They sat either side of his desk and Luka started to fill in a release form, whilst making small talk. Zoran guided the conversation onto the stolen car.

  “They told me you believe the driver of the jeep may have been the same person who stole a blue car.”

  “That’s correct. The jeep was left in a car park on the sea front next to where the car was stolen. A woman, in the early hours of the morning, reported to us that she saw three people break into the car and that they had firearms. She became frightened and hid behind a refuge container and watched them eventually start the car and head in the direction of Solin. We haven’t a clue what happened to them after that.” Zoran looked surprised.

  “Three people you said stole the car?”

  “Yes, two men and a woman, all in their early twenties. The girl had long dark hair. That’s all the description the woman could give except one man wore glasses.”

  “Has the stolen car turned up yet?”

  “No. But it will I’m sure.” Zoran gave him a card with a number on where he could be contacted. “Will you give me a call when the car is found? We are as eager as you to find the man concerned and it might be a clue as to his whereabouts.”

  “As soon as I have any information I will call you. Always glad to help the military.” He handed the release form to Zoran and proceeded to show him to the compound. Zoran started the jeep and with clumsy movements drove the vehicle away with Luka wondering with all the men available to them why they couldn’t have sent someone with two arms.