CONFLICT DIAMONDS: THE START OF THE BEGINNING

by Verner Jones

  Zoran drove back to the hotel trying to work out Popovic’s plan. So the weasel had acquired two flunkies to bolster his ego. The gutless swine couldn’t do anything from his own accord, thought Zoran and resolved that he would deal with those two as well if they stood between him and his diamonds.

  Back at the hotel Zoran parked the jeep in a secluded area and proceeded to search for any clues that would render their location. He found nothing. Zoran went to his room, reasoning that Popovic would be heading north and across the border into central Europe. Somewhere like Paris or Prague where there would be a bourse for the trading of diamonds. And where at least he would have half a chance of selling them. He wouldn’t have papers though allowing him through the border crossing, so he would have to be smuggled through somehow. Zoran needed to find the stolen car to be sure of his theory. He needed some luck.

  His fortuitous break came as he was settling his bill at the hotel reception the following day. A telephone call caught him almost at the exit of the hotel when the receptionist called him back saying there was a person wanting to speak to him. He took the receiver to find Luka on the line.

  “Hello Sergeant Zoran.”

  “Good Morning Sergeant Begovic.”

  “I have some good news for you. The stolen blue car has been located in a roadside café twenty kilometres from the Slovenian border close to a town called Matulji. I can arrange with the local police for you to meet with them and maybe they can help you with your investigation.”

  “That is good news, Luka and most appreciated.” Luka gave Zoran the name of the officer who was handling the matter and said he would inform him that Zoran would be in touch with them. Zoran checked through the hotel reception if there was a train to Rijeka, the nearest large city. There wasn’t. It was about a 300-kilometre drive from his location. He cursed his disability and the thought of driving there in an open top jeep. With no other alternative readily available, Zoran loaded his case into the rear and took the coast road north.

  It was mid afternoon when Zoran pulled alongside the kerb outside the Matulji central police station. His wind lashed face was numb and he was fighting bad cramps in his left leg. He lumbered out of the vehicle stretching and massaging his leg wishing the blood would thaw in his upper body so he could move freely again. He located the officer who was expecting him and received a briefing of the facts as were known, which were sparse and not very helpful. Zoran decided to visit the roadside café and speak to the staff to see if they could shed any light on the three’s movements after the car was abandoned. The officer gave him directions and after a strong coffee with a shot of brandy in it, (courtesy of the police chief) he made his way towards the outskirts of town.

  The Last Chance Café was a truckers haven and was literally what its name conjured up; the last chance for food and fuel before the border, and an opportunity to shower and shave, courtesy of the innovative owners and a shower block at the rear of the café. There were fifteen or so HGV lorries sprawled across the car park. Zoran went inside and asked for the owner. A trim figured woman around forty, curvaceous and probably one of the reasons the Last Chance was so popular, called back to him from behind the steam of an espresso machine that she was the person he was looking for and to wait a moment until she finished. She dispensed the black liquid to a man waiting at the counter then moved to face Zoran.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if you could help me. I am trying to find this man.” Zoran showed her the photograph of Popovic. “He is connected to the stolen vehicle that was abandoned here. He may have been travelling with a young girl with dark hair and another man.” The woman studied the photo and called over one of her waitresses.

  “Ivana, look at this picture. Wasn’t this the man you served last week who didn’t have any dinars and could only pay with German marks?” The waitress studied the photo.

  “Yes that’s him. You don’t forget people who tip as handsomely as he did especially in this place. He asked me if I knew anyone who was going towards Amsterdam who he might get a lift from. There was nobody I knew going that far only Stefan Turkusic, he was taking a trailer of timber some where near Paris. I told him he could try him and pointed him out at a table in the corner. That’s when he gave me 50 marks. You don’t forget people like that in a hurry in case they come back.”

  “Were there any other people with him?”

  “No I don’t think so, ah wait a moment, a young woman did come in and sit with him for a while after he had spoken to Stefan. Then they left together and I don’t know what happened to them after that. You would have to speak to Stefan.” Zoran thought a moment.

  “Does this Stefan come in here regularly?” The owner answered.

  “Yes. A lot of the truckers are on regular trips and they all stop at my place. Stefan is usually back by Friday. He’ll be in here then.” Friday was days away. Zoran didn’t relish the thought of having to comeback and sit around all day hoping to catch a trucker eager to get home.

  “Is there any other way I can get in touch with him?”

  “Well a lot of the guys have mobile phones. They often call ahead to let me know they’re coming. We’re like a family here. I can give you his number if you want to talk to him?”

  “That will be very helpful.” The café proprietor located a book from under the counter and wrote Stefan’s number on a napkin.

  “Here, give him a call. There’s a payphone in the corner.”

  “Thanks.” Zoran took change from his pocket and dialled the number. A tired voice answered after a prolonged ringing.

  “Yep. Who is it?”

  “Stefan Turkusic?”

  “That’s me and who are you buddy?”

  “I’m Zoran Jovanovich, the owner of the Last Chance Café gave me your number,” Zoran silently cursed for not getting the name of the woman, “she said you might be able to help me.”

  “I don’t know how I can but fire away pal. I could do with someone to talk to It gets to be a long haul on your own sometimes.”

  “ I’m trying to find two men and a woman who might have asked you for a lift last week to Paris or Amsterdam? They were in the Last Chance and the waitress said she saw you talking to one of them.”

  “Yea, I know the guys you are talking about. Damn fucking liberty they took as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The spotty looking guy comes up to me in Milica’s place and asks if he can have a ride to Paris with me. Hey that is a long trip to be stuck with someone who looks as if he's going to bore you to death so I told him I don’t take hitchhikers. I drive my load to the yard at Melun, France, and when I pull of the tarp’ these three youths jump down from my load, knock me to the ground and disappear into the night. And one of them was your friend. I’d like to get my hands on that little pushte. That was a damn liberty and I don’t like people knocking me to the ground.” Zoran sensed there was no more to be gleaned from his trucker friend, thanked him and hung up.

  So Popovic and his cronies were in Paris heading for Amsterdam, a good choice with it being one of the diamond centres of the world. Zoran thought how they would reach Amsterdam. Public transport would be available and the trains were the obvious choice. Zoran made several calls and located the information desk at the Paris Nord train station. There were high-speed trains to Amsterdam via the Bruxelles-Midi station that departed every two hours. Zoran was convinced that was their chosen route. His next move was clear. He would dine here and soften up Ivana with a generous tip and get her to use her influence with a trucker to acquire a lift to where he could get a train to Amsterdam. Suddenly Toni Popovic didn’t seem that far away.

  13

  They took a brisk pace back to the hotel; Marta skipping sideward as they walked, her glee obvious.

  “We did it. We did it.”

  “You mean you did it, Marta. You scared the shit out of him. He wouldn’t have paid us what the stones were worth if you didn’t force his hand
,” said Toni. They crossed the road to where the tram had dropped them earlier; the holdall feeling as if it was a flashing red light, slung over the back of Stipe’s shoulders.

  “Let’s hurry and get the tram. I feel as if the world is watching me with all this money and that bloody gun I’m carrying.”

  “Give it to Toni then if you feel conspicuous. Marta reached out to help Stipe remove the bag. He shrugged her arm away and kept on walking.

  “I’ll be okay. It’s not far to the Victoria.” Marta knew his problem. He didn’t like firearms.

  “I bet if he hadn’t given the money to you, you’d have popped him one wouldn’t you Marta?” said Toni still on a high.

  “Yea, Straight between the balls, boom, boom.” Marta pointed her hand in the shape of a pistol and pretended to fire the two shots knowing she would annoy Stipe and glad that she had.

  “Yea no one messes with Marta Obric,” said Toni elevating Marta to hero status. Stipe gave her a hard look and said nothing. Marta fell in step with the others regretting that she had antagonized Stipe. They journeyed back in relevant silence except for Toni whose adrenalin was still free flowing.

  When they reached the hotel the tension between Stipe and Marta’s had eased. They collected their keys and went to Stipe and Toni’s room. Once inside they locked the door and Stipe spilled the cash and the weapon onto the bed. He was light hearted again, having dismissed Marta’s folly with the gun.

  “Look at it. We’ve done it. We’re rich now. Toni. Get the other bag out and put it all on the bed.” Stipe jumped onto the mattress and picked up three wads of notes and started to juggle with them singing a circus song. Marta joined in with him jumping up and down on the mattress trying to balance a wad on her head. Toni emptied the cash from the other case and threw two big handfuls at both of them and leapt onto the bed marching in and around both of them a wad in between his teeth and sprinkling the money like confetti over his companions’ heads. They all lost balance and fell in a heap laughing. When they had caught their breaths Stipe said,

  “What are you going to do with your Share Toni?”

  “I’m going to have the best computer money can buy and brush up on my hacking skills. Maybe I could go to America. I’ve always wanted to live there. ”

  “What about you Marta?” Marta sat erect with a pensive look on her face.

  “I don’t know. It’s all too quick for me to have made a decision. I mean I know we have talked about it and everything, but now we have the money and I can actually spend it, I don’t know what I am going to do with it.”

  “Stupid arse,” said Toni standing up off of the bed and tweaking Marta’s cheek. “You’ll soon find something to spend it on don’t worry. I’m going to have a quick shower and when I come out we can divide the bounty.” Toni went into the bathroom humming a tune leaving Stipe and Marta alone. Marta knelt on the bed. There was an uneasy tension loitering between them that was apparent now they were alone. Marta picked up the pistol. “You don’t like me having this do you?” Their eyes met.

  “No I don’t. I remember how easily you were able to use it last time.” Marta became cross.

  “Do you think that was easy for me back at the house? It had to be done and you know it. You just have to be able to block certain things out that happen in your life or how else would you be able to survive being raped and nearly…”Marta stopped abruptly clenching her teeth and screwing up her face not believing what she had just said. She couldn’t bear to look at Stipe and had a compelling urge to run out of the room. She dropped her head and started to ease herself off of the bed as if she was trying to slip away without waking a child who was sleeping. Stipe took hold of her arm preventing her from leaving.

  “Is that what happened to you Marta?” His voice was full of concern. She turned away from him keeping her head lowered.

  “Yes,” Her voice was soft, barely audible, but the impact was profound. Stipe drew closer to her.

  “There were four of them. People we knew and lived with. They burst into our house with my father bound like a slave on the end of a leash. They raped my mother and me. When they were finished they killed my brother, my father and mother then sat down to eat our dinner that we had prepared at our table, while one man sought to have me again. But I was better than all of them. I was the rabbit caught in the snare, the game, the prize to be had, but they hadn’t fixed the wire tight enough and the rabbit found a way out. I let that greasy haired slob believe I was going to give myself freely to him in exchange for my life. While he was out of the room I slipped my fathers hunting knife under my clothes, and when I had him underneath me, I buried the blade up to the hilt into his heart, taking from him what he had helped destroy in me. I watched the life fadeout of him and felt no remorse. They say that revenge is a meal that is best-eaten warm and it is true. I could here that scum in the other room eating and laughing, not knowing they had only moments to live. I took the gun off the corpse and relished the retribution it was about to deliver to me. I was detached from reality as I walked into the room and stood in the doorway waiting for their reaction. They didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t supposed to be standing there smiling, enjoying the moment. I was supposed to be the rabbit in the snare. The shock expression on their faces as I lifted the gun and blasted each one in turn unwound the noose that bound me. The rabbit was free again, but dead inside.

  After a while, I don’t remember how long, I became aware of my surroundings and was driven by the need to sanctify our home and myself. I dragged the offenders outside and then went upstairs to wash the filth out of my body; only soap and water aren’t the remedy no matter how much you scrub. Then I went downstairs and put my family together, embracing each other, in death, showing the love and unity we had in life. Our home wasn’t a home anymore and so I made it a temple, their resting place where they would never have to leave and that no one could take away from them. I burnt it to the ground, their funeral pyre and came to Sarajevo. So now you know Marta Obric. Not very pleasant is it?”

  Stipe squeezed Marta’s hand, shocked but supportive and unsure what to do next. He knew from medical school how the victims of rape often felt the guilty party and buried their emotions in case society were to judge them as if they were compliant in the act. Rape was a double-edged sword that cut its victims twice. And who was Marta? Only a person like himself from a similar background, who lived a simple life with the same aspirations as he, but who had been distorted to the point where she could kill without remorse. He wondered how she had managed to cope with life before he had met her.

  “Marta, you’re not a bad person. We all do insane things when insane things happen to us. You are a victim of mindless hatred and you responded the only way you could to save yourself.” Marta still unable to look at Stipe said, “No man will ever want me. How can you even stand to look at me now you know the truth?” Stipe took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  Marta that’s not true. I, I want you. I have since the night we stayed at your uncle’s house. When I look at you I only see beauty.” Marta looked at him, a blur through the tears in her eyes. She blinked and they ran down her cheeks sharpening Stipe’s image. He leaned forward and kissed each droplet away. Her lips were next, quivering, restraining the floodgates of her emotions. Her body trembled. He put his arms around her, reassuring and strong. Her lips responded, unsure at first, then following his slow, rhythmic motion that calmed her trembling and steadied her uneven breath until she relaxed into his arms and unified their embrace by clutching his waist; letting out a deep sigh. She felt whole again.

  They parted their union and Stipe stroked her hair. He kissed either side of her face again, her face radiated hope.

  “You don’t hate me then?”

  “Of course I don’t. You are beautiful. How could anyone hate you?” They hugged and when they released each other Stipe felt the need to tell of his ordeal in the woods. His outpouring of the death of his parents and how he had fled Sreb
rinica bonded the two of them closer. They had endured tragedy, lost everything and survived. Now they had each other and a new start beckoned them. Marta held Stipe tight, feeling his loss, wanting to comfort him. They remained oblivious to the world.

  Toni finished his shower dried and re-entered the room towelling his hair. He looked at Stipe and Marta locked in each other’s arms and was startled.

  “You two haven’t gone all soppy on each other have you? Money can have that effect you know.” He drooped the towel around his neck and reached for a clean tee shirt. Marta and Stipe parted. Their look said that they should say nothing of their outpourings. Stipe said,

  “Marta and I have become an item. Do you mind Toni?” Toni rested his hands on his hips and looked disinterested at them.

  “Of course I don’t. If it’s what you guys want its fine with me. Thought it would happen anyway. Now. Can we count out our money?” Their exuberance returned and with eager hands they knelt around the bed and started building piles of notes.

  With three piles counted, separated and divided and present expenses deducted, they each had a little over £22,000 each, including the £5000 still to be collected. More money than either of them had ever had, but not exactly a retirement fund. Inwardly the realization of the sum of money they had didn’t live up to their expectations of it providing a foundation for a brighter, secure future. It had seemed a fortune when first discovered; now £22,000 was a sum that could easily evaporate with a little frivolous spending. Outwardly, all agreed that they were the nouveau rich and celebrated the evening drinking and eating in the Seasons Garden restaurant in the hotel and later in the Tasman Bar. Marta allowed herself two glasses of wine, a limit that from the previous time she had drank of the grape, decided was an amount she could just handle and still talk coherently. The evening drew to a close and Marta helped her over-indulged partners, whose high spirits were attracting disproving glances from the head barman, back to their rooms, supporting them with one arm of each around her shoulders. With apologies from both for getting drunk, Marta watched amused as they stumbled into their room. She closed the door behind them leaving them to their own devices to make it to the sheets and contentedly went to her room and her first blissful sleep in ages.