Schneider didn’t mention the substantial funds in the accounts still held in the names of Laurent Benoît de Bonneville, Raffael Rodrigo Pires da Silva and Adam Henrik Peterson. Unless he was advised that any of them had bequeathed the funds to anyone, they would remain at the bank along with thousands of other unclaimed balances until the powers-that-be decided to release them for some purpose. It was not part of his duties to bring attention to such matters. It was not in his script.
He accompanied them down to the reception to call a taxi, then left them, the familiar sound of his nose being blown drifting back along the corridor.
Their meeting with Mme. Aeschiman, at the Banque de Commerce, was quite different. She was aghast at the story. “I’m so sorry for Mr. Bishop and for you, of course. It’s a tragedy. Such a clever, nice man, and his partners too, and now Mr. Peterson. I can’t believe it.”
When they told her about Kurt Vogel, she was sympathetic. “I’m going to make a complete investigation of these transfers. If this is an embezzlement, I’ll pass it on to our fraud department. Our lawyers will decide what can be done, if anything. I believe that if a signature was forged then our insurance is engaged. I certainly hope so. I’ll contact you as soon as I have any news.”
Hanny had called Jenny on the Monday, after the detectives’ visit, to sympathise with her and Leticia for their ordeal. Leticia spoke to him, describing how Adam’s bravery had saved her son. She would never forget it.
Jenny had asked him for the details of his bank account. They could now draw a line under this last aborted transaction of the Angolan Clan. They transferred the million dollars back to him and closed down the IDD account.
When they left, Mme. Aeschiman was sorry to see them go. It was the end of a long relationship. Although, thought Jenny, I think I’d rather prolong that relationship, if possible, than continue to deal with M. Schneider. We’ll see what happens.
Now, in Cointrin as they sat talking, Leticia took out the key to the Ramseyer, Haldemann safety deposit. Charlie’s key, the one with the yellow elastic band. “What should we do about this? And what should we do about the diamonds?”
“Tell me, Leticia. If you could go and get those diamonds, would you do it? Do you really want all that money?”
“Anyone would want that much money, Jenny. But I think it’s very dangerous. We don’t know who has the other key, but they know who has this one. And I’m sure they will want to get it.”
“So there’s nothing we can do. Twelve million dollars of diamonds locked away in the red light district in Geneva and you only have one key. We can’t exactly run a small ad in the newspaper. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens, if anything happens.”
“I don’t want to keep the key, Jenny. I don’t want to keep it in the house. I’m frightened for Emilio that something bad will happen.”
Jenny took the key from her hand. “Then I’ll keep it. You can forget it ever existed. I promise nothing bad will happen to you, nor to Emilio.”
They walked towards the gate for Madrid. The flight was boarding. Leticia put her arms around her. “Take care, Jenny dear. Please come and see us in your house soon. Emilio and I will miss you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“No crying, Leticia, I always want to think of you laughing. In any case I’ll be over often, just wait and see.”
“Jenny.” She paused nervously. “I have something to tell you.”
“I hope it’s something nice?”
“I think so. Patrice called me. He is very sorry about Ray and everything. He sent his best wishes to you and… he invited me to have dinner with him when I get home.”
“And did you accept?”
Leticia looked at her in surprise. “Of course I did, why should I not? I still miss Charlie so much, but I think he would want me to get on with my life. He would have understood.”
Jenny could have bitten her tongue off. Her question reflected the pang of envy that had momentarily stabbed her. This young woman had delightful parents and an adorable little son. Now it seemed, a good looking young banker was setting his cap at her. What have I got? A semi-detached in Ipswich and a West Highland Terrier called Cooper. She pulled herself together. It’s the start of a new life for both of us. She’s just sprinted ahead a little, that’s all.
Leticia was watching her apprehensively, looking for Jenny’s approbation, just as she had always looked for Charlie’s, still unsure of herself in this new episode in her life.
“I think that’s absolutely wonderful. Just make sure that his intentions are honourable, and try to get him to dress down a little. He looks a bit too French, in my opinion.”
Leticia relaxed again and giggled. “I think it’s better than being too Swiss.”
“That’s more like it. We’ve got you laughing again. Goodbye, Leticia, have a safe flight. Give Emilio a big kiss from his Aunt Jenny.”
“You too. Say hello to Cooper for me.” The two women embraced and parted, for the time being.
Leticia waved as she went through the gate to claim her business seat on the Iberia flight to Madrid.
Jenny walked slowly towards her departure gate. She took her purse from her bag and opened the zipped part. She placed Charlie’s key with the yellow elastic band next to Nick’s key with the green band. The key she’d taken from Adam’s jacket in his bathroom at the hotel. Now they were side by side, together, as they should be.
She wasn’t in a hurry, she had plenty of time. She’d paid a speedy boarding supplement on the easyJet flight to Stansted. It had cost her ten pounds extra. Time to change my spending habits, she thought, I can afford it.
THE END
CHRISTOPHER LOWERY is a ‘Geordie’, born in the northeast of England, who graduated in finance and economics after reluctantly giving up career choices in professional golf and rock & roll. He is a real estate and telecoms entrepreneur and has created several successful companies around the world. Chris wrote the Angolan Clan after the Revolution of the Carnations forced him to flee Portugal in 1975. He also writes patents and children’s books and composes music. He and his wife Marjorie live between Geneva and Marbella. They have one daughter, a writer/photographer who is resident in Geneva.
LOOK OUT FOR CHRISTOPHER LOWERY’S
NEXT THRILLER:
The Rwandan Hostage
the sequel to
The Angolan Clan
and the second in the African Diamonds series.
ALSO BY CHRISTOPHER LOWERY:
The House that Jack Built:
A modern fairy tale
(Illustrated)
The second and third books in this
series coming soon:
Captain Jack and Jack and the ET Folk
Visit www.unclechrisproductions.com
for news, humour and stories.
Urbane Publications is dedicated to developing new author voices, and publishing fiction and non-fiction that challenges, thrills and fascinates. From page-turning novels to innovative reference books, our goal is to publish what YOU want to read. Find out more at
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CHRISTOPHER LOWERY
The second book in the
African Diamonds Trilogy
First published in Great Britain in 2016
by Urbane Publications Ltd
Suite 3, Brown Europe House,
3/34 Gleamingwood Drive,
Chatham, Kent ME5 8RZ
Copyright © Christopher Lowery, 2016
The moral right of Christopher Lowery to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place
s, organisations and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Apart from historical fact, any resemblance to actual events, organisations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-910692-96-7
Kindle ISBN 978-1-910692-98-1
epub ISBN 978-1-910692-97-4
Cover design and typeset at Chandler Book Design, King’s Lynn, Norfolk
Front cover images sourced through royalty free photo libraries:
© Subbotina Anna|shutterstock.com (burnt paper)
© Peshkova|shutterstock.com (concrete room)
© Jag_cz|shutterstock.com (flames)
© Nadya Lukic|istockphoto.com (hands)
Printed in Great Britain by
CPI Antony Rowe,
Chippenham, Wiltshire
The publisher supports the Forest Stewardship Council® (FSC®), the leading international forest-certification organisation. This book is made from acid-free paper from an FSC®-certified provider. FSC is the only forest-certification scheme supported by the leading environmental organisations, including Greenpeace.
Dedicated to my parents, Christopher Dawson (Kit) Lowery
and Lilian May (Lily) Lowery
Thank you. For everything.
My thanks for their advice and assistance go to:
SWITZERLAND:
My beloved wife Marjorie, ‘red liner in chief’, cutting down my wordy phrases into bite-sized chunks.
My dear daughter, Kerry-Jane, whose experience in Rwanda was the genesis of this book and whose editing was essential to its authenticity.
Martin Panchaud and Sig Ramseyer.
SPAIN:
Mo & Barry Nay
UK:
Mike Jeffries and my nephew Nick Street.
And especially to my publisher, Mathew Smith, at Urbane Publications, who had faith in my first book and encouraged me to finish this one (and start the next one).
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.’
Sir Walter Scott, 1808
There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip.
Old English proverb
Contents
Prologue
February, 2010
One
Two
Three
Day One: Sunday, July 11, 2010
Four
Five
Day Two: Monday July 12, 2010
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Day Three: Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Fifteen
Rwanda: 1995
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Marbella: Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Day Four: Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Day Five: Thursday, July 15, 2010
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Alexandra: Johannesburg, 2007
Forty-Nine
Delmas: Mpumalanga, South Africa, 2010
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Day Six: Friday, July 16, 2010
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Day Seven: Saturday, July 17, 2010
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Day Eight Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sixty-Six
Day Nine: Monday, July 19, 2010
Sixty-Seven
Day Ten: Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Nine
Seventy
Epilogue
About the Author
PROLOGUE
April 6th, 1994
Kamenjye Neighbourhood, Kigali, Rwanda
It was six forty-five on a warm, airless evening. Darkness had fallen. Cigarette smoke drifted out of the open windows of the three lorries and music could be heard, the same song being played over and over, a kind of folk music mixed with a rap beat that sounded right across the valley. The tarpaulin-covered army trucks were driving at only sixty kilometres an hour, heading eastwards away from the city on the Kanombe Military Hospital Road, along the north side of the airport runway. At the end of the airport property, they turned to the south, driving along several smaller roads through the Kamenjye neighbourhood. The drivers dimmed their lights as they left this populous area, passing Basanza Cemetery and heading up a dirt track on Colline Karama. The occupants weren’t so much concerned with noise as with unnecessary light. The sound of the engines increased as they began the slow climb up the incline on the way to the upper slopes. The children playing by the roadside ran after them for a little while and the inhabitants of the shacks pointed and chattered until they were out of sight, then resumed their evening conversations amongst themselves.
Each vehicle contained an officer and four soldiers of the Forces Armées Rwandaises, the Rwandan Armed Forces, as well as two wooden crates, about two metres long. The officers were members of the Hutu akazu movement and the soldiers, dressed in ill-fitting army uniforms and carrying AK-47 assault rifles, were all specialists in Interahamwe training – professional murderers. In the first truck, two men, dressed in European civilian outfits, smoking Gitanes and wearing sunglasses, sat alongside the officer on the driver’s bench seat. They leaned over to the open window so that the incoming fresh air, although not cool enough to be refreshing, at least blew away the stink of the soldiers’ sweat.
The music was coming from the akazu controlled radio station, Radio-Télévision Libres des Mille Collines – Thousand Hills Free Radio-TV. The song, ‘Nanga Abahutu, I hate Hutus’, was sung by Simon Bikindi, a Hutu extremist. Bikindi’s lyrics berated those Hutus who failed to continue to supress the Tutsis and maintain the power they had gained during the 1959 revolution. This ideology was indoctrinated in Hutus of all walks of life, especially those in the army, who were taught to recite verbatim a 1992 army memorandum, which defined the Hutu’s enemy as ‘the Tutsi, inside or outside the country’. Mutual racial hatred was the common currency of Rwanda and there was nothing the intervention of the outside world could do about it.
During the years since the revolution, hundreds of thousands of Tutsis had fled, settling in refugee camps in the huge and populous countries surrounding their homeland. There were now over half a million of them in Zaire and Tanzania and in their smaller neighbours, Uganda and Burundi. Rwandan exiles were amongst the largest communities of refugees in Africa. Many had been born in the refugee camps and what little they knew of their country, known as the ‘Land of a thousand hills,’ was learned only from hearsay and traditional songs and stories repeated by the older generation who still had vague memories of the tiny, magical land, lying like a beautiful island in the Great Lakes region of eastern-central Africa.
Inside the country, there w
as little opportunity for the Tutsis to change their fortunes, but in 1987, a growing movement of refugee exiles in southern Uganda had created the Rwanda Patriotic Front, and they had other ideas. In October 1990, four thousand Tutsis of the RPF invaded Rwanda with the intention of replacing the Hutu regime. The invasion was a catastrophic failure, which would have far-reaching and horrendous consequences that no one could possibly have imagined.
Dar es Salaam International Airport, Tanzania
In the luxuriously equipped cabin of the Dassault Falcon 50, the eight VIP passengers settled back in their seats as the plane taxied towards the runway for their short flight to Kigali. The private jet, a gift from Francois Mitterrand, the French president, to Juvénal Habiyarimana, the Rwandan Hutu president, was carrying them back from a one-day summit meeting of regional African leaders in Dar es Salaam. In addition to Habiyarimana, there were three senior members of his cabinet and his personal doctor, as well as Cyprien Ntaryamira, the newly elected president of Burundi, with two members of his government.
There was only one flight attendant on board, Marie-Ange Lemurier, a shapely black woman from the French island of Réunion, with thick brown burnished hair. A young aide de camp, Benoît Umotomi, seconded as a security officer, was sitting beside her in the spare flight attendant’s seat. His name was a throw-back to the fifty years of occupation by Belgium which Rwanda had suffered prior to independence in 1962.
The purpose of the summit meeting had been formally announced as a debate on the problems faced by Burundi since the assassination of the previous Hutu president, Melchior Ndadaye, after only two months in office. However, Habiyarimana had been mercilessly harassed once again by his African counterparts for his prevarication over the signing of the Arusha Peace Accords. This agreement, which was effectively a power sharing coalition between the Rwandan Hutu government and the Tutsi Patriotic Front, had been published in August 1993, but never signed by Habiyarimana and it seemed it never would be. The presence in Rwanda of the French and Belgian UNamir peace-keeping force was a sign, albeit a feeble sign, of the interest of the international community, but more especially the UN, to avoid yet another African disaster, but it wasn’t yet working.
The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set Page 60
