Diamonds Best Friend Or Foe

AN M-Y BOOKS PAPERBACK © Copyright 2005 Albert Able The right of Albert Able to be identified as the author of This work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 All Rights Reserved No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead, is purely coincidental

Layout and cover © David Stockman. www.davidstockman.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

ISBN 10:- 0-9551679-2-2 ISBN 13:- 978-0-9551679-2-8 Published by M-Y Books 187 Ware Road Hertford Herts. SG13 7EQ

This book is dedicated as ever to my long-suffering family and friends. And of course to those who had to die to make the book live! Albert

INTRODUCTION The Good Guys The man upon whose shoulders rests the responsibility of ensuring that good prevails over evil is Alex Scott, the descendant of several generations of fighting men. Alex is tough, very tough: in fact he can kill, without any apparent sign of remorse, yet possesses compassion and understanding where needed. He transferred from the Royal Navy to an elite secret NATO department known as SONIC. Special Operations, National & International Collaboration, dedicated to the often amoral but vital roll of protecting the soft underbelly of Democracy. SONIC has to fight by the same rules as its enemies, consequently "There are no rules" – just the natural basic animal instincts of survival.

The Bad Guys The Syndicate, a small group of men with an insatiable appetite for power, is the main enemy. The leader and creator of the group was formerly a high-ranking member of the Diplomatic Corps; a disgraced politician, two dethroned business tycoons and a corrupt lawyer are his co-conspirators. All are consumed with an overwhelming sense of resentment and bitterness, believing the democratic process to have unjustly served them all. By pooling their collective skills they quickly achieved the benefit and satisfaction of their enormous power, mostly by creating havoc within the financial structure of the Western democratic economies, and making substantial fortunes for themselves in the process. Their appetite for punishing the establishment, as well as the corporate institutions, that had rejected their earlier dreams however, was not so easily sated.

Spurred on by the success of their efforts, their inflated egos easily justified more adventurous and devious activities, until they had become one of the most deadly and corrupt of the multitude of underworld organisations. They were not public kudos-seekers; on the contrary, one of their major strengths was their near-total anonymity. The Leader and his four partners were known as Controllers to the members of the individual cells of four or five other men each one controlled. The members of the cells were given the elevated title Syndicate Executives. They in turn employed Operatives, who were mainly expendable short-term allies, lured into fulfilling the amoral activities of the Syndicate. None of the cells was aware of the others' existence. In this way near perfect security had been established. To achieve their objectives, they often forged temporary alliances with Third World governments, terrorist or criminal organisation. They had no scruples and easily corrupted any individual who was deemed to be useful to their cause. Loyalty was their prime requirement; the rewards for success were immense. The price of disloyalty or failure was ruthless – and terminal.

The Opportunists These are the greedy ones: human parasites with the perfected skill of living off other people’s efforts, or weaknesses. But sometimes there is also the innocent opportunist who happens upon the prize and, Why not? Being in the right place at the right time can be part of life’s good fortune, or otherwise... *****

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THE STORY This is a human story of Good verses Evil, of Faith and Courage, of Avarice and Greed, of Love and Dedication, of Trust and Betrayal And above all, of Diamonds

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THE BEGINNING The discovery of a body mutilated almost beyond recognition in this region was not necessarily cause for alarm. It was considered more important to dispose of the remains quickly, for the sultry heat of the African continent had an immediate and unsavoury effect on anything that had stopped living. The man on the slab appeared to be of mixed race; he was naked and bore no obvious identity marks other than a rather messy arm tattoo. He had probably been robbed and battered to death, probably for a few pitiful coins, a camera or some trivial trinket. No-one would ever know. The remains had been taken to the local morgue; perfunctory examination was the norm, and the body would then be hastily buried or cremated, without too much ceremony. By chance on this occasion a student pathologist, recently arrived from London, was on duty in the pathology theatre. The surgeon in charge immediately saw this as an opportunity to initiate the proud young doctor. "Fresh from college and still a virgin, at least in African pathology dissection terms," the surgeon chuckled to himself in anticipation. “Now, this is your chance to rapidly gain some field experience, "was the expression the surgeon in command had used, with a professional smile. The body was already at an advanced stage of decomposition. Determined to pass the inevitable initiation ceremony, the student went to work on the putrefying remains. Knowing full well that he was being tested, he decided to attack the subject with vigour, believing that it would enhance his performance in this test of skill and experience. Attempting to ignore the stench of the devastated body before him, he took a deep breath and carved theatrically into the revolting mess. He retched involuntarily as the razor5

sharp scalpel cut dispassionately through the taut skin below the abdomen, slicing right into the stomach lining and through the swollen intestine almost simultaneously. The gush of cold, putrid gore flushed onto his bare arm and trickled down over his gloved hands. Desperately trying to avoid the embarrassment of vomiting into the body, and by turning his head quickly, he directed the acid remains of his lunch towards the stainless steel bucket waiting conveniently at the side of the dissection table. He was only partially successful. The surgeon laughed loudly – his practised way of fighting his own battle to resist the effect of the familiar corrupt waste before them. “Well done, son," he encouraged with genuine understanding. "Here, stand back while I sluice this shit away, eh?" and directed the hose at the mess. It took the student a few seconds to regain his concentration. Recomposed, he looked up at the face of the surgeon and with a frown said, "For a minute there, I was wishing I’d specialised in operating on the live ones!" The senior surgeon smiled back. "This kid is going to be all right," he thought. The examination revealed that the victim had been severely kicked about the body; he had suffered several broken ribs and severe ruptures to internal organs. Death, however, they deduced, had been caused by repeated severe blows to the head, probably with a heavy piece of timber, like a pickaxe handle. The examination was all but over when the student noticed the injection marks on both forearms. He added casually to his recorded report: "... and finally, our corpse was a junkie." But as he turned to move away, something unusual about the irregular arm tattoos caught his eye; he lifted the arm and looked more closely at the crude artwork. He spoke again for the benefit of the microphone and the inevitable 6

report. "Oh, and finally," he added quietly, correcting himself almost light-heartedly, "on both arms and on each side of the body are what appear to be tribal scars and tattoos. It may help identify the victim, I suppose," he said aloud for the benefit of the recording. The scars were quite lumpy and new. Curious, he took a scalpel and carefully sliced around one of the recent wounds. “Bloody Hell! Just look at this!" he gasped in dismay. The senior surgeon was already stripping off his gloves and gown. He called over, "What is it?" “I think you had better take a look," the astonished student called back. Balanced on the blade of the scalpel was a blood-smeared cut diamond the size of a man's fingernail. Further close examination revealed 25 similar scars on the dead man’s arm and body. ***** The Boss of SONIC, Special Operations National and International Collaboration, was going quietly and systematically through the daily reports when his telephone rang. He picked it up and listened. One of his field agents in Angola had seen the report of a supposed diamond smuggler's body that had been found in a back street somewhere in Luanda. "Apparently he had half a dozen stones grafted to the inside of his arm. Must have been bloody painful!" the agent said, imagining the pain of cutting into the soft, tender flesh of the arm. "Sounds close to the sort of thing you were asking about the other day." “It certainly does," the Boss replied. "Get the details to me right away – usual route of course. Oh, and thank you." He replaced the phone. Reports of new diamond finds in Angola had been filtering their way to SONIC's attention. There were also reports of unusual numbers of stones being distributed outside of the 7

official and legal international outlets. It was well known that diamonds were the main financial resource that – sadly – financed the horrific genocidal conflicts still plaguing some of the African nations. Conflict Diamonds are major political pawns on the troubled continent. The Prime Minister, on behalf of the United Nations, had asked SONIC initially to "take a look at the situation" and report back. "Then if you feel there is anything practical we can do ..." The final, exact words had been off the record, as usual. "I want you to make lots of smoke and kick as much arse as possible, as and where necessary! But I want the flow of Conflict Diamonds significantly curtailed, and with as much publicity as possible. It's one thing for politicians to agree to some highly moral foreign policy, but you also have to be seen to be making your best endeavours to comply.” There were never any records kept of such meetings. The Boss knew the rules; in his experience the best solution, he told his operatives, was to deliver. "You won’t get a pat on the back, but you won't get a kick up the backside either.” In this instance the Boss felt absolutely certain that with such big stakes to play, democracy’s deadly enemy, the Syndicate, would not be far away. He dialled a coded GSM number and set up an automessage. Alex Scott answered. The metallic voice of the prerecorded message simply said: "A meeting, please. The usual place, noon tomorrow." The phone beeped several times as Alex punched in his Personal Identification Number to confirm the meeting. ***** Alex Scott and his ancestors were born on the Channel Island of Jersey. They were a family of fighting men: both his 8

father and grandfather had made the ultimate sacrifice for King and Country in each of the two Great Wars. Alex left university, and following the family tradition, joined the Royal Navy. He was recruited by SONIC following a terrorist bomb attack in which two of his colleagues had been brutally killed, and several seriously wounded. He had been extremely lucky, and only suffered minor injuries – sufficient however for the Boss to camouflage his move to SONIC by invaliding him out of the Royal Navy. SONIC’s activities suited Alex’s maverick personality. He cringed when faced with bureaucratic nonsense; he liked making direct action decisions – and bucked the system whenever possible. At fifty years of age, he was lean and fit. His passions were sailing and scuba-diving. He shunned jogging as a boring habit, but was dedicated to a healthy regime usually consisting of twice-weekly marshal arts training sessions, and when not on assignment, briskly walking his dog two or three miles early every morning. "Nature's way," he claimed. He never got used to killing, yet like one of nature’s predators, he was quite capable, when necessary, of dispatching his prey without any outward sign of compassion or remorse. Accustomed to operating mostly on his own, he frequently had to make decisions and act on his own initiative. The enemy was always the same – those who take advantage of the soft underbelly of democracy. With the cold war between the Allies and the USSR over, the emphasis for SONIC was mostly on upstart foreign political extremists, or any other criminal or terrorist organisation likely to upset the established codes of practice that keep the delicate balance between economic or political war and peace. This is the complicated battlefield on which democracy fights to survive. Alex’s first wife and three-month-old child had been tragically killed during a freak summer storm. Lightning had 9

struck a large tree, which crashed onto their car, killing them both. Devastated, Alex had thrown his full concentration into the many missions SONIC allocated to him, his way of absorbing the pain. But then some ten years after that dreadful day, he had met "the most attractive and vibrant young lady" he had ever seen, as he frequently described her. He would not at first allow himself to admit it, but he knew that he had fallen instantly in love. Rosie was exceptionally tall for an Oriental lady, and stunningly beautiful. Her Mother was half Japanese, a quarter Dutch and a quarter Chinese; her father Korean. The grandparents were from Japan and China, and on both sides of the family were members of European extraction as well. She had a veritable cocktail of Oriental and European cultures pumping through her veins, as her beloved Grandmother used to tell her. Rosie had been at University studying European languages, and planned spending a year in Jersey working with one of the large international banks there. She had travelled to Europe with a college pal for their year of work experience. The bank had rented Alex’s cottage for them. One sunny weekend, the two young ladies were having a barbecue, cooking some of their favourite oriental dishes. The aroma wafted like a fisherman’s lure into the garden, where Alex was quietly watering the lawn. Hearing the girls chattering away in their own language, he was fascinated by the rapid flow of strange words. Then he noticed the smoke of the barbecue, and suddenly his senses were tantalised by the rich aroma of the spicy food. Without any further ado, he turned off his hose and wandered across to their patio. "I don’t remember anything in the lease about a Chinese restaurant," he announced with a stern face. The girls looked up. It was Rosie who replied, her friend instantly coy, more accustomed to the traditional place of the Oriental female. 10

“Oh! You must have missed the small print, sir. It’s okay every third Saturday evening, and any Sunday if the landlord is present. Will you join us for lunch?" Alex had never really noticed her before. Now, suddenly, there she was, standing tall, defiantly erect and smiling, the sun reflecting somehow in her jet-black hair. Their eyes met; it was in that brief magical moment that he knew he was in love. He’d often said it jokingly of pretty girls before when he’d been out with the boys, but this was no joke. As he stood there, momentarily dazed, it took only a second to recover his composure – but Rosie had noticed the flutter in her own breast. "My God!" she said to herself, "What a beautiful man you are!" Alex stayed for the barbecue. He didn’t remember much of the meal: he was totally besotted by the amazing woman’s presence. They spent the next few evenings walking on the beach, sitting on the dunes watching the sun go down, and talking endlessly. Their personalities gelled without any effort. Unsurprisingly, quite soon after that momentous meeting, they agreed to move in together. That had been five years ago. Rosie was known locally as Mrs Scott; in fact most people assumed that they were married. Yet they had never spoken of marriage or children. Sometimes Alex would battle with his conscience: was he being fair to Rosie? But he easily found plausible and entirely chauvinistic reasons why he should discontinue this train of thought. He owned and operated a yacht brokerage business, and also ran a school for sailing and scuba-diving. He also purported to be a part-time journalist, writing occasional articles for the Jersey Evening Post as well as for other national journals. Alex’s commercial operations had always proved to be excellent cover for his secret SONIC missions. Delivering a yacht or power-boat, for instance, could easily take several 11

days – even weeks, depending on the ultimate destination. His lifelong friend, Jean Le Main, had been his business manager ever since the company had started. He never asked any questions about Alex’s periodic absences. Jean, who had recently been made a full partner, was quite happy to take full responsibility for running the organisation. “Such people are the real heroes in this troubled world, "Alex had told the harassed Boss of SONIC one day. "Without these good guys the world would be an impossible place to live in.” “Yes." The Boss looked up with a rare smile. "Thank goodness someone is prepared to stay at home and watch the chickens while you go out and clean up the world!" He chuckled softly. ***** Alex took the early morning British-European red-eye from Jersey to Gatwick. This allowed him ample time to make his appointment at midday, as ordered. The meeting place was one of several different locations used in random rotation for clandestine meetings with the Boss. This time it was the Bow Wine Vaults at Bow Church Yard, in the City of London. The ancient inn was approached over the flagstoned courtyard of the famous Mary-Le-Bow church. At first glance inside the inn, it appears to be quite small; there are, however, as is the case with so many traditional City inns, three floors accessed by a narrow wooden staircase, as well as the basement. Alex was early. He chose a table near the door, but out of sight of the street. The Boss was nervous of public places; he knew that they provided good security for such meetings, and he did not trust his own offices. He was quite paranoid about the possibility of them being monitored and bugged. Alex smiled to himself, thinking, "The truth is that the Boss 12

simply doesn’t trust anyone. I wonder if that includes me?" At that moment, the Boss appeared. He wore a plain grey raincoat, had a slightly stooped appearance and would certainly be easily lost in a crowd. It was only at close quarters, when you looked into those penetrating steel-grey eyes, that you realised he was a person with great strength of character and determination. Not an easy man to argue with, yet he would usually listen to, and take heed of, common sense. “Good morning, and thank you as usual for making the trip." He held out his hand; the grip was positive and firm. "Couldn’t have stayed away. It feels a bit like Christmas when I receive your Royal Command. I can’t help wondering what the surprise present is going to be! "Alex responded happily. The Boss smiled. "I have a mission for you all right, but first – and you should know by now – I can’t talk with a dry throat!" “Sorry, Boss," Alex apologised. He moved to the ancient bar, ordered a large gin & tonic for the Boss and a lager top for himself, then paid for the drinks and strolled back to the table. "Here we are." Alex placed the glasses on the stained coasters. "One large Gordon’s and Schweppes, okay?" “Does it come some other way?" the Boss asked lightly. He raised his glass and savoured the sparkling liquid. "Perfect!" he declared. "Now, down to business. We’ve been receiving reports of unusually large quantities of cut and uncut diamonds reaching the market outside of the normal De Beers-controlled cartel." He raised one eyebrow and frowned. “As you probably know, the diamond industry is going through a time of change." He settled more comfortably into his chair. "A new buzzword has arrived in the vocabulary: 'Conflict Diamonds' – the name for those stones that come from various African countries where the proceeds are used to fund their tribal wars." 13

He looked at his drink, where the ice floated gently with the lemon as he rotated the glass slowly. "There is a risk that diamonds could soon become as non-u as a fur coat. Socially unacceptable, since it's almost impossible to distinguish between Conflict stones and legitimate ones! The consequences for the economies of Africa and Russia in particular, which depend on the diamonds, could be catastrophic. And that creates a major threat to world economic stability." He toyed with the stem of his glass. "De Beers are helping to find a way to clean up the industry, mostly by marking legitimate stones with some sort of secret laser mark. As you know, the worst atrocities have taken place – or are still taking place – in Angola, Sierra Leone and the Democratic Republic of Congo, and De Beers have stopped trading in gems from these sources. This in itself has created a massive black market in smuggled diamonds." He took a sip from the glass and rolled his lips before looking directly into Alex’s eyes. "The Syndicate are suspected of being one of the major players." He looked back at his drink. "The diamonds, we think, are being smuggled out of the countries to South Africa, then on the Ukraine and China. Once they have been cut and polished, their origin is almost impossible to identify." He sipped his drink absently. "The prospector has his own problem: what to do with his hard-won gems? Threatened with financial disaster, they are easy targets for illegal purchasing proposals.” The Boss looked Alex squarely in the face. "I’ll warrant that this is where The Syndicate is bound to be playing its role in this tragic affair. Just a couple of days ago, the mutilated body of some poor unfortunate wretch was found in a back street of Luanda. That by itself is not significant; what makes it interesting to us is that he had half a dozen diamonds the size of your fingernail buried in cuts in his forearm and body – and that’s only the ones reported." 14

The Boss paused, toyed with the stem of his glass again, but did not drink. "Some of the diamond fields in Angola, under the control of their Government, are still supplying the markets illicitly." He continued: "There is one report in particular, however, of a new maverick mining operation, said to have achieved a major yield of diamonds, using a new detection and recovery technique. We believe The Syndicate may have taken control of this very considerable source, and that thousands more carets of diamonds are about to be released onto the black market. We are not yet sure exactly which mine is the culprit. That’s to be part of your job." He picked up the glass again and took a large draught. Nodding with satisfaction, he continued. "Our sources in Antwerp have reported an unusual number of high grade diamonds appearing on the street there." He looked across at Alex, his brow creased with anxiety. "We have similar reports from New York, Singapore, Hong Kong ... but most recently from Beijing. The Chinese are not saying anything officially – they never do – but the fact is that high-grade diamonds are circulating in great quantities over there. This, my friend, spells only one thing to me: The Syndicate." The Boss sat upright in his chair. "Alex, you’re going to have to find that mine, and how the diamonds are being spirited away from the country. Then – close it down!" He looked at Alex, raising one eyebrow, "And if you can take out a cell or two of Syndicate operatives at the same time, you’ll be doing us all a great favour.” “That’s quite a tall order, Boss. The diamond mines are spread all over Western Africa – not just in Angola. Any chance of some assistance?” “Listen, Alex: we sent a man to Angola last year when we were trying to keep tabs on The Syndicate in the area. He spent almost two months ferreting around. He was a new boy, I admit; I think he became a bit obvious. Consequently, there 15

was no result from his enquiries and we had to pull him out before they took him out." The Boss looked Alex squarely in the face. "Recently we infiltrated a man into what we believed to be The Syndicate's courier service to Antwerp and Beijing from West Africa. We have not had any report for over a week now. I am very concerned that his cover may have been compromised." He looked towards the door as if he were expecting something to happen, then he looked back. "I am convinced that we may have a Syndicate mole very close to SONIC. There have been too many leaks lately. I do not want to put you at risk by giving you an assistant known to The Syndicate!" He looked at Alex and smiled. "Working alone, you are the best chance we have." He placed a paternal hand on Alex’s arm. "Just remember," – he faced Alex –"Diamonds, some believe, are even more important than Gold as an international trading commodity. They are small, light and easily traded. If the world market were to be flooded with gemstone diamonds, and at the same time some radical human rights organisation tries to plot a diamond boycott, it could without doubt seriously destabilise some of the more fragile economies. It’s down to us to stop that happening." He swallowed the rest of his drink without really noticing it. “We can never really win with these swine, but like a good gardener, if we work hard and keep the weeds and other vermin at bay, the garden flourishes. If we neglect it, even for a little while, the weeds and pests just reappear out of nowhere and commence their war of attrition on our once carefully cultivated garden." He paused, then continued with a sigh. "The high value of diamonds means that there are massive profits to be made. This means that substantial bribes are routinely paid for loyalty. And so Honesty becomes another casualty of war. Anyway," – he changed to a lighter tone – "I know that you are only really safe when you operate alone." He placed his 16

hand once again on Alex’s arm. "Unless you insist, you’re on your own with this one – at least to start with, okay?" "Okay, Boss." Alex smiled. "I don’t have anything much on my plate this week, so let’s take another swipe at the buggers, eh?” The Boss shook the offered hand firmly without saying any more. They got up from their table and moved to the door. The Boss looked back at the antique bar and its equally ancient bartender. "Take a last look at this lovely old pub, Alex." He shook his head sadly. "It’s about to be lost for ever. I’ve learned it’s to be turned into another one of those trendy wine bars." He turned away. "I suppose it’s inevitable." He mumbled under his breath: "I’m told it’s called progress." Then they moved out into the busy lane, walking in opposite directions, without looking back. ***** Diamonds are pure crystallised carbon and are the hardest naturally-occurring material known to man. They reflect light like no other substance. An emblem of ritual and ultimate wealth, symbols of love and affection craved by adoring ladies, yet with a vital industrial role to play. An easily circulated trading commodity, they are therefore regarded as one of Earth’s most important, precious and useful minerals. Sadly, those very qualities have a darker side. Possessing such versatile properties, diamonds naturally beckon greedy and ambitious suitors, prepared to go to any length to secure their seductive allure, promoting daring theft, extortion, and all too frequently, brutal murder. These addictive tokens are to be found in numerous areas around the globe, Africa being one of the main sources of the highest-quality gemstones. The uncut stones in particular are mainly bought and sold by one mighty company. They have controlled the world markets since the great diamond mines were opened up in South Africa at the end of the 19th century. 17

Sir Ernest Oppenheimer founded the De Beers corporation at the turn of the century. They are thought to control the marketing of about 75% of the world’s uncut diamonds. It may be a rare example of a cartel that seems to work for everyone’s benefit. Prospectors can therefore concern themselves with finding the precious prize, confident in the knowledge that an eager buyer is waiting for them to succeed. The majority of diamonds found are of industrial quality, or of a semi-precious standard. Nonetheless, they represent substantial value for the prospector. New regions are constantly being explored and occasionally commercial deposits are discovered. The ultimate prize is for the stones to be of "Large or Fancy Gemstone" quality. There are two types of natural diamonds: one known as alluvial, extracted from the sea or from ancient riverbeds; the other, Kimberlite, is found in the region of extinct volcanoes. They occur not only in the traditional white, but also various shades of pink and blue. Angola is recognised as a major source of large, topgrade gemstone diamonds from both sources. Several new diamondiferous Kimberlite deposits have been discovered there recently, following the limited reintroduction of prospecting licences, and the granting of concessions to foreign prospectors. One such site is in the remote north-east corner of Angola, close to the border with Zaire. Here, a newlyestablished team of adventurous prospectors was revisiting some previously tested pipes, the exhaust vents of ancient extinct volcanoes. Considered to be uneconomic by the original owners, these concessions had been obtained very cheaply by the new prospectors, who were gambling on their prototype computerised seismic technology to justify their investment. Their space-age detection system allows the prospectors to aim their probe drill directly at their deep and mysterious targets, in much the same way as drilling for oil. 18

Their confidence in the new technology had been quickly rewarded when they detected with their very first probe significant kimberlitic rock deposits, missed by earlier, less accurate methods. In this instance, and to their complete amazement, the new adventurers had struck a productive sample with a quite shallow probe. The bluish rock was carefully brought to the surface and excitedly examined. The 50kg core of granite hard spoil was emptied onto the concrete floor and crudely broken with lump hammers. The crushed material was sieved carefully; part was removed for chemical analysis and part for geological assessment. The rest was washed into the sieve for physical evidence of the elusive gems. The sample was found to contain substantially more diamond deposit than the detectors had initially indicated. Amazingly, two large raw stones appeared out of the sludge. They were originally one huge stone, now broken in two at a stress point, probably as a result of the hammering and crushing. Covered with bits of shale and sand, the stones looked nothing like the mind's vision of a diamond. When the debris had been chipped away, the leader of the group gingerly picked up the two stones. Together they filled the stunned team leader's hand. They were the largest raw diamonds any of the mesmerised team had ever seen. “Like bloody cricket balls!" a dry, excited voice exclaimed. There was an electrifying tension around the group of eager prospectors. Was this sample a true example of the rest of the deposits at this concession? Once cut, what quality and how many carats would they prove to be? To establish these essential facts, the samples now had to be sent to the De Beers Buying Station in Luanda for appraisal and valuation. Then, if the quality was good enough, they would be purchased from the prospectors by De Beers, 19

who would either sell them on or retain them as their stock, to hold as market demand dictated. The team leader, Nick Weston, a big, strong, energetic fellow about 30 years of age, had graduated from Cambridge with a Degree in Geology and Engineering. This had enabled him to channel his energy and training into his lifelong ambition, prospecting for precious minerals. Nick eventually called his ecstatic colleagues together. "Now, everyone just calm down." He knew they had to let off steam, but now was the time to bring back some discipline to the situation. "We may have located a mighty hoard, and could be looking at riches beyond any of our wildest dreams. However, there are several very difficult stages to overcome before we can start spending." He smiled and paused for breath. "On the other hand, we may have found, by chance, the only two good diamonds in Africa." He feigned anguish. There were a couple of knowing nods, and a nervous laugh or two, but most remained silent. Like the others, Nick was flushed with the exhilaration of the diamond find; he continued nonetheless, his voice surprisingly calm. "What is paramount for everyone here, is to observe the strictest secrecy." He looked seriously at each of the gathered men. "We have been through all the theoretical security plans. Now," he declared triumphantly, "we are actually going to have to implement them." He continued even more seriously: "I am sure I don’t have to remind you that this country is like a tinder-box, riddled with political and tribal disputes. The MPLA and UNITA may have a fragile truce, but what we have here will easily sidestep the rules of any truce. Any one of the local officials will be only too pleased to betray our situation to the highest bidder." He paused. "So," he waved a threatening finger at his now calmed and serious audience, "if we are to have any hope of enjoying this good fortune," he added emphatically, "mouths crab-arse shut, watertight sealed, okay?" 20

Some of them chuckled, but the rest remained silent. They were all too well aware of the very real dangers that could be waiting for them.

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Chapter Two International political subversion and all forms of major crime are the special prerogatives of The Syndicate. Discreetly currying favour with the new Chinese regime, which is gradually shrugging off the restrictive shackles of the old totalitarian communist state, The Syndicate are able to offer attractive incentives to eager officials who assist with negotiation contracts for the purchase of their illicit stocks of gold and diamonds. The Chinese administration was well aware of the source of the diamonds but patronised the situation because it suited them. The time would come when The Syndicate would no longer be tolerated. Each party knew this; each party played the dangerous game to suit its own agenda. Every Syndicate operative was part of a small cell, each of which consisted of five members. Each cell had a Controller. No-one knew who his or her Controller was. All instructions were issued via coded, untraceable telephone calls. The Syndicate’s own security, therefore, was nearly impossible to compromise. The Syndicate was well represented in the major diamond prospecting areas, with many eager agents alert for news of significant new sources and the opportunity to relieve prospectors of their finds, and of course, the generous reward for their services. No matter how good a mining group’s security was thought to be, information on a significant diamond find would somehow be magically channelled to one or other Syndicate informer. The Syndicate would usually offer a prospector a jointventure contract; this guaranteed a market outlet for their wares, an especially attractive proposal in view of the current embargo. Faced therefore with the clear alternatives, many prospectors would eagerly accept such a proposal. Those who 22

refused rarely survived for very long, suffering from fatal industrial accidents or other similar fates. The Syndicate had a simple philosophy: co-operate and work loyally and you will be well rewarded for success. Those who failed to co-operate or failed to honour commitments were quickly terminated. With such a simplistic and powerful incentive, The Syndicate’s vassals were always eager to prove their worth. ***** There was an undercurrent of cautious excitement at Nick Weston’s new concession. The first two stones, together with about 20 other smaller, but nonetheless impressive, examples that were subsequently dragged to the surface by the prototype probe, were now ready to be dispatched by road to the Buying Station in Luanda, many hundreds of miles away on the Atlantic coast. The airport at Mucuco was reported to be in rebel hands, and probably unserviceable anyway. The overland route involved a long, tortuous, and potentially dangerous journey over the neglected roads of the remote region, but it was the only choice. Once they had more abundant funding to cover such essential security overheads, the prospectors would build their own airstrip and fly their precious gems directly to Luanda or to other far-flung locations. Nick elected to send James, the other geologist, and his three toughest drivers. Armed with the samples and a considerable shopping list for fresh stores and equipment, they were excited in anticipation of the adventure ahead. They would take the diesel Land Rover and the battered old Toyota truck with a trailer. The journey over the rough, neglected roads could take five days or more each way. Nick decided to stay with the rest of the team and continue with more probes. Confirmation of the quality of the 23

diamonds and an assessment of potential yield from the concession were now essential to justify the additional funding needed from their investors, so that they could open up the source commercially. James and his three drivers pushed their mini-convoy as hard as they could without completely destroying the vehicles or themselves. They arrived in Luanda after just over four days of almost non-stop nerve-jarring driving; a considerable achievement, considering the state of the dilapidated, neglected roads. With the samples safely delivered to the agency, they had been promised the assessment results by noon the next day. Resigned to having to wait, the crew booked into a modest hotel in the scruffy suburbs, and retired to the neighbouring roadside diner for some much-deserved refreshment. It bore the name Café L’Etoile, a reminder of the country’s old colonial history. The restaurant was not exactly Egon Ronay, but a huge tender steak and chips were all that these starving customers wanted, and that was exactly what they were served, although which species of steak was never revealed. No-one really cared: almost anything would have tasted delicious. Swilled down with several jugs of cool beer, the conversation drifted to speculation on the result of the sample assessment. Were they all to be rich, or had the probe fooled them? What if the rest of the diamond-bearing ore was barren? What if the stones were of a worthless grade? Surely Nick knew his stuff. Of course he did – they were all going to be mega-rich! And so it went on as the flow of ale lubricated their imaginations. Suddenly, James, in his quietly commanding way, declared, "Quite frankly, I’m now so tired, I don’t give a toss tonight if I’m rich or poor. If I don’t go to bed soon I’ll fall asleep on the table." He stood up a little unsteadily. 24

The others followed without any encouragement." You're absolutely right!" drawled one of the others. They moved off to their rooms, having agreed to meet for breakfast at 8.30. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. Later that night, the barman dialled his special number. The telephone was connected to an answering machine, as always." Marcel at the Café L’Etoile: I wish to talk," was all he said after the mechanical voice instructed him to start his message. He carefully replaced the receiver. He would have to wait now for his Controller to make contact." I think they’ll be pleased with this one," he mused with an inner smile; he remembered all too clearly the last time he had reported a Private Find. When it had turned out to be a dry run, they had seemed to be very understanding. “Next time, Marcel, we do hope you will be more careful with your assessment of the target," his contact admonished, then added in a mildly conciliatory voice," It would, of course, be even worse if you had missed a real opportunity ..." Marcel shivered. The point had been all too plainly made. He knew that failure was never an option with these people. ***** The Exploration Company had been Nick Weston’s brainchild. He had managed to identify several "interesting" locations in Angola, sites originally surveyed by one of the larger corporate diamond companies, then declared uneconomic, and discarded. The authorities, believing that the land was barren, happily took the quite substantial fee for the licence to explore and mine the specific areas. First he obtained licences and options. Next he obtained the option to acquire the land and its mineral rights from the current owners. The capital required for the first two stages – ap25

proximately $5 million, was substantial, and way above Nick’s own means. Undaunted, Nick persuaded a number of investors that with the aid of his revolutionary technology and team of skilled adventurers, he would be able to find commercial quantities of diamonds. Once they agreed, however, the investors were cautious, setting rigid conditions to limit their exposure, yet providing for taking the lion's share if the project succeeded. “Seems reasonable," Nick's partner James observed, as he scanned the contract. “Seems bloody greedy if you ask me!" Nick scowled. "But that’s how the commercial world works. One day we’ll have lots of cash and no doubt will be pestered by young hopefuls to fund their pet projects." He turned to face James. "I wonder how we’ll react then.” James smiled. "Let's make the money first, then worry about what we do with it, eh?” The first concession was an area of approximately 2,500 square miles. Their second and larger area, about 5,000 square miles, located some 300 miles to the north. They chose to start at the smaller site, simply because it was the easiest to access and required less of their limited seed capital to set up. Nick had always had a hunch that the territory to the north had the better kimberlitic features, but now that he had finally secured funding, he was content to keep the northern territory for a rainy day. The enormous cost of open cast "chance" digging in this terrain was never going to be a viable option. The reason that he’d been able to convince his investors was his faith in his space-age detection techniques. He had recently helped some colleagues develop the super-sensitive ultrasonic seismic equipment that he was now going to field-test, as he confidently convinced them. Originally designed for use from the air, with a combination of sonic, laser and x-ray technology, 26

the device could survey wide areas at speed and at precise depths, achieving the most astonishing pinpoint accuracy. Success, however, still meant that investors would have to find additional money to establish civilised living quarters for the team, as well as security, mechanical screening and selection machines in addition to heavy earth-moving equipment, and more transport. The diamonds, perishable supplies and personnel would all have to be transported efficiently by air; a modest airstrip therefore had to be levelled out of the rough terrain. All these would make heavy demands on the capital resources available. Investors, however, are only too pleased to follow the potential success of a viable project, providing the initial results of the analysis confirm the quality favourably. “Just pray that the report is good! If so, the next stage should be incredibly exciting, not to say profitable, for everyone involved," Nick had eagerly commanded his team. Everything now depended on the assessor’s findings. ***** The telephone rang. Marcel, dressed only in his boxer shorts and dozing on his bed, was startled by the sound, even though he had been waiting for the call. “So what do you have for us this time, Marcel?" the Controller asked coolly. “I just thought I should report," Marcel replied quickly, "that we had a gang of prospectors in this evening." He was trying to put extra emphasis into the news. "They were celebrating something special, judging by the amount of booze they put away." He tried to sound amused and confident, but his Controller remained silent." They just couldn’t stop talking about how they were all going to spend their fortunes. I’m pretty sure they were talking about diamonds," Marcel stammered, now a little nervous. 27

“That sounds as if it could be very interesting. What else did you learn, my friend?" the Controller added in a friendly tone. “I think they are expecting some assay results tomorrow, but I don’t know who is doing the analysis." Marcel added quickly: "I presume it’s the De Beers agent but I can’t be sure." There was a pause. “It seems, doesn’t it, Marcel? – that tomorrow you should find out." The icy command was not one to be questioned. “I will call you as soon as I know," Marcel replied hurriedly. “I’ll be waiting for the call." The Controller replaced the receiver. Marcel did the same and rolled into his bed, but sleep did not come easily for him that night. ***** James and his drivers met as planned for breakfast. With their lacklustre expressions, they looked a forlorn lot. “My head tells me we drank much more than was good for us," one of the drivers moaned. The others quietly nodded agreement. There was a No Drinking rule back at the base camp. Last night had been the first alcohol any of them had consumed for over a month. Its effect was apparent in their drawn faces as they ate their breakfasts in near silence. James pushed his plate away and spoke quietly to the others. "Okay men, so let's organise ourselves today," he started. "I’ll take the Land Rover with Harry, and you two take the Toyota and trailer to collect the equipment from the warehouse and the other bits and pieces. Here: I’ve made up a 28

shopping list for fuel and other supplies. You can organise this while Harry and I sort out the agent." The two drivers nodded without enthusiasm; one reached out and took the list and an envelope containing a wad of US dollars. "That should cover it all," James confirmed. “Okay," mumbled the driver. "So ... where and at what time will we meet?" he asked more cheerfully, trying to refresh his mood. “Why don’t we meet back here, at about 1.30?" James proposed, "then if we’ve completed all our errands, we could make an early start. We're going to need a lot more time for the return trip – with the load Nick’s planned for us.” It was agreed. They were all very keen to return to the camp to get the next phase of the operation started. The two drivers boarded their Toyota and headed towards the shantytown of ramshackle buildings that passed as a sort of trading estate in that part of the world. James and Harry drove into the outskirts of the city. They were not due to see the agent until noon: "the earliest time by which the results of the assay could possibly be available," the effeminate clerk at the office had told them haughtily. It suited them, however, because it gave them the time to fulfil their secret extra mission on behalf of the group. Nick had decided that it was time to acquire some firearms to beef up their security. Until now, it had been considered by everyone that having firearms at the camp invited as much trouble as it deterred. There was an uneasy truce between the MPLA and UNITA, but with a Guerrilla or civil war, you can never be quite sure who is who. It was now known that part of the area in which they were working was one of the last strongholds of some of the most notorious UNITA rebels – mostly those who had not accepted the amnesty to integrate back into the government regime. The location, close to the Zaire border, 29

also made it convenient for such groups to make a strategic withdrawal, should this become necessary. So with potentially dangerous activities moving closer to their site daily, together with the unexpected scale of their strike, Nick reasoned that now was the time to have a little additional insurance. “Keep it quiet, though. I don’t want the boys or anyone else to know that we have the arms, not yet anyway." When James had asked why, Nick had smiled and offered simply, "What you don’t know, you can’t tell, can you?" James stopped the Range Rover in a cloud of dust. The building seemed to fit the address given to them. It had a plain but reasonably tidy-looking appearance. A sign was propped against the wall near the entrance: "Hardware Store" was scribbled crudely on the weathered plaque. Harry said cautiously: "Are you sure this is the right place?" “It makes you wonder ... but it fits, as far as I can see." James wrinkled his brow. "Let’s find out what goes on inside, shall we." They entered cautiously through the open door. It smelled fusty and after the blinding light of the African sun, it was dark and dingy at first. Gradually their eyes adjusted to the change in light. They found that they were standing in an empty room – well, almost empty – for there was a single chair and a small desk at the far end, facing the door. A longtailed green lizard darted up the wall behind the desk. It stopped and froze, like an elegant statue, alongside a crack in the flaking plaster. The only moving part of the streamlined body was its tiny tongue, slithering in and out of the open mouth, still tasting the air. There were no obvious goods for sale, or any other sign of life, for that matter. “You sure you got the right address?" Harry questioned. His voice sounded loud in the empty room. 30

The lizard, startled by the sound, darted further up the wall and vanished into a protective crevice. James was about to reply when a man appeared in the doorway through which they had just entered. The noonday sun blazing behind him made it look as if he were surrounded by a halo. It was not possible to see his features. “Is there something I can do for you?" the featureless figure asked. His voice was European, with a strong Germanic accent. James, a little startled, at first replied lightly: "Hi, we’ve been directed to this address by Nick Weston. To purchase some goods. Are we in the right place?" The man walked into the room, a scowl on his face. "Who are you then?" he replied shortly. “I’m James Wright and this is Harry.” The man stared at them for a moment. "So what you wanta buy?" he asked casually. James cleared his throat. "Well, I understand that you are a gunsmith." The man was silent for a moment, as if waiting for the effect to register on the tense men. Suddenly he laughed. "It’s the first time I’ve heard such a respectable description of my business. Now listen," he added more seriously, "first, do you have the agreed cash in $US?" Relieved, James fumbled in his inside pocket. "Oh yes, of course!" He extracted the sealed brown envelope. The man reached forward and snatched it expertly from James's outstretched hand. He opened it and carefully counted the notes. "Correct," he announced, relaxing visibly. "Okay then, at least this bit seems to be in order. "He tapped the bundle of money as he moved over and rested his butt on the corner of the desk. "Fortunately Nick radioed a coded message this morning, so I know exactly who you are and what you want. And of course this helps!" He smiled and shook the bundle of dollars. "But you must understand, these 31

are very difficult and dangerous times. This place is teeming with villains who will kill without any thought, even for something as simple as a bottle of Scotch." He raised his bushy eyebrows. "Any type of gun, you should know – for all the obvious reasons – is a particularly valuable bartering chip here, so you’re going to have to be very careful indeed." He moved to the front of the desk, taking a piece of paper from one of the open drawers. "Nick gave me the details of your requirements," he said, looking at the paper. "Does my list agree with yours?" They compared the lists. "Looks right to me," the man confirmed casually. James agreed with a nod and glance at Harry. "Yes, ... identical," James acknowledged. “Okay. Then I will have the consignment together within a couple of hours, but not for collection here, though. We must agree another meeting place." He rubbed his chin in thought. “We stayed at the Oasis Motel last night. Could we meet there?" James offered. “Okay. That will have to do. Let’s say 1.30?" the man suggested. They shook hands in agreement and left the building. James raised his hand to shield his face from the blinding African midday sun as they stepped back into the street. He was grateful somehow to be leaving the "gunsmith" and his dingy room. As they moved towards the Land Rover, James turned to Harry with a look of amazement. “I’ve just handed over $15,000 to a man I don’t know, in the middle of this treacherous African continent!" He lowered his hand, his eyes having acclimatised themselves to the light. Harry laughed. "It’s all a bit James Bond, isn’t it? I sure hope he turns up at 1.30.” “So do I," James sighed. "So do I," shaking his head in mock exasperation. 32

Marcel, who had cautiously followed James and Harry, expecting to be led to one of the assay offices, had been quite surprised when they’d stopped for some time at the address of a well-known arms smuggler, and fully understood the only reason to visit that particular establishment. He waited patiently in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. James and Harry left the gunsmiths and drove to the address – an unpretentious looking building – where they’d delivered their samples the evening before. It was just after noon and there was an air of excited anticipation between them. They were ushered immediately into a tiny, untidy office, where the agent eagerly greeted them. He was short and quite plump, wearing a scruffy safari jacket and jeans. He sported a welcoming smile and held out his podgy hand in greeting. “Gentlemen, am I glad to meet you again today!" he beamed, waving James and Harry to chairs. He seemed to have to wriggle into his own seat to make himself comfortable. "I worked late into the night with my colleague in order to complete and confirm our assessment of your samples." He relaxed his smile. "Gentlemen, we have good news and we have bad news." He paused for effect. "The bad news:" he stated dramatically, and paused, looking down at his podgy hands. His face was grave now. He had obviously practised this speech, for he was clearly enjoying himself. "The bad news is that the oblong stone is seriously flawed, and would have to be cut wastefully to achieve a 'fancy' gemstone." He looked solemn. But his expression softened: "Nonetheless," he said casually, "the remaining gemstone would still be about 15 carats." He was beaming again now. "What we cannot assess from this sample is whether the flaws will be a common feature in the larger stones from that source. If it is, I’m really sorry." He gestured with his palm up in mock despair. 33

“If that’s the bad news, what about the good news?" James urged, only now sensing that the agent was play-acting. “Ah! The good news, yes." He sat back, wriggling into a yet more comfortable position. "The good news, gentlemen," – a wicked twinkle appeared in his eyes – "is that Emil and I have worked together on these sorts of samples for almost 15 years, and we have never, ever seen such a potentially valuable stone as your number two example!" He placed the unimpressive lump of rock on the table. "That, gentlemen, will cut into a diamond of almost 26 carats." He pushed the uncut stone gingerly with a pencil as though it were hot or dangerous. "The gentle blue colour appears to be even in density throughout the stone." He looked up. "This is the most valuable diamond I have ever had to assess or value." He looked unsure of himself. "Now, I know that you may not be going to like my proposal, but this stone and the three other large ones are way beyond my powers of discretion to value, so in these most exceptional circumstances, and only with your approval of course, I am obliged to send the stones to our office in Cape Town for valuation and payment." The two prospectors looked at each other, not sure what to say. James took the initiative. "I suppose we have no option but to follow your advice. I assume that you will be responsible for the safety of the stone from now on?" “Of course. Of course, even now it is covered by De Beers' unconditional insurance," he replied, obviously relieved. His face now was a picture: beaming from ear to ear, he leaned over the desk with his hand outstretched. "Most of the other stones are of the very highest quality. Gentlemen, we think that you may have found a source of some of the finest diamonds in recent history." The big man eased himself out of his chair. "My most sincere congratulations!" He thrust his podgy hand forward.

34

James hypnotically shook the proffered hand; it was cold and lacked any convincing grip. Harry followed in much the same way. They both sat back speechless. The agent broke the silence as he eased himself back into his chair. "Very seriously now, it is vital that you report our results back to your Directors. Then you must establish as a first priority a number of sensible security measures. I am sure you must realise that no matter how careful we or anybody connected with your project is, the news will eventually spread, and believe me, news like this spreads like a forest fire." He shuffled further back into his chair. "You will, I’m afraid, attract every villain for a thousand miles. You must be prepared." He pushed a sheaf of typed A4 paper towards James. "Now, you have to sign the release of the ‘special’ stones so that we can send them for further assessment. The copy is your receipt and insurance cover note." He selected another sheet. "Here I am issuing you a receipt for the rest of the stones. We have listed them all in their various categories, with evaluation and comment as usual." There were several pages of typed detail, including the individual valuation of each stone. "Finally," he declared somewhat triumphantly, handing over the final piece of paper, "this is the bank draft for the agreed part of the consignment. Almost half a million dollars, gentlemen." James took the bank draft. It was for more than anyone had imagined – and without the best stones included! His hand trembled slightly as he showed it to Harry. Harry simply said: "Okay," and sat back, silent. He’d never seen a cheque for such a sum of money. With the formalities complete, all they wanted to do now was get to the bank and deposit the draft. “Is that it, then?" James uttered, rising from his seat. Harry followed, equally eager to release the tension. 35

“Yes, that’s it, gentlemen. I take it you know where the bank is?" “Yes thanks, and, er ... thank you for everything." James stuttered. They were about to leave the office when the agent coughed politely. "Gentlemen, just one more thing: I wonder if you and your partners would consider offering me and my business partners a share in your new mining company, in lieu of our fee?" Harry turned and retorted spontaneously, "But I thought you were supposed to be an agent for De Beers? Surely they should be settling with you? After all, they've paid for the stones." James took the bank draft from his pocket and reexamined it. It was in De Beers' name all right. “That is quite correct, my friends," the agent said, smiling confidently. "I am, however, a freelance field agent for De Beers, not an employee. What you obviously don’t know is that effective from the last day of this month, all De Beers contracts will have to be cancelled. The Western governments have classified this area a zone of Conflict Diamonds and are not prepared to allow the purchase of any more stones, which – they claim – are funding the violation of human rights, genocide, etcetera etcetera, in this country." He looked James directly in the eyes. James felt the ferocity of his gaze. "I don’t know whether I should be telling you all this. With respect, you almost certainly can’t make any decisions on behalf of the company, but someone from your outfit will have to make some decisions, and very quickly now." He raised his eyebrows. "I am sure" – he held James’s attention with his piercing stare – "that you will relay my proposal to your partners." He emphasised the last word. After a pause he relaxed, and became more conversational again. "Now I am changing hats and talking on behalf of my other business partners: they understand the area and its 36

problems. They would be able to assist with development finance, and in spite of the Western governments' ridiculous ban, they would be able to market all of your diamonds, arrange your security, and ensure that no-one – and I mean nobody – interferes in your business.” James sensed that there was clearly something devious about the discussion, but was at a loss to know what to say or do. Looking across to Harry for moral support, he replied cautiously: "What you say seems sensible to me, but you’re right: I will have to advise the other partners of the proposal. No doubt we’ll be back in touch." “Make it soon, please," the agent said. It sounded more like a command. Once more taking advantage of the deep shadows, Marcel had watched the two men enter the office, but had not of course been able to hear any of the conversation. He had, however, recognised the young man painting the new sign over the front of the office. Once James and Harry were inside, Marcel approached the painter and quickly put a proposition to him. The painter smiled. Marcel walked back to the other side of the street and waited. The painter knew Emil; he also knew about Emil’s longstanding association with the agent. He waited for James and Harry to leave the office, then entered and asked to speak to Emil. When he appeared, he – like the agent – was also squat and somewhat rotund, but even shorter. “So what can I do for you, my friend?" he greeted the painter happily. The painter took him by the elbow and turned him around, screening their conversation from the receptionist. “I need to talk with you urgently, Emil. What time will you be getting away from the office?" “What‘s the problem? Can’t we talk here?" responded the alarmed Emil. 37

“No, not here. What about six o’clock at the Café Azores?” Later that day Marcel telephoned his Controller. He relayed all that he had seen. "What do we do next?" he asked finally. “Marcel," the Controller stated firmly, "you do nothing more than find the location of the concession, is that clear? You will be well rewarded as usual if there is a result, okay? There could even be a bonus," he added temptingly, then terminated the call. The Controller was excited. "Now this sounds more like the diamond source we’ve been looking for!" he thought. One thing was certain, he realised: Marcel was going to be a problem. He knew from experience that a man with Marcel's background would definitely not be able to resist poking his fat, sticky fingers into the pot. "Maybe we can use his enthusiasm to our advantage ..." he smiled to himself. The Controller lifted the receiver again and dialled another coded number. Marcel replaced his own handset after speaking to the Controller, then sat back deep in thought for some time. "This has to be the opportunity of a lifetime," he reasoned, "Why should those greedy pigs always have it all?" He was confident that he could easily turn this most fortunate situation to his own advantage. He finally made his decision, picked up the telephone, and dialled again. The call was not to the Controller. Later that night the painter met with Emil at the little Portuguese Café as arranged. Emil was curious, but slightly wary of the reason for the meeting. He knew of the sadistic painter by reputation. “So, Emil, you still live with the assessor, eh? Von Sherach, The Magnificent. Is he still good to you, or is he getting bored with you?" The painter chuckled as Emil recoiled from the vulgar attack. 38

“What do you want, you ignorant man? I didn’t come here to be insulted," Emil retorted defiantly, starting to get up from his chair at the same time. “Don’t get so upset!" the painter cooed, "I’m here to help you, to warn you about his unfaithfulness; after all, who wants HIV for a birthday gift?" The painter was enjoying himself. "Surely you must have been suspicious?" Emil sat down, staring in horror at the painter, and then blurted out in a nervous high-pitched voice: "Just what are you trying to say, you foul-mouthed bastard?" “Just this, Emil: your so-called faithful boy-, – or is it girl-friend? – is two-timing you. I’ve seen him down at The Tavern carousing with the girls and boys there." He paused, enjoying himself. "Now, you know that the whores there are anything but the cleanest. In fact, I’d bet most are HIVpositive, and quite a few must have full-blown AIDS." Emil was beside himself; he tried to speak but could not form any words. All the horrible nightmares he had ever had were flashing through his mind. Much as he loved his partner, and had done for the last 15 years, could it just be possible that the painter was right? “Now listen, Emil, I know this must be a bit of a shock, to say the least, so I’ll just leave you to think it all through. I suppose it could have been just one single incident. It can happen, and I’m sure he’d take full precautions, aren't you?” The painter got up from his chair. "I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Just to see how you're getting on. I’ll always be there if you need a shoulder to cry on." He placed a friendly hand on Emil’s shoulder; Emil recoiled as if he’d received an electric shock. The painter laughed, took a single step, then turned. "Oh, and by the way, I think you ought to know: I also have proof that he is fiddling you out of your full share of the 39

commissions. If you don’t believe me, just check on the stuff he did this morning." Emil looked up reflexively, his mind all but paralysed. "The Sintra Exploration stuff?" he responded absently. Nervous sweat glistened on his forehead. “That’s right. Sintra Exploration – where was it now?" the painter gave him a puzzled look. “Luanda Sul Province," Emil volunteered, looking away aimlessly. “That’s right. Still, you’ve enough to worry about tonight. I’ll call in at the office in the morning. Good night." He blew a salacious kiss from the palm of his hand. The tears ran profusely down Emil’s cheeks. He was too numb to move. In just a few seconds his whole life had been completely turned upside down, destroyed. It was over an hour before he eventually hauled himself wearily out of the chair and into the street. He was now icily calm. He had occasionally fantasised about the possibility of being betrayed, and had acted out his dramatic solution. But if it were really true, death would be far too quick and easy a way out for the bastard. His tormented mind buzzed with things to say or do, but nothing seemed to quell the pain. He had made up his mind: he would confront Sherach tonight. The painter walked out of the café leaving the dejected Emil slumped sobbing in his chair. He telephoned Marcel from a call box. “Did you get it?" Marcel asked anxiously. “Easy as winking," the painter chuckled. "The Sintra Exploration Company. Luanda Sul Province." “Well done!" Marcel congratulated him. "I think we are about to change our lifestyles for ever. I’ll contact you again in the next few days. Oh, and by the way – not a word, or we lose everything. Good night.” ***** 40

James and the other drivers met as planned. The "special goods", packed in anonymous wooden crates, arrived on time as promised. James breathed a sigh of relief and gave the thumbs up sign to an equally relieved Harry. “What have we here?" the other drivers enquired, as they manhandled the heavy boxes into the Range Rover. “Just a few home comforts," Harry replied cheerfully. The moment passed. The Toyota and trailer were by now considerably overloaded with the all their new equipment and stores. The first three days were uneventful for the heavilyladen vehicles. Initially, they had agreed to drive through the night, but subsequently decided it was more prudent to make camp and travel only in daylight – after the Toyota with its heavily loaded trailer had skidded precariously several times, almost sending its crew and precious cargo into a ravine. The edge of the uneven road had been barely discernable, even with the benefit of the powerful multiple headlamps. It was late afternoon. They were pulling slowly up a steep hill in low gear. Suddenly, they were surprised to have their route blocked by what appeared to be several children dressed in camouflage. They were even more surprised when they realised that all were armed with automatic weapons. The guns were almost too large and too heavy for them to carry. They stopped the vehicles, and were soon surrounded by other similarly-dressed and armed young assailants, who had appeared from the low scrub bordering the track. James and his team had naturally been nervous at first. But the smiling, impish children were obviously no threat; the weapons, however, still looked like very dangerous toys. “Food, we want food!" the taller one – and apparent leader – called out in English. Quickly assessing the situation, James said to Harry: "Why don’t we stop for an early supper?" He leaned out of the 41

window and called back to his companions light-heartedly: "These bandits look pretty skinny. I think they must be starving! We’ll stop here for supper." James casually opened the door and climbed down from the truck. The young assailants gathered around, unsure but curious, their guns, however, still pointing menacingly at him. “We have food, and we are about to eat, so why don’t you all join us?" James announced calmly, casually pushing the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle away from his stomach. The boys looked at each other and chatted in an unknown high-pitched, chirpy tongue. The taller one stepped away from the group and addressed James. "You will feed us all?" “Of course." James smiled back at him. "But first, we must place the weapons somewhere safe. We don’t want any accidents, do we?" The boy leader talked to the other boys again. This time they were sullen and argued with him. He reasoned with them and eventually they seemed to have come to an agreement. He turned back to James. "We will guard you. In exchange you will feed us. Okay?" "That’s a deal," James happily agreed. The tall one gave instructions to his men. The smiles returned, and two of the boys took up position – one at the front and one at the rear of the vehicles. The others placed their heavy weapons gratefully on the side of the rough track. James and his colleagues opened up their cooking equipment and quickly devised a meal for the starving group. They opened six one-kilo tins of corned beef, which were then chopped into a large cooking pot. Several large tins of baked beans were then mixed in. Par-baked bread was wrapped in aluminium foil and placed on a specially-designed rack, directly in the flame of the fire. The food smelled delicious; everybody waited eagerly for the stew to be ready. 42

The boys chatted and pointed excitedly in anticipation of their feast. The taller leader was apparently the only one to speak English. He explained to James: "We are fighting group," he announced proudly. "We must fight now, to protect our village. Our fathers and mothers have been killed by government soldiers." He became emotional and close to tears. “Where is your village?" James asked. “Many days from here." He pointed to the south. The food was ready and the boys had been given a variety of plates, bowls and large enamel tea mugs, which they eagerly dipped into the pot. Then, squatting on the ground, they sipped cautiously at the steaming brew. Each in turn nodded approval, then almost in unison gulped down the improvised meal. The two young sentries, hypnotised by the smell of the cooking, quietly drifted over to the feast and joined, almost unnoticed, in the melee. In no time at all the contents of the huge pot and all the hot bread had been devoured. It was the boy soldiers' first real food for at least a week. James, well aware of their plight, quickly rustled up more food for the hungry bellies. Eventually they were all sated, whereupon they drifted silently into the edge of the bush, where they curled up together like a pack of dogs, and fell instantly asleep. It was dark now, so James and his drivers made camp, aiming for an early-morning start. They left the "boy bandits", as they'd nicknamed them, with a generous ration of food from their own precious supply, and departed at first light. The happily laughing "guards" waved them goodbye. The taller one, now nicknamed "Monty" after the famous general, solemnly declared: "You will always be safe in our care," as he bade them farewell with a stiff military salute.

43

Chapter Three Almost a year later, after considerable sums of money had been invested in the extraction process, diamonds were being collected on a regular basis by the new investors' own courier service. A modest airstrip had been levelled out of the rocky terrain, and once each month the small twin-engined aircraft arrived and spirited the treasure away. The camp had now been more strategically laid out. It was vital that they be able to defend the site easily in the event of an attack from outside. Within these confines, reasonably civilised living accommodation had evolved for the hard-working crew. Equipped with satellite television and communications, and with regular flights to civilisation for a break in routine, life had become more tolerable for the crew. Even so, some preferred to stay at the camp. "Too scared to leave – in case someone pinches one of your diamonds, eh?" a new face teased one of the old hands. Some of the original team had been on the site, without a break, since the very beginning of the adventure. They had no desire to leave. This was the nearest thing some had ever had to a home. Of course, it had soon become common knowledge that there was a major diamond source being exploited in the area. The chance of keeping it completely secret had been remote. Inevitably, some of the crew had left, and new ones had joined. Extra local labour was also needed, and so the secret was no more. The job now was to mine the precious stones, then deliver them safely to the buyers for processing. A squad of armed, professional guards now patrolled the perimeter and watched from strategic lookout towers. The camp had been given the nickname "Stalag Kimberlite" or SK1. Security at the larger, established mines was very strict: some workers had to endure body searches, there were low44

radiation x-ray examinations daily and other rigorous deterrent measures, depending on the department in which they were employed. At the Angolan camp, in spite of all the external security precautions, the internal stock control was not yet quite so thorough. Most of the team had worked together from the start. Changes in personnel had evolved so gradually, it was hardly considered possible that anyone would seriously try to steal their hard-won gems. Nick was far from naïve: he recognised the weakness of men, yet somehow believed that it could not happen with his team. It was very difficult at first to establish whether stones were being lost or not. The gem-bearing spoil brought to the surface was crushed, washed and screened. The raw stones were then picked out by hand. The process was essentially slow and labour-intensive. Likely gem-bearing ore would frequently be selected, only to subsequently be considered barren and set aside for later inspection. At any point during this refining stage, stones could be relatively easily secreted away. A thief, however, still had to get them out of the camp – and find a way to sell them. One of the labourers, who’d joined the group about three months after the original strike, was cunningly stealing stones during the grading process. He had systematically accumulated over 20 raw gems of various sizes since he had been working there. The time had come to unload this illicit hoard before it was discovered. He was, of course, working with assistance from outside the camp. Heavy goods and supplies were still delivered by road from Luanda. Marcel, the thief’s mixed-race accomplice, had finally managed to secure a job driving one of the heavy lorries which made the monthly trip to the distant camp. On his first visit, he had not been able to communicate with the former painter, who had been with a gang of men rushed to assist 45

with some emergency. Marcel left empty-handed. The plan had been for Marcel to collect the pickings on each trip. Too many stones in one pickup presented additional risks. Marcel, however, managed to make contact on his second trip. This time he collected the large innocent-looking carrier bag from the canteen. It appeared to be filled with cans of coke and beer. He sauntered back to his truck, threw the bag indifferently into the space behind the driver's seat, and climbed into the cab. Giving a cheery wave to the armed man standing casually at the gate, he then followed the other trucks, unchallenged, out of the fortified encampment. Once back in Luanda, he went straight to an address not so many metres from the former Buying Station used originally by Nick for the appraisal of their first stones. There, a short, stocky, balding man with an infectious smile greeted him. "So Marcel, at last you manage to bring me something. Just what exactly do we have here?" The smile relaxed. The man opened the bag containing the raw gems. He peered inside. The man whistled. "I do believe we can do business!" He poured the contents out onto the cloth-covered table. Several of the putty-like objects were the size of a Brazil nut. "This is rather a large quantity in one consignment." He rubbed his chin in contemplation, his face stern. Marcel remained silent, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “So what do you propose, Marcel?" The man’s smile returned. Marcel had thought of this moment for months. He knew that the better value and easier marketability would only be after the stones had been professionally graded. Marcel swallowed. "I understand that these days you can arrange for them to be cut here." Their eyes met, but Marcel could not hold the other man’s stare. He looked down. "Here goes," he said to himself, looking up with renewed determination. "We will deliver to you as many stones as possible each month. 46

You will have them graded, then pay us 50% of the total market value.” “Who determines the market value?" replied the fat man cautiously. Marcel did not answer immediately. "Well, I suppose you know about these things. We will have to rely on your discretion. After all, we're going to be partners, aren’t we?" The fat man held out his hand. "You’re so right, Marcel! There has to be trust, doesn’t there? Yes, trust on both sides, eh? Here’s to a long and profitable association." They shook hands. Marcel was definitely uneasy, but smiled convincingly. They agreed to meet in two days and settle the first payment. Marcel drove home, haunted by the thought that he had left all the stones with the fat man. He and his companion at the mine had taken all the risks – yet for the moment, they had nothing to show for it. The next two days were endless for Marcel. Painfully, the time crawled by, until at last, at the appointed time, he reported to the fat man’s address. The fat man greeted him. "Glad you called," he addressed Marcel casually. "I wanted to talk with you. We have a bit of a problem with the goods." There was no smile on the face tonight. "You see, it is going to be much more difficult than we thought to move such a large quantity of stones through my usual source." The fat man raised an eyebrow. "I have therefore had to look elsewhere. Fortunately I’ve found another outlet; one that will cope with the anticipated volume, but they will only pay for the goods once they’ve been sold." He shrugged his shoulders. "So I’m afraid I can’t give you any cash tonight. I hope to be paid by the end of the week. Then, and only then, can I pay you your share." he emphasised. Marcel was numb. He had feared some clever manoeuvre; worst of all, he knew the proposal was not going to be negotiable. He’d already handed over the stones. He knew he had no leverage. He felt sick and helpless. He silently 47

cursed himself, wanting to angrily admonish the man. "Why did you make the trade before consulting me?" was all Marcel could get out, meekly. “Well, partner, I thought it was agreed: I organise the best deal, and you deliver the goods." The smile was back. Marcel was uneasy. "I am sure I could arrange for you to be paid for your share with cut stones – and you can sell them if you prefer. But I guess that would be a bit dangerous." Marcel nodded, resigned to the situation. "You’re right, we’ll just have to wait. Will I call round on Saturday evening at about this time?" “Yes, that will be perfect," the fat man smiled. Marcel left the building, deeply disturbed. He shivered, and sensed Saturday’s meeting would be as barren as this one had been. As Marcel left the house, the fat man walked over to the telephone and dialled the special number. His Controller answered; they chatted for a few minutes. The fat man replaced the receiver, then he walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a large can of lager. He moved across to the lounge and sat down, opening the can as he flopped into a chair. He swallowed a huge draft of the cool foaming brew, savouring its malty flavour for a moment. "Poor old Marcel," he smiled to himself, "if you don’t behave yourself, I don’t suppose you’ll be having too many more of these." He held up the can in a mock salute. "You should know better than to cheat The Syndicate!" He took another large draft, completely emptying the can, then relaxed, lay back in the easy chair, and closed his eyes. Marcel walked away from the house, trying to sort out the confusion of thoughts in his mind. He knew for sure that the fat man was going to cheat him in some way, either by down-grading the stones or skimping on the price. Yet he was obliged to continue to supply the man or he would certainly make life very difficult for Marcel. He knew that there was no way out of the arrangement now. He could, of course, find 48

another buyer, for say half of the supply, because the fat man would have no way of knowing how many stones they were getting out. "My God, that man’s as greedy as the bloody Syndicate," he muttered to himself, looking around selfconsciously in case he’d been overheard. With the decision made, he squared his shoulders and strode away with confidence and purpose in his stride. The ongoing visits to the mine produced dozens of prize stones over the next few months, many of them a fine pink, a few just tinted a soft blue. Marcel had found an additional and much more agreeable buyer. Emil, the diamond agent, had set up his own business following the tragic and mysterious death of his former partner. His clients were able to pay cash in this instance, but naturally, at very much below the market rate. Some of the stones were being cut locally, and would eventually be sent to Antwerp by special couriers. A safe, though circuitous, route had been carefully established for the illegal trade. Marcel, flushed with his successful manipulation of the buyers, also decided to keep some of the cut stones. He could then seek out yet another outlet, where he hoped they’d be able to achieve a more realistic price, as and when the opportunity presented itself. “Always better to have more than one egg in your basket, eh Marcel?" the painter thief whispered, agreeing with this new strategy; then, with a discreet wink, he passed a plastic bag filled with lemonade cans and foil-wrapped sandwiches up to Marcel in the cab of the lorry. "Something to keep body and soul together en route, okay?" He stood and watched the truck drive through the gates and past the bored guards, to vanish down the dusty road. ***** 49

The earthquake's shock ripped mercilessly into the fragile man-made structures. Tens of thousands of innocent citizens suddenly became statistics in a horror story, soon to be avidly bandied about the world by the ever-hungry media. "Northern Greece Quake Horror", "Villages Literally Vanish Into the Ground", "Thousands Believed Dead", "Rescue Operations Hampered by Lack of Organisation and Facilities", "Torrential Rain Forecast as Rescuers Struggle Against Impossible Odds to Extract Victims from Carnage with Bare Hands", "Time Running Out for Those Trapped in Rubble". There seemed to be no end to the graphic banner headlines. To the individual personalities enduring their own private nightmares within the catastrophe, it was a very different picture. John Lawrence lived and worked in Exeter. He was a carpenter by trade and specialised in fitting kitchens. His livein girlfriend had walked into the house one evening and said quite simply: "I’ve decided you’re boring." She quite simply packed her bags and left. She’d dumped him for a flashy young fellow they knew from the bowling club. John had always thought of him as all earrings and hair-gel, not the least bit Lisa’s type. He tried to be philosophical; he always treated dramas in this way. "I suppose it’s better she leaves now, before we do the marriage and babies bit," he’d told his sympathetic mother. John and Lisa had spent their summer holiday the previous year in Jersey, where John had learned to scuba-dive and sail. He’d become totally addicted to the scuba-diving. He found the underwater freedom of three-dimensional movement to be quite erotic, and set his heart on going back for more lessons this year. But how could he, without his beloved Lisa? Completely demoralised, he moped about for several weeks. Then, one Sunday, he was sitting at home on his own, drinking his umpteenth bottle of Stella, and reading the Sunday Express Holiday Page. Suddenly his eyes fell on the 50

article. "Fun in the Sun!" it read. "The Singles Holiday to Change your Life", the advert claimed. “That’s what I’ll do!" he declared, "I’ll take a singles holiday. Fun in the Sun. Yes, that’s exactly how I should be thinking," he convinced himself out loud, waving his halfempty bottle at his own image in the mirror. His mind raced ahead. "A holiday romance, that’s what I need!" he shouted at his mirror image, while striking a macho pose in gleeful anticipation. The next day he called at the local travel agent and showed the polished young assistant the advert he’d carefully cut from the paper. The agent smiled. "It’s Fun in the Sun, all right," he’d said with a wink. "You can’t go wrong – the heat and that continental ambience, it just drives the birds into your arms." He picked up a leaflet from the side of his desk. "Actually, we have a special singles holiday promotion right here; quite a bit cheaper than that one." The assistant passed over the photocopied information sheet. John easily agreed to the alternative proposal. He did not want any complications. The booking was simple: one quick call and the reservations were confirmed. He paid the full amount with his Switch card. “No need for injections or visas! The flight departs from Gatwick eight o’clock Friday morning. I'm sure you'll have a great time," the agent asserted with his infectious grin, as he handed over the completed travel documents. John left the shop in high spirits. The flight had been on time. His fellow passengers, he noticed with a mild touch of anxiety, were all much older. He wondered, with a private chuckle, if they too were looking for "fun in the sun", and prayed that the ladies at his hotel were going to be more suitable – younger, that is – for his amorous plans. 51

John eventually arrived at his hotel after a three-hour drive. It was late afternoon and the sun still blazed on the passengers as they transferred to the hotel. John soaked up the experience, allowing himself to believe "Everything's okay so far ..." The hotel, located in a small but pretty lakeside town in Northern Greece, was dramatically poised above a lake, where he had been advised there would be water skiing and lots of other "young fun" activities. There was one problem though. Someone had mixed up his booking: "We very sorry, double-bedded room requested not available today." In fact, it was eventually determined that there was no record of any booking for John in the system. “We put in room in Annex today, sort all out tomorrow, okay?" The manager smiled weakly. "You have a bottle of champagne on house," he offered hopefully. "Make up for agent's silly little error, yes?” John was bitterly disappointed, but he was also tired and in need of a shower. He submitted easily – he was not going to let it spoil his "Fun in the Sun Holiday Romance". He nodded approval as he was lead away to the Annex room, and prayed that tomorrow it really would all be resolved; for some reason he felt like a naughty schoolboy as he obediently followed the sullen porter. They descended to a dingy corridor. It obviously led to the kitchens, which appeared to be located further down the poorly-lit passage. There was the pervading greasy odour of cold cooked lamb as they approached the appointed door. The porter led him into a sparsely-furnished and rather scruffy little room. "Bit short on space," John commented to the porter, who by now was sporting a practised smile: the "Don’t you think I deserve a tip?" smile. John was tempted to quit there and then. He had seen a hotel on the other side of the street. It looked quite smart, 52

much more like the hotel he had originally selected from the advert. Typically British, however, he remained stoic. "It’s no problem! No, I don’t want to make a fuss," he kept saying to all and sundry. “Tomorrow," they had promised. It would all be sorted out tomorrow. The porter left, disappointed. John’s decision not to give a tip was for him a small, though awkward, victory. He sat on the bed and surveyed the room. "There isn’t enough space to swing a cat!" he muttered to himself. Even though he was really quite exhausted from the travelling and all the reservation hassle, he decided he would open the champagne and try to make a good start to the holiday. He picked up the bottle and was looking for the wire holding the cork, when a loud crash in the corridor distracted him. He leapt to the door and opened it. In the wall opposite his room was a battered hatch. Filling the aperture was the ample rear end of a man struggling with something through the restricted space. Cursing and blaspheming, the man suddenly fell back into the corridor, clutching a small beer keg. He’d scraped his knuckles on the edge of the hatch, and liberated another generous curse before he roughly banged the keg onto a battered trolley that was parked next to the opening. John presumed the language was Greek. The man, who had not noticed John, ducked back into the hatch muttering something unintelligible, while John stepped back into his dismal little room and watched surreptitiously through the partially-open door. The grunting and blaspheming eventually ceased after the sweaty efforts to bring out a further three kegs, which were then wheeled away on the squeaky trolley. John slammed the door, threw himself in disgust onto the bed and closed his eyes tightly, trying to purge his brain of 53

the experience – whereupon he drifted into a deep sleep. The champagne remained unopened. The first shock almost threw John out of his bed. He thought he must have been having a nightmare. The second, a few seconds later, was significantly stronger. The whole building trembled. Plaster fell from the ceiling. The walls seemed to be crumbling. He leapt off the bed, instinctively trying to open the door to get out of the room, to safety. It would not budge; it was jammed in the casing. He tried to force it frantically, pulling and shoving, but nothing moved. Behind him a huge piece of ceiling crashed onto the bed. The heavy concrete beam above the door sagged, disintegrating the door in its frame. As John was thrown to the floor, choking in the dust-filled air, his hand landed on the bottle of champagne. "Good time for a drink" he thought, with brief amusement. Everything seemed to be moving. Instinctively, he rolled through the shattered door space and into the corridor, still holding the bottle. The corridor was blocked in either direction; there was very little space left. The walls were closing in on him and the dust filled his nostrils. It was getting darker by the second. He spotted the hatch, which was partially open, so he squeezed through, squirming headfirst like a snake, down a few steps to find he was in a dimly-lit cellar full of metal beer kegs. The emergency light glowed weakly through the dust, providing an eerie light. He huddled into a corner with his hands covering his head. Gradually, the appalling din and vibrations slowed down, and eventually stopped. Slowly he became aware of his situation, petrified. The reality of being buried alive flashed before him. Was he going to die in this tiny little space? He felt the hysterical pain building up in his stomach. His mind went blank and refused to behave rationally; he heard screaming. It was some time before he realised they were his own screams. 54

He must have passed out briefly – he had no sense of time, because now it was deathly quiet, with just the sound of an occasional bit of debris settling. Mercifully, the emergency light continued to glow, adding a ghostly appearance to the tomb-like atmosphere. The dust had started to settle and John was able to see a bit more of his surroundings. The cellar was quite large, and there were numerous metal beer kegs standing on the floor. Several had bits of plastic tube dangling above them, with gauges and other fittings attached to the wall. Stacked at the far end was a variety of cardboard and wooden cases. He could not make out their contents from his sitting position. The opposite wall had shelves from floor to ceiling. They were filled with all kinds of restaurant accessories. In the corner nearest to the hatch was a wire cage – he presumed it was a goods lift. The hatch through which he had entered the cellar was now completely blocked. Lumps of plaster and ragged bits of timber poked through the gap. He’d quickly and calmly taken in the details of his surroundings, then suddenly he felt the claustrophobia building up again. “There must be a way out!" he shouted desperately. Gripping the rim of a beer keg in front of him, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. Part of his scuba-diving training was the control of panic. He needed all his will power now, if he was to fight back the panic he felt surging through his frightened body. He remembered his instructor’s words "always remember: controlled breathing, make your mind work in slow motion, deal positively with the situation." “It's not so fucking easy in this environment!" he shouted aloud. Then, taking another controlled breath, sitting up straight and thrusting his shoulders back: "Come on, John. You can do it." he said firmly. That was when he noticed the door at the other end of the cellar. Not sure whether he had heard some kind of noise 55

coming from that direction, he was unconsciously grateful for the distraction. He stood up cautiously and moved over to investigate. The door had rusty old bolts securing it, but it also looked as though it was being squeezed in its frame. "Must be a heavy weight above," John assumed. It was obviously going to take more than a human hand to open this door, he observed with an experienced eye. He turned towards the shelves; he’d seen a nail bar there which would do the job. At that moment he froze in his stride, as he heard the sound again. “Who’s there?" he called out cautiously, but there was no reply. Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed the nail bar and attacked the bolts. They eased back without much resistance, but the door remained firmly jammed in its frame. He called out again – still no reply. He was sweating nervously as he attacked the door again, this time managing to get a better purchase. He pulled with all his considerable strength. To his relief, the stubborn door gradually eased away from its frame. There was just enough room to slide his fingers behind the door. He pulled again. Finally it creaked and scraped open under the pressure of his effort. The space behind the door, to his surprise, was also dimly-lit by emergency lighting. The damaged fitting dangled by its wire, with just one of its tiny bulbs still emitting sufficient light to make the inside of the area visible. There was no obvious sign of the noise maker. John eased himself through the half-open door into what appeared to be another storeroom. It was much larger than the beer cellar and appeared to be stacked with chairs, and various shapes and sizes of tabletops. Part of the reinforced ceiling had collapsed at one end; a trickle of water oozed from under the fallen concrete slab. He shivered in spite of the temperature. Then he heard the noise again: this time he was sure where it was coming from. Initially alarmed 56

by the shadow that approached him, he was quickly relieved when he recognised a timid cat, trailing her two kittens. They were as glad to see John as he was to see them. The mother eventually decided he was safe and rubbed up against his leg, purring loudly. The kittens nuzzled their mother contentedly. John bent down and tickled the mother under her chin. They were instant friends. "Just as well we're friends, eh?" John said to her, the sound of his own voice seeming to fill the room. "Now all we have to do is find a way out of here.” There was another door leading from the storeroom, and a large double entrance, obviously for access with a vehicle, John surmised. "Perhaps that leads to the street," he said optimistically to the cat. He had lost all sense of time. When he looked at his watch, he realised that some five hours had passed since the building's collapse. He was hungry and thirsty. He sat on a chair and tried to visualise just what had happened. “I think there must have been either a huge explosion or possibly even an earthquake," he said to the cat. "Either way, someone will surely be trying to get us out." The cat sat at his feet and purred. The kittens were asleep and content. John was dozing in one of the old armchairs when suddenly there was a loud crash and the sound of hammering. He leapt out of the chair. The cat vanished, leaving the kittens looking lost. The door at the far end of the storeroom was being broken down from the other side. John shouted: "Here, I’m in here!" The banging continued. John rushed over to the door. "Hello there! I’m in here!" he called out again. The door shattered; a hand appeared through the hole in the torn and splintered wood. It grabbed at a piece of the loosened timber and wrenched it free. A face appeared in the space made by the dislodged panel. The frightening sight in the aperture shocked John: a face with one eye almost closed, and dripping blood from a 57

wound across the forehead. The bloody face looked equally stunned to see him. It tried a smile but did not speak, then vanished from view. John leapt into action, attacking the door panel from his side. In a few moments he’d made a hole large enough to crawl through. He could hear something banging and scraping. The area behind the door was in total darkness. Then he remembered the Tilley lamps he had seen on the shelf in the beer cellar. Quickly he returned to the store, collected one and returned to the shattered door. Suddenly he felt foolish when he realised that he had no way to light it. He dashed back to the beer cellar again, but he couldn’t find any matches or lighter. "How can I make fire?" he wondered desperately, wishing that he’d been a more attentive Adventure Scout. He was standing by the door feeling dejected, with the useless lamp in one hand, when the face reappeared at the door. The man noticed the unlit lamp and seemed to make up his mind. He crawled through the broken doorway, then, standing close to John, he casually reached into his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding a plastic cigarette lighter. He smiled triumphantly, flicking the lighter expertly to demonstrate its use. John raised the cover of the lamp and held it out to the man. The man nodded his bloody face, flicking the lighter and pushing it towards the jet. The lamp hissed, creating a brilliant pool of light that caused them both to blink momentarily at its power. The man recovered quickly and took John silently by the sleeve, urging him to follow. Curious, John allowed the man to tow him through the shattered door. It turned out to be a short passage. To the right it was blocked with rubble, but the man pulled John in the other direction. A few paces brought them to a shadowy corner, which from the sight of the buckled plate-racks and scattered cooking pots, had once been a part of the kitchens. Like the cellar, it was still lit by a weakly-glowing emergency light. To the right-hand side was a jumble of concrete 58

beams and twisted metal shelving. The man pulled John to the corner; there on the floor, in the light of the Tilley lamp, was a body half buried by the debris. The dust-covered form appeared to be unconscious. His head had been wrapped protectively in some cloth. He was breathing erratically. The man with the bleeding face made gestures to John, indicating that he should help to remove the concrete and metal. The injured man was obviously trapped from his waist down. It didn’t take much for John to understand the hand signs. He hung the lamp on a protruding piece of exposed reinforcing rod, which gave them a good field of light. He looked at his new companion, who nodded his head in silent approval. Together they started grabbing at the bits of loose concrete trapping the injured man. It soon became obvious that he was pinned by one heavy piece of metal in particular – some kind of steel beam with a large piece of concrete still attached to one end. Suddenly the man groaned, opened his eyes and tried to move. John said soothingly: "Just lie still, my friend." He had no idea whether the man understood him or not. "We’re going to get you out of this, but it’ll take a little bit of time, so just relax as much as you can." The trapped man looked up at John, pain showing in his grimy face. "You’re English?" he croaked, "Where the hell did you come from?" “I’m staying in the hotel" John replied, relived that the man was able to understand him. “How did you get down to this level?" the injured man asked painfully. “My room is just opposite the cellar door," John answered innocently. The injured man mimed to the other man, who grinned and tried to laugh. A strange gagging sound was the result, but his smile acknowledged the humour. The injured man whispered discreetly to John, "Sam’s deaf and dumb." 59

“I didn’t realise," John whispered back. He’d imagined that it might be the injury to his face, or that he didn’t understand English. The injured man laughed weakly. "So they put you in the staff quarters, eh!" “Those buggers put me in the staff quarters? No wonder I’m trapped down here." John flushed with anger. Of course, he hadn't realised it yet – but that was the sole reason he was still alive. Rummaging around, John found a long piece of timber doorframe that looked strong enough to lever the obstruction off the injured man. Strategically positioning a block of concrete under the steel beam, he planned to create a makeshift jack to lift it. Satisfied with his Heath Robinson device, he gestured to Sam to grab the man by the shoulders and pull while he put as much leverage under the beam as possible. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, then gradually the girder rose a few inches. "Go on – pull him out now!" he shouted at Sam. The injured man wriggled but was obviously in terrible pain. Sam tugged and heaved, gradually pulling him free. John let the lever go with a crash, and immediately bent down by the injured man. "How do you feel now?" he asked anxiously. “I’m not sure. My legs are all pins and needles for the moment." They pulled him to a sitting position against the wall. Sam was trying to rub life back into the man's legs. He placed a hand on John’s arm. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "My name is Mike, Mike Seymour. I’m sort of the Second Chef here." He paused, and then caught his breath as Sam pressed on a tender spot. "I really thought I’d had my chips, to be honest with you.” John replied – trying to sound casual but realistic – "Let’s not get excited or jubilant too quickly. We still appear to be in fairly serious trouble, as far as I can tell. There must have 60

been an explosion, or possibly an earthquake. The hotel seems to have collapsed on top of us, but we appear to be safe down here in the cellar. All we need to do now is find a way out of it." He’d balked at using the word "buried". He knew that his own claustrophobia and panic were only just being kept under control, and guessed that the others would surely be feeling the same. Yet Mike, probably because he had been hopelessly trapped and was now free, appeared to have accepted the situation. Sam, still fussing around trying to massage life back into Mike’s bruised limbs, remained expressionless. John sat on a lump of concrete opposite the two men. "I think we had better try and take stock of our situation." He looked at the lamp, hissing comfortingly. "Let's start by seeing how much fuel we have for the lamp. Then we check all the possible exits, agreed?" "Christ!" he thought suddenly, "what if there is no exit?" The nausea of panic washed over him like a giant wave, temporarily numbing his senses; he trembled and cursed himself, aware that he was giving way to the devil again. “How are your legs feeling?" he blurted out, suddenly returning his attention to Mike and Sam. "Try standing me up, please," Mike said. "Let’s see if I’m still in one piece." Sam was still massaging Mike’s legs. He looked up as John nudged him and gestured to help lift Mike. Together they lifted him to a standing position. He managed to stand on one leg, but there was a severe pain in his left hip when he tried to put weight on the other. "I must keep trying to move to get it going again. I think it’s just a bit of a strain and bruising. Nothing seems to be broken." He hobbled a couple of steps supported by his helpers. "There you are! In fact, it may just be the circulation. It’s feeling better already." He moved over to the block of concrete John had been sitting on, and gratefully rested there. "I’m sure I’ll be all right now. Thank you both once again," he said as he relaxed on the makeshift seat. "You said something about fuel for the lamp – 61

there should be some spare in the workshop next door. Sam will know where to look." He looked about. "Do you know how badly damaged the rest of this level is?” John said he really didn’t know. "You rest there. I’ll take Sam and look for the lamp fuel, and check out the possible exits." He tapped Sam on the shoulder and signed his intention. Sam gestured vigorously; he did not want to leave Mike, but when Mike smiled confidently and signed "I’m okay", the faithful Sam reluctantly followed John. Mike, left momentarily in near darkness as the two left with the powerful Tilley lamp, was close to panic, and called out in anguish. "Don’t be too long, will you, please?" He held tightly to the edge of his makeshift seat for a few seconds as his eyes gradually adjusted to the feeble glow of the one remaining emergency light. "I’ll check the light situation first and come straight back, okay?" John called back. “Thanks," was the meek reply. Sam led John straight back to the cellar. There they found another lamp. To John’s relief, it lit instantly when they touched the jet with Sam’s lighter. Both lamps were the disposable Gaz cartridge kind. Sam found a full case of unused refills among the cases of detergent and other miscellaneous materials stored on the Dexion shelving. Then, apparently discarded in the corner, John spotted three coloured glass oil lamps, the type used on restaurant tables. They were empty, but a small can of the perfumed oil sat conveniently on the shelf next to the gas refills. John reached up, and spitting on his fingers, unscrewed the hot bulb from the emergency light a couple of turns, until it went out. "We may as well save the battery," he said to Sam. "You just never know, do you?" Sam smiled understandingly as he tugged at John's sleeve, urging him back to where they had left his friend. Mike’s relief at their return was obvious. "I was beginning to 62

feel quite cold sat there on my own," he said. "I could hear you pottering about next door, but that miserable little emergency light made things feel a bit scary." He coughed gently. "So what did you find?" he said, changing the subject. ”We have some old oil lamps from the restaurant, with some oil, and a full case of Gaz refills for the Tilley lamps. I’ve disconnected the emergency light bulb to save the battery. I’ll do the same here," he said, gingerly turning the tiny hot bulb in the dangling fitting. “So just where are we?" John asked, blowing on his scorched fingers. “This is the prep area of the kitchens. The stores are over there." Mike pointed to the rubble-strewn corner. "The pot-wash and main kitchen were over there." He pointed in the opposite direction; the roof had collapsed and completely filled the space. Suddenly Mike gasped. "My God, the staff room!" He held his hand to his mouth. "They were just starting to arrive for their dinner!" He looked towards the opposite wall. It was indistinguishable from the rest of the pile of collapsed rubble. "What if they're alive in there? Come on, let's see if we can find anything!" He stood up painfully and grabbed the lamp, then hobbled across the floor towards the pile of debris. John and Sam followed anxiously. ***** The scene on the surface of the earthquake site was one of total devastation. The area around the hotels appeared to have sunk into the ground, like sand through an hourglass, leaving only a mound of almost artistically twisted metal girders mixed with slabs of concrete, spread out like hundreds of broken biscuits scattered about the floor. The two sixstorey hotels were now no more than a modest mound on the hillside. 63

“I suppose only people on the very top floors would have had any chance of survival," an optimistic observer reasoned, some time later. Immediately after the deadly vibrations, and when the agonising creaking and crushing sounds had stopped, a strange but brief silence had descended over the scene. Then, like some miracle, as the choking dust began to settle, dazed survivors gradually began to emerge from the chaos. Most simply stood and stared in awe at the nightmare; others started to dig and pull frantically at the debris of their shattered homes, hearts pounding in fear of what they would find in the tangled mess. Most of the buildings in the town had simply collapsed. Amazingly, here and there, by some freak, odd ones remained standing, in defiance of Mother Nature’s power. The first screams of agony pierced the air; others, traumatised and lost, sobbed uncontrollably, not knowing what to do. Inevitably, there is always someone who leads the way. A rich Greek voice called out: "Over here, give me a hand!" It wasn’t a plea – it was a command. Several people homed in on the sound. Others quickly began rallying the mesmerised survivors. All desperately wanted to search for the terrified people whose cries they could hear. Survivors and helpers appeared from everywhere. Soon the whole place was crawling with people trying to play their part. They pulled and tore at the rubble with their bare hands, their task becoming even more difficult as the dusk gradually turned to night. Thankfully, there had been only a handful of guests in the hotels when the earthquake had struck. Most of the staff, apart from those at the reception, would have been off-duty or in the canteen preparing for their evening meal. It was presumed that they were all fatally crushed when the building collapsed. Astonishingly, six guests had survived in the top-floor bedrooms. Quite incredibly, the slab of concrete forming the top floor had floated down like a huge raft as the building 64

sank into the ground. The survivors had stepped, dazed but uninjured, onto the great pile of rubble that had once been six floors of hotel bedrooms. "That’s just amazing! How did those lucky people survive a fall like that?" a harassed police officer gasped in astonishment, when he realised what had happened. "Only God can help the other poor bastards," the burly officer added, as he crossed himself in sincere reverence. Communications, public services, water, electricity and drainage had all been destroyed. One of the hotels had caught fire and was burning: a mixture of flames and black choking smoke oozed from the ruins. Broken and twisted iron girders protruded from the fire and appeared like crucifixes in a funeral pyre. The merciless flames provided an eerie light for the nearby rescuers. With no mains supply in this remote location, gas used for cooking in hotels and restaurants was stored in large liquid pressure vessels. It was a Butane gas tank that had initially caused the fire. Nothing could be done to control the situation; a similar gas tank from the other hotel had fortunately been pushed down the slope by the sliding mass to rest by the lake, spewing its inflammable liquid – relatively harmlessly – out over the water, where, by some miracle, it had dispersed without igniting. Hundreds of people had been pulled alive from the pathetic ruins by the end of the first 24 hours. The rescue workers continued with renewed determination. Their efforts were being better organised now, as helicopters arrived on the scene, bringing not only better tools and winches to assist with the digging and lifting, but urgently-needed food, water and blankets. Powerful generators and arc lights appeared, allowing the digging to go on noisily throughout the night. Every now and then the metallic screech of a Tannoy would call for silence. Then, the rescuers listened anxiously, praying for the faintest desperate whisper to indicate life and hope. The noise of drilling and hammering all too often 65

resumed as another pitiful corpse was dragged from the rubble. Having recovered the few trapped survivors from the top floor of the hotel, the rescuers reasoned that no-one could have survived below that level, and so their attention was diverted to more urgent situations. Time was now the enemy. The weather was very hot and humid: 33-35°C. Victims could only live for so long without water in these conditions. One of the worst problems was that of the dead within the rubble, their smashed, dismembered bodies quickly starting to decompose in the heat, posing a serious health hazard to survivors and rescuers alike, as well as attracting the attention of an ever-increasing army of rats. The overpowering stench of death was everywhere. ***** At about midday, several hours before the quake had struck, two men had booked into the hotel. They were allocated Room 209, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, they had casually refused assistance with their modest luggage, preferring to carry it themselves. "Either trying to save on the tip, or it’s too valuable to trust me with!" the porter on duty mumbled to the receptionist in disgust. The men, both European in origin, arrived at their room only to find that it had a double bed. Speaking in English, one of the men called reception and patiently explained that they required two beds. “Don’t worry, sir, it will not be a problem," the English receptionist cheerfully replied, "all our beds are zip and link! I’ll send the maid to change it for you right away.” The maid appeared at the room moments later, only to indicate, waving her hands in sign language, that she could not possibly separate the beds herself – she would need the assistance of the porter. She mimed the carrying of bags with a smile, then scurried out of the room and eventually reappeared 66

at the door, accompanied by the truculent porter. By now the men were becoming irritated, and also appeared to be nervous. "Can we please get this job done? We need to rest. We've been travelling for hours.” “It only take few minute," the porter replied in broken English, with an artificially confident smile. He and the maid set about the task, but try as they may, the beds seemed determined to resist their combined efforts. By this time the two men’s patience had all but run out. "Here, let me see what you're doing," said the taller one, as he bent down to appraise the stubborn joint. The porter’s keen eyes noticed as the man bent down that he was wearing a lightweight waistcoat under his shirt. "Strange," he mused, "why wear a waistcoat under your shirt when it's close to 40° outside?" The tall man eventually managed to release the difficult connecting bar, and the bases fell apart. The maid soon remade the beds and left with the porter. As the door closed behind them, both men breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to relax. They removed their shirts and waistcoats, carefully laying out the latter under the mattresses of their individual beds. They were both exhausted by their journey, which had taken them from Angola to Cape Town, then on to Dubai. There, they’d had an anxious two-day wait for their instructions, which had sent them on to their remote location to meet with the next courier. They were not supposed to know the next stage of the route. By now, they had used up most of their nervous energy and just wanted to collect their money and get back home. At least they could now shower and rest for a couple of hours. They wanted to be fresh and ready when it was time to hand over their precious packages at the pre-arranged meeting later that evening. Both were speculative at the thought of meeting the mysterious Syndicate representatives. 67

Once rested, they decided to call reception for a light snack and a couple of beers. "Unfortunately," a jolly-sounding receptionist who had just come on duty replied, "the kitchen, she is closed, the porter off-duty. You come down to bar, have drink; when porter back, he will make sandwich, okay?” They looked at each other and shrugged in exasperation. "Let’s go down to the bar and have a beer. I think we deserve it, don’t you?" They looked at their individual beds. "Safe enough there?" the tall one queried, looking towards his bed. “I don’t see why not," the other replied. "Come on, let’s go and have that drink. Personally I think we’ve become a bit paranoid about it all.” The porter was just walking into the lobby when he saw the men sitting in the bar lounge. "I wonder ..." he said to himself. The two men raised their glasses, toasted each other, and then carefully savoured their first glass of cool lager. The condensation formed around the glasses, mixed with the overflowing foam, and trickled down the sides to form puddles on the coasters. “Now that was what I’ve been missing all day!" exclaimed the taller one with obvious satisfaction. The other man nodded agreement as he savoured his own drink. "Here’s to a quick handover of our responsibility, then we head for home!" “Yes," agreed the tall one. "I can’t say I’m sorry either. I know these Syndicate people pay well, but they scare the daylights out of me." He sipped his lager. "Do you ever wonder who the hell they are?" he continued. “The smart thing is not to ask, my friend," replied the other. They enjoyed another drink, then, as they were about to move back up to their room, a man who had apparently just entered the bar greeted them: "I believe we are supposed to 68

meet here later," smiled the man. The two men looked at one another cautiously. “I think you must be confused," replied the tall one. “Not if your journey is contracted," the man responded. The two men looked at each other again. The rendezvous was not for another hour, but the stranger had delivered the password as arranged. “The office arranges our flights," the tall one responded, using the agreed reply. “Not your office – ours, surely!" came the confirming response, with just a flicker of a smile; followed by, "I’m sorry to be early. I’m the next courier, and my colleague is outside waiting in the car. We have to try and catch an earlier flight, so if you don’t mind, we’d like to get moving. Can we go out to the vehicle so that my colleague can verify the merchandise?" “Well, we don’t actually have it here," stuttered the other man. The courier reacted angrily. "You are not supposed to let any merchandise out of your sight. Where the hell is it?" “It’s in the bedroom," the tall one responded defensively, "but it's quite safe there, I assure you." “Come on," cried the courier, turning towards the lobby, "which room are you in?" It was at that moment that the first earthquake shock struck the building. The floor trembled like a jelly, the walls vibrated briefly, then, prompted by a series of further massive shockwaves, collapsed like a pack of cards. The whole of the public area simply imploded. Everything and everyone on that level was crushed beyond help within seconds. ***** John and Sam had walked around the whole perimeter of their shadowy prison, looking once again for some missed, possible way out. The double doors, which John had assumed 69

to be a vehicle entrance and could have lead to the car park outside, were completely blocked with large pieces of concrete and rubble. Nothing new was found. Somewhat subdued, they returned to Mike, who was standing and flexing his limbs in the flickering amber light. “How’s it going?" John asked. “I really do feel a lot better. The leg still feels a bit tender, but otherwise I seem to be just fine now," he reassured them. "That’s good," John replied quietly. "Well, we’ve had a good look around, and the staff room looks to have been completely crushed. It’s not possible to be absolutely sure because we can’t quite make out where the different rooms were. The door to the corridor at the kitchen end is also blocked with concrete and bits of splintered timber." "Poor sods," Mike replied with feeling. "I wonder how many there were in there?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Come on," he encouraged, changing the subject, "there's nothing more we can do, so let's try and sort ourselves out, eh?" The equipment store was to become their headquarters. There, they found some quite comfortable armchairs. John and Sam dragged them to the one clear corner. "This will be a good place for the lounge," John tried to joke. “Okay," Mike agreed without humour. They then selected three metal-framed banquet chairs from the hundreds stacked six or eight deep in the store. Sam selected one of the loose, round table tops and placed it on top of a large crate. John then rather dramatically placed one of the glass oil lanterns on the table, gesturing to Sam to light it with his cigarette lighter. Sam obliged. The wick flickered and a feeble flame slowly established itself. John turned the gas lantern off. 70

“There we are, just like home, eh?" Mike offered, as he lowered himself – still quite painfully – into one of the easy chairs. The cat and her kittens rejoined the party. John leaned over the lamp and turned it down to its minimum brightness. "I think we should save every bit of energy we can." Mike waved a hand in agreement. Sam smiled his understanding. They all sat in silence for a while. "Right, "John began, "so we have light and the dry stores are partially accessible. There's a selection of canned goods in there. So at least we have food. I’m not sure about water, but we do have several barrels of beer and a bottle of champagne in the cellar." He tried to laugh – but it didn’t seem that funny. "The question," he continued, "is how long do we think we are going to have to make it last?" "Did you hear that?" Mike suddenly interrupted in alarm. John, who had been about to speak again, fell silent and listened intently. A faint tapping could be heard; it seemed to be coming from the kitchen. They rushed to where they thought the sound emanated from. Sam followed, unsure what was happening. The sound was definitely coming from the pile of rubble where the staff-room used to be. They started a mad scramble, pulling at the broken chunks of concrete and bricks. They heaved and levered pieces of timber and buckled metal shelving, gradually working towards the faint but persistent sound. With their hands torn and bleeding, they stopped occasionally to listen: the "tap tap" continued. They increased their frantic efforts, and then, almost exhausted, they finally found a shallow crevice, "probably where the original door used to be," John thought. There, by the light of the Tilley lamp, they could plainly see the top of a head and a hand moving, holding a small piece of 71

concrete and still feebly attempting to tap the piece of stainless steel tabletop that had given the poor soul protection from the worst of the falling debris. The person – whoever he was – was obviously alive, but made no sound. Sam, the smallest, was only just able to push his arms and shoulders through the gap. The problem was that unless the space was made larger, it would not be possible to extract the victim, so after a few moments – spurred on by their surprise discovery – they started again with renewed determination. It still took another half hour to pull enough obstacles away and gently ease the comatose body of a man from the hole. Suddenly, just as he was finally pulled free, another body tumbled like a rag-doll into the vacated space. They leapt back in alarm. It was like a scene from a horror movie. Long black hair covered the face. The body was lying on its side. The shirt, crumpled up under its chin, clearly revealed that the body was female. They looked at each other in astonishment. "Oh no!" Mike exclaimed, "this must be Nancy, the new receptionist!" he looked away. “Let’s attend to this one first, "John reasoned, "at least this one’s alive.” They carried the unconscious man through to their headquarters. Mike recognised Mohamed, the porter-cumbarman, as he was laid out as comfortably as possible. John and Mike gestured to Sam to stay with the unconscious Mohamed, then went back to check on Nancy. They scrambled back into the wrecked staff room. Nancy’s body lay forlornly, exactly as they'd left it. John bent down and grabbed one of her hands. He was surprised to find that it was still warm. "She could be alive!" he said to Mike, hopefully. Gently manoeuvring her out of the rubble, they carried her back to where Sam was waiting, and laid her down care72

fully next to the injured Mohamed. As she touched the floor, she let out a low moan. It was Sam – who must have sensed it – since he could not have heard her, who responded. First he stripped off his tattered overall jacket to make a minimal cushion for her head, then set about rearranging her clothing. "To preserve her modesty," Mike said simply. John went foraging amongst the chairs and other bits of furniture. Eventually he came back with a strip of carpet and some paint-stained dustsheets. "This will have to do as a temporary mattress and blankets." He looked at the dirty dustsheet in disgust. Nancy groaned, apparently in pain, as she slowly regained consciousness. Sam pointed to her swollen arm; it was obviously broken. He scurried off and returned with a piece of broom handle, indicating that he wanted to use it as a splint. Mike nodded and bent down to assist with the job of applying the makeshift support. John stood back out of the way and watched the other two working over the injured receptionist. Suddenly he became hopelessly despondent, acutely aware that they were all going to have to face some agonising facts. He shivered involuntarily. They appeared to be completely entombed, yet the air seemed to be reasonably fresh. "There just has to be a way out," he kept telling himself, "there just has to be." His shivering was worse and he knew he was scared. He moved back nearer to the others; proximity to his new companions seemed to calm him. John and Mike were both very tired. Later, as they sat back in their chairs and relaxed, Sam continued to fuss about his patients, apparently unaffected by the effort. John looked across at Mike. "You know, we may have to think in terms of being down here for several days." The thought appalled him. He felt another flush of tension race through his body. "In 73

which case, we'll have to organise food and water as well as sleeping and toilet arrangements." Mike, seeming to have ignored the comment, looked instinctively at his watch. "Damn! I keep looking at my watch, but it stopped when the building collapsed. What time is it?" John looked at his. "It’s two o’clock." “Which day?" Mike asked. John looked quickly at his watch again. "Do you realise we’ve been down here almost 24 hours already?" Mike was stunned. "24 hours? That’s why I’m so bloody hungry then, isn’t it?" Mike signed to Sam to go and find some food. Sam moved eagerly towards the kitchen store, inviting John to follow with a lantern. The kitchens, like everything else, had been completely demolished. There was rice and flour scattered all over the place. The refrigerators, where any fresh food would have been kept, were buried out of sight. John noted thankfully that quite a lot of the dry store appeared to be intact. The menu looked as though it would have to be based entirely on canned products. These would range from tinned tuna fish, sardines and anchovies to frankfurter sausages. There was a stack of canned asparagus, and an assortment of tinned fruits. The mountain of spaghetti and other pasta products would be difficult to eat, unless they could find water and devise a way of cooking it. “Can opener?" John mouthed and signed. Sam nodded understanding immediately, then shook his head sadly, pointing to the area where the kitchens had once been, and waved his hands in a dismissive way. “Well, let’s pull these cans out of the rubble and take stock of our catering situation," John directed conversationally at his deaf companion. They piled as many cans as they could find in the corner by the collapsed store. Finally John declared in a jovial tone: "It looks as though we have plenty of food – if you like tuna and asparagus, that is." Then he added more 74

seriously, "The next problem is to find a way to open the bloody cans." Each carrying a few cans as well as a couple of saucepans found on the floor near the kitchen, they moved back to their headquarters. Sam deposited his finds on the table and went over to the beer cellar, returning with a screwdriver and the spanner used to open the kegs. He was smiling and waving the tools in a can-opening gesture. Seeing the spanner and recognising its original use, John gestured back with a drinking sign. Sam understood at once; he went straight back to the cellar, and was heard banging about for some time. Eventually he returned with an enamel bucket two-thirds filled with beer. You could tell that he’d tasted the malty brew; the froth was still around his mouth. John laughed and signed "Wipe your mouth." Sam gave one of his gurgling laughs. John and Mike cautiously tried the beer. "Wonderful!" they declared. They were so thirsty, of course, that anything would have tasted acceptable. Nancy seemed to be recovering remarkably quickly. Although her arm was very painful, the makeshift splint held it firmly in place. Sam still fussed around her, trying to make her comfortable and encouraging her to drink and eat. Mohamed, however, remained unconscious, groaning noisily from time to time, so they elected to let him rest undisturbed in case they worsened his injuries. They’d eaten and drunk enough of the beer to make them feel the relaxing effect of the alcohol. Mike gestured to the others: "A toast to survival, eh?" He raised the mug of beer. John and Sam raised their mugs and toasted each other. "We must never give up, as there has to be a way out!" Mike encouraged. John clunked his metal mug against the others. "I agree – there just has to be a way out!" he slurred, and lay back, relaxed at last. 75

Amazingly, they were in reasonably good humour – albeit briefly

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Chapter Four Outside it had started to rain. It was more like a tropical monsoon; the tiring rescuers wallowed in deep mud, slipping and sliding as they tried to carry injured survivors and equipment along the uneven tracks. With the temporary accommodation on the verge of being washed away, there was even more misery and despondency among the battered survivors. Now the recriminations were being heard. "Why did they let those hotels be built there?" and "They should never have been so tall!" or "The engineers were not qualified to design such structures", and so it went on. The blame had to be laid at someone’s door, but whose? Was it the officials who turned a blind eye to a low-budget construction proposal? The builder who skimped to meet the targets? The developer who wanted the cheapest capital outlay for the greatest profit? A press report issued from the safety of a comfortable office at the United Nations declared: "While one must accept that Mother Nature’s forces are almost unimaginable and often impossible to defend against, the lack of disciplined social attitudes in some regions of the world inevitably results in the best endeavours of those responsible not being measured up to." Sadly, fine words and pontificating do little to help the innocents who always pay the full price – all too frequently – as in this case, with a multitude of lost lives. The potential for survival in the steamy heat, without food or water, was considered to be five days at best. It was now five days since the first shock waves had rippled through the region and the officials wanted to start clearing the area, using heavy earth-moving equipment. This would mean that there could be little hope of any more trapped victims being 77

extracted alive. Pleading relatives begged to get the deadline extended by another 24 hours. The rats were everywhere now, and the stench of death was nauseating. The exceptionally heavy, thundery rainstorms had washed raw sewage from the temporary toilet facilities into the lake, rendering it too dangerous even for washing. Drinking water, food and medicines were being flown in by helicopter. The supply was barely adequate. The potential for a cholera epidemic was high. Following the earthquake, the main approach road had been patched up and made serviceable, but the torrential rains had undone much of the temporary work. They were not expected to be serviceable to heavy vehicles again for at least another day and night. The extension of the deadline was therefore able to be granted. ***** Alex Scott planned to start his mission to track down the diamond source in Angola at the suspect mine. He usually travelled as a freelance International News reporter. The disguise gave him licence to travel almost anywhere, and to meet anyone he chose. Travelling via Antwerp gave him the opportunity to meet with an old colleague who would be able to brief him on the latest news in the diamond market, and to point him towards the special contacts he was going to need. He’d already advised Hans that he was travelling to Antwerp en route to Angola and needed to "have a chat". Once he had checked in at London Airport, he used a pay phone to call and confirm his arrival time. Hans answered his private line.

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“Hi, it’s me," said Alex cheerfully, "I’ll be there about three, and by the time I’ve found the cheapest way into town, say with you about four. Okay?” “It’ll be more like six if you use the cheapest way, you skinflint Jèrriais, because it takes at least two hours to walk from the airport to my office!" Hans rebuffed. “You’ll just have to hang about till I get there in that case. Oh, and don’t expect me to pay for the beers. I paid last time, remember?" “I know you did, but that was in Jersey – they’re half the price over there, you mean old bugger!” “My ten pence is about to run out. See you shortly." Alex rang off. He and Hans had always exchanged lighthearted banter based on the challenge that Jerseymen were tighter than Belgians. Hans claimed the Alex was tighter even than the legendary Jew. Hans often told the story of how a Jerseyman and a Jew haggled over a penny coin. They each had a tight grip on the coin but neither would let go, so they pulled and pulled until the coin was stretched into the first-ever piece of copper wire. "Needless to say they both made a fortune," Hans would smile. Around the world, Jewish businessmen traditionally dominate the diamond trade. Hans De Wolf was a rare Gentile exception to the rule. He was, however, respected and totally trusted by that trade worldwide, and was the only Gentile member of the exclusive International Diamond Council. Hans met Alex outside his office as arranged. "So what mischief are you up to this time?" Hans offered by way of a greeting, holding out his hand in welcome, wearing his usual quiet poker face. “I normally only call on you, Hans, if I need free information or want to purchase one really cheap diamond. But 79

today I thought I’d try to make you smile by proposing to buy two really cheap stones." Alex smiled encouragingly. The poker face did not change one iota. "That'll be the day! You Jerseymen are more careful than any Jew I know. At least my Jewish friends let me make a profit." “Perhaps I can buy you a cup of coffee, so you'll see just how generous we Jerseymen can be?" Alex offered. Now Hans wore a modest smile. "At last!" he gasped, sounding incredulous, "Something for nothing! I’ll make a note in my diary!" “Don’t count your chickens, my old friend – there is a price," Alex added quickly. “I knew, I knew!" Hans replied, holding up his hands in mock horror. His smile now spread from ear to ear, reflecting the true affection of two great friends who had endured several life-threatening experiences when they had served together in the Royal Navy. Now they happily exchanged light-hearted pleasantries as they strolled about 300 metres along the quiet street towards the café Hans had recommended. Hans had been the NATO Liaison Officer on the same aircraft carrier as Alex when they were stationed in the Gulf. He’d also been one of the other survivors of the terrorist bomb blast that had started Alex on his career with SONIC. Unlike Alex, who’d had his injuries exaggerated to camouflage his transfer to SONIC, Hans had been genuinely invalided out of the Navy by the near-fatal injury he had sustained. They had been sitting together in the café when the bomb had exploded. Saved from most of the blast by the heavy granite bar counter, Hans’ leg had been pulverised by several pieces of shrapnel. Alex, who by chance had been in the washroom at the precise moment of the explosion, and was therefore uninjured, had scrambled into the devastation to find Hans, half-buried and covered in a bloody mud. Ignoring the sickening sight of the terrible wound, Alex had pushed his 80

hand into the shredded meat around the blood-gushing stump, and by doubling over and clamping the slippery severed artery in his powerful fingers, was able to limit the bleeding until the paramedics arrived. Without stanching that arterial bleed, Hans would certainly have died after a few minutes. They found a table, seated themselves at the pavement café, and ordered their coffee. "The last time we sat in a café like this we were blown to bits!" Hans commented seriously. “Yes," mused Alex, "Although all that seems such a long time ago now. How’s the leg these days?" he asked with genuine interest. “Amazingly, it still feels as if it's there. "Phantom senses" or something, it’s called. Sometimes it feels hot or cold and aches, yet it’s not there, only tin and plastic!" He smiled as he tapped it in confirmation. "So how about you, old friend? What about the new lady in your life?" Hans continued tactfully, changing the subject. Alex sat back and looked down at his hands. "I still have the problem of trying to forget my wife and our beautiful little baby." He sighed, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head philosophically. "But to answer your question," he looked up sharply and smiled, "the lady in my life is the nextbest thing that ever happened to me! She's beautiful, intelligent and she doesn’t ask difficult questions!" he finished, raising his voice slightly. There was mutual understanding between the two friends and no need to say any more. “So, Alex, what brings you to Antwerp this time – business or pleasure?" “Business, Hans, business. The Boss believes The Syndicate is moving in on one or more of the diamond-mining companies in Angola. He wants them stopped. In order to contain them, we need to find their outlets and trade route. I need to know if you’ve noticed anything unusual over here recently." He did not wait for an answer, and added," First, let 81

me tell you the Boss arranged for an agent to infiltrate what we believed to be The Syndicate's courier system. We had a coded message that he was en route to a small Northern Greek town to make the next rendezvous. That, unfortunately, was one of the areas that were devastated by the recent earthquakes in the region. We haven't heard from him since." Alex sat back, toying with his coffee cup. “Well, what you need to know, Alex," Hans responded quickly, "is that there are definitely increasing quantities of big, top-quality gemstones circulating." Hans swallowed his now almost cold coffee in one gulp. "We suspect that they are Conflict stones all right, but we must also try to keep the market stable. Consequently, we have been buying as many as possible to avoid a market crash. But there is a limit to how many even we can take up. De Beers are getting very fidgety about the whole business.” Hans leaned across the table. "As you know," he continued, "most of the large stones go to New York or Israel, but Antwerp is something of a supermarket for diamonds. We handle every size and quality. Soon, if the supply is not checked, there could be glut and a market crash. This could bring disaster to many economies – Russia included. But more especially, some of the smaller countries around the world." Hans shifted uneasily in his chair. "I can’t make up my mind whether it’s The Syndicate supplying the market here, or whether it’s Beijing, using stones supplied by The Syndicate. Either way, the effect on those dependent economies is the same. We’ll do anything to help you stop them.” Hans passed Alex a sheet of paper. On it was neatly penned a short list of names, addresses in some cases, and telephone numbers. "The Boss called me just before you arrived. Said you needed some diamond agents' names and addresses." He wrinkled his brow. "Here I’ve written down the names of as many contacts as I could think of in the countries he mentioned." He shifted uneasily in his chair. 82

"There’s one final thing you should know. I’ve received a threatening letter stating that if I support the American-British proposal to block the sale and distribution of diamonds, my family and I will suffer an unfortunate accident. I expect the others have received similar threats – but for the moment noone is admitting it." He unconsciously rubbed the plastic knee of his amputated leg. “It must be The Syndicate, and I don’t like it. They never make hollow threats – and in my experience, they know much more than anyone thinks." He looked at Alex pensively. “The fact is," Alex replied, "the bloody Syndicate manages to infiltrate into every nook and cranny of our lives. They are difficult to hide from." He added: "How are you expected to communicate your reply to their threat?” “They just said that they would be waiting for a positive sign that we had revised our thinking on the Conflict Diamond proposals." Hans shook his head. "The bastards will have to wait a long time before they hear from me!" He spat the words out, expressing the hatred he bore for The Syndicate and its ruthlessness. “My special number is on the list there, Alex, so call me as often as you like and I will pass on anything which may be of interest." Hans looked at his watch. "It’s alright for some folks, but I have to try and scratch a living." He stood up painfully. “Hang on, I’m calling a cab to go to the airport." Alex turned to the waiter, asking him to call a cab and bring the bill. “No thanks, Alex; the short walk to my office actually does me a bit of good – and it’s in the opposite direction for you," Hans replied. "In any case, there might be an extra charge for the 300 metres from here to my office," he added seriously. His face relaxed as held out his hand. "It’s really good to see you again, old friend. I hope you can sort this one out and put away a few of those Syndicate parasites at the same time." 83

A taxi pulled up outside the café. Hans limped away as Alex paid the waiter. ***** Four smartly-dressed businessmen sat facing the empty chair at the head of the table. They were assembled in the air-conditioned luxury boardroom at the urgent command of their leader. Each of them had once been a powerful industrial or political giant; each had achieved their positions by skilfully manipulating the system. Each had suffered the pain and disgrace of being toppled from power, by what they considered to be a pious and weak administration. Passionately seeking vengeance, each had been inspired by their leader’s proposal, and determined to make the democratic system pay for what they considered their unjust downfall. The leader of The Syndicate was a tall, slim man. He always dressed impeccably; his lightly-tanned complexion enhanced the perfectly groomed grey hair. He rarely smiled, the piercing steel-blue eyes seeming to penetrate the souls of his audience. He’d been waiting impatiently in the adjacent office; once he’d received confirmation that all the others were assembled he entered the room briskly. Powerful and accustomed to dominating proceedings, he nodded brief recognition to the seated men, did not sit down, but addressed them standing at the head of the large polished antique oak table. The men were instantly aware of the awesome, dominant power of their leader. "The American and British Governments have liaised with De Beers and the other diamond producers to outlaw any stones thought to have been mined in countries where there is any kind of revolutionary human rights conflict." Swiss German by birth, his face stern, he spoke with a cultivated English accent, and then stared at each of the seated men. "I am sure you will all realise what this could mean for us?" 84

The men nodded mechanically. “Therefore I trust that your unequivocal support for the following proposal will be forthcoming?" His menacing stare bore into each of the listeners' minds. “The world diamond markets are supervised by the International Diamond Association. There are eight members of the council. The names of these delegates are top secret and they are the ones who have co-operated with the Americans and British to stop the trading in Conflict Diamonds, as they have titled them." He placed his hands firmly on the back of the chair in front of him and leaned forward to make his remarks more forceful. "Fortunately, we know exactly who these people are!" He looked around the table. "I propose therefore, that we send each of the eight members a clear warning that to continue with their proposed policy will bring upon them, individually and upon their families, severe retribution." He stood up straight again, squaring his shoulders. "I further propose that we reinforce our threat with a practical demonstration." His menacing eyes did not flicker. "Within six hours of the warning having been delivered, one of their number will suffer a fatal accident." He paused for effect. "We know," he continued, enjoying himself now, "that all but one of the council are Jewish. Now the policy these days is to always resist terrorist-styled threats. Certainly if we kill one of the Jewish members, there could be a religionbased backlash. I propose therefore that the accident should happen in such a way that the other members will comfortably change their views without being seen to have been threatened!" A thin, icy smile appeared on his gaunt features. "That is why we are going to let the only Gentile member of the council have a fatal accident.” ***** 85

Hans arrived back at his office. It was late and the main entrance had been closed to the general public. He rang the service doorbell and was quickly admitted via the videomonitored electronic-locking system. He recognised the temporary guard. "Well, things must be hard if we have to have the boss manning the front desk!" Hans cheerfully greeted the old friend. “Yes – Yann, our most recent recruit, was supposed to be on this evening but called in sick. Guess who was the only one free tonight?" Kurt, head of company security, explained cheerfully. “I’m pleased in a way, Kurt – since it’s you, may I ask you to do me a favour: my leg is rubbed raw. Do you mind fetching my attaché case from my office? It’s in its usual secure place, the knee-hole of my desk." Hans smiled apologetically, sitting down with much obvious relief at the same time. Kurt strode happily across the foyer. "That’s okay," he called back as he headed towards the lift. "You’re in charge down here, okay?” Hans had made friends with Kurt in his Navy days. In fact, he had been serving on the same ship in the Gulf as Alex and Hans at the time of the terrorist bomb attack. Kurt had been seated in the same café, but at the opposite end to the blast, and was one the few lucky ones to survive without a scratch. He left the Navy a few years later and started his own security business. When Hans heard about the new enterprise, he successfully persuaded the owners of the office building to enter into a contract with Kurt for their security. Hans, in line with standard security procedures, would not normally allow anyone to enter his office unaccompanied, and especially not ask them to collect his attaché case. He often carried tens of thousands of dollars worth of stones in that tattered old case. His familiarity with Kurt was often 86

criticised by his partners. "Don’t worry, Kurt’s different," he would say, "You know what I mean – more like family.” Kurt took the lift to the second floor and locked it open as he left, walking briskly to the office. He let himself in with his master pass-key. The case was exactly as described, sitting innocently in the kneehole of the desk. He picked it up, looking casually at it. As he closed the door behind him, he felt – rather than heard – a sort of vibration from the case. Instinctively, he lifted it up to his ear and listened. There was no sound. He reached the lift. The override key was still in the lock. As he extracted it and was about to step inside, he sensed once again a minute tingle in the case. In a microsecond, his brain recognised the sensation. "Of course!" his memory confirmed, "a three-stage trembler detonator." In one careful movement, he placed the case on the floor of the lift, turned, pressing the Garage button, and threw himself into the corridor in a smoothly-executed parachute roll. The doors slid together and the lift started on its decent. Miraculously, the explosion, only a few seconds later, occurred with the lift cage between the floors. Although the device had been relatively small, its effect in the confined space was spectacular. With the reinforced lift-floor being that much more solid in construction, the majority of the blast surged upwards, blowing the roof off the lift like a bullet from a gun. What was left of the cage, once free of its cables, dived to shatter at the bottom of the shaft. Kurt had only had enough time to roll a couple of metres down the corridor, curling himself into a protective ball and clamping his hands firmly over his ears. The blast drove the air from his lungs; at the same time the devastating percussion penetrated his eardrums, stunning his brain and leaving him semi-conscious, unable to move. In the lobby Hans was sitting relaxed in the swivel chair behind the reception desk. The explosion sounded like a 87

hollow thump, followed by a mighty rush of air as crashing debris from the lift cage hammered into the lobby's lift doors. Hans automatically threw himself on the floor behind the desk. The noise of the explosion rumbled around the lobby and quickly dissipated. He peered anxiously around the desk. The coloured security monitors flickered. One of the monitor screens was blank. Hans experienced that alarming but familiar pain in his stomach which told him instantly that the explosion was somehow connected with him. “Oh, my God!" he exclaimed as his mind conjured up the possible picture of the cause. "Kurt!" he shouted, and hobbled towards the stairs. The pain as his already raw leg stump chafed inside its prosthetic socket was ignored as he scrambled to climb the two flights, where he found Kurt still curled in a ball, hands still clamped firmly around his head. He was alive but concussed. Hans acted instinctively, dragging the semi-conscious Kurt across the corridor and into his office. He closed the door and crossed to his desk, where he picked up the telephone. "Thank God it’s still working," he thought as he flipped through his telephone pad. The number he selected responded with the familiar engaged tone. He pressed the star button and entered his personal recognition number. After three beeps, the phone was answered by a metallic voice. “Thank you for calling. Please leave your message after the tone." Hans entered his PIN again. The telephone was answered almost immediately. "Mr de Valk, the person you are calling is on the other line. Can I help?" It was all part of a rather frustrating procedure for ensuring that those with access to the Boss had their identity confirmed beyond doubt before being connected. “Urgent please," was all Hans said. The Boss answered from his mobile phone immediately. “Hans, my friend, what’s the problem?" the Boss replied anxiously. 88

Still panting, he carefully explained first about the threat, then the visit from Alex, and now the explosion. “We must get you out of there without anyone knowing! How is Kurt?" the Boss enquired with genuine sympathy. Kurt sat on the floor where he had been left, trying to massage away the din in his battered ears. "He’s coming back to life, thank goodness, but he should have some urgent medical attention." “I’ll send a recovery team within the next few minutes for you both. You’re both going to have to play dead for a while, at least until I can sort it all out. I’ll contact you later." The newspaper, TV and radio reports declared that two people had been killed and two seriously injured. The dead were an unnamed leading figure in the diamond industry and a security guard. The two injured were security guards. ***** Having been laboriously hauled over the hastilyrepaired roads, the giant bulldozers finally arrived at the pitiful earthquake scene. It was seven days since the earthquake. Now the main clearing up operation could begin. There had been one miracle recovery of a small child on the morning of the sixth day, but in spite of impassioned appeals from desperate, grieving relatives, the authorities declared that there was now officially no further chance of finding any more living survivors, and so the bulldozers impassively began their mammoth task of clearing away the rubble. The agreed plan was to start by opening up an access road from the bottom of the town, near the lake, as far as possible clearing the original road that led up between the two hotels to the town centre. The debris here were six to ten metres deep in places; a tangled mass of concrete, girders, 89

reinforcing rods, bathtubs and tree trunks all mixed together like a scene from Purgatory. It was a daunting task. The engines of the giant machines roared and the drivers drove them relentlessly at the impossible-looking mound. Bit by bit, piece by piece, they inched their way – grabbing, crunching and grinding a path into the ruins. ***** In the basement of the ruined hotel, Mohamed drifted in and out of consciousness for about six hours after he’d been pulled from the rubble. Quite suddenly, he made a strange rattling sound in his throat, then raised his head, his eyes staring. Then he collapsed back onto his makeshift bed and died. His death left them all deeply depressed. Images of their own eventual fate haunted each of the survivors. Yet each chose to hide his fear – as far as they could. “Shall we try to bury him, or ... what can we do with him?" Mike asked urgently, needing to break the solemn mood. “We must find somewhere for him, well away from us." John said. "I’m sorry to have to say this, but we must be practical. If we're down here for any time at all, he’s going to get a bit noticeable, and I mean not just by us, but by those rats we’ve seen already. So we’re definitely going to have to find a suitable spot for him.” Nancy was close to hysterics. "Just get him away from here, please. I’ve never seen a dead person before." She wept, her hands covering her face. Sam knelt by Nancy, trying to comfort her. Mike signed for him to stay with her while he and John half-carried, half-dragged the unfortunate Mohamed back to the place 90

where they had found him. Panting from the effort, they dropped him without ceremony on the floor. “At least he’s out of sight for the moment." Mike said, getting his breath back. "I'll get Sam to do a proper job on him later." They left him there with some relief, and returned to Sam and Nancy. In spite of the setback of Mohamed’s death, life had gradually developed into something of a routine. The first couple of days having been fully occupied with establishing their survival needs, they had almost become accustomed to their oppressive, alien environment. They set up sleeping quarters using old rugs they found in the store, and bits of carpet; paint-daubed dust sheets were used to make a separate bedroom for Nancy. They made a primitive toilet in the furthest and apparently lowest corner, and where they discovered that water, seeping from cracks in the ceiling and from the rubble at the other side of the store, was draining away. They established a duty shift system so that someone was always alert, and then, in the hope of being heard, they improvised a simple signal system, which they hoped might be heard by rescuers. It had been quite simple really: they’d found a piece of a hollow metal conduit protruding from the ceiling in the kitchen area. Tapping it with a piece of stone or metal made a flat, penetrating, ringing tone. They set up a duty roster for the systematic banging of the pipe. The dull ringing effect on those confined, however, left their heads throbbing, and slowly numbed their senses. Only Sam was impervious. In spite of this, they clanged away methodically throughout the hours they calculated to be daylight on the outside. They had no way of knowing whether their signals could be heard, although now they could both feel and hear the heavy vehicles moving outside. They conserved as much light as possible, but by the sixth day were acutely conscious of the reduced numbers of 91

Gaz cylinders, so they relied more on the modest glimmer from the oil lamps. Nancy had recovered quite well. The temporary splint was holding the fractured arm in place adequately, although it was still very painful for her. Mike's legs were fine now, but he still kept experiencing pain in his lower groin, which had him doubled up in agony from time to time. Inevitably they talked a lot, learning about each other’s families, lives, habits, likes and dislikes. Mike was in fact a student at a catering college in the U.K. He had taken the job abroad as work experience for the season. The programme was supposed to include one day a week at a local catering school, coupled with the experience of working in various departments at the hotel. When he had arrived, he was greeted with: "You chef ,yes?" Mike proudly answered, "Yes. Well, student chef ..." “Good," was the answer. "We short of staff: you now chef. Good, yes?" So Mike was thrown into the deep end. “I thought I was going to have a great time: waterskiing, clubbing, etcetera. In fact, I’ve been here just over a month and haven’t even got my feet wet yet," he mused quietly. Nancy’s experience had been similar. She had come away, she said, "to get over a foolish infatuation." She was 26 years old and had only been at the hotel for two days. Though inclined to keep to herself – even now – and yet in spite of her broken arm, she made herself busy trying to keep the rest of them tidy. "We may be in the poop," she would say, "but we must maintain standards!" and fussed about in a maternal way. Mike explained that Sam was the hotel's odd-job man, with the roles of kitchen porter, gardener, driver and repairman. "If you need it, Sam'll do it." He patted Sam warmly on the shoulder. Sam beamed back. He lived in a shed at the back of the hotel. Everyone bullied him, treating him little better 92

than a dog. Mike had immediately befriended him, his British sense of fair play being offended by the treatment Sam received. Sam had been suspicious of Mike’s attitude at first, as he was the only person at the hotel who had ever treated him like a normal human being. Soon his fears were allayed, and he became Mike’s faithful friend. John and Nancy hardly talked at first, but gradually they became more confident, exchanging little bits of conversation from time to time. Eventually it became clear that they were both looking for similar solutions to their individual personal problems. As time passed they gradually developed an understanding with each other; they took up the pipesignalling shift together; they collected the beer and prepared food together. At night they slept close together, with just the dirty dustsheet hanging between them. He wanted to touch her and hold her. Nancy felt the same. Yet somehow they resisted. The task of burying Mohamed had been conveniently avoided. The body was out of sight from Nancy and was largely forgotten. On the morning of the sixth day, however, Sam signed to Mike that he was going to bury Mohamed. He emphasised the need by pinching his nose, showing his awareness of a powerful smell. The others, without realising it, had become accustomed to it. Sam’s more acute senses recognised the putrefying smell. Returning to where they had left Mohamed’s body, they saw several rats scurry away as they approached. Mike gagged when he saw the sight. The rats had destroyed the face, and the body seemed to be breathing. Mike turned and ran through the shadowy passage back to the others. Sam, who was holding the lantern, was not as affected by the sight or smell. Nonetheless, familiar as he was with the more gruesome realities of nature, he winced at the scene. But his attention was drawn to a brief reflection, or flash of light, at the side of the pulsating body. 93

He slapped the wall with his hand, but this seemed to have little effect. So he grabbed a piece of broken rod and banged it viciously around the grim carcass. Several rats emerged, looking about in terror, then fled into the surrounding crevices. The body seemed to deflate. Sam moved closer, bent down and picked up the sparkling object. He’d seen but never touched a diamond before, yet he knew exactly what it was the moment he held it between his calloused fingers. He searched the floor to see what else might be lying about. It was then that he noticed the waistcoat with its torn pocket. Sticking out of the pocket was a waxy looking envelope. He gingerly pulled it out, and standing upright again, he peered at his find. A piece of black, baize-covered card peeped out of the envelope. He gasped. The card had 11 other diamonds Sellotaped to it. His curiosity aroused, and ignoring the devastation the rats had wreaked on poor Mohamed’s body, he examined the waistcoat more carefully. Opening the next partially-zipped flap to look inside, he found another double-lined paper envelope with ten slightly larger diamonds nestling in it. The shimmering light from the improvised oil lamp somehow magically captured the reflection in the facets of the precious jewels. Making up his mind, he pushed the envelopes back into the pockets, and picked up the loose diamond. Sam felt a tremor of excitement, although he was outwardly calm. He held the diamond up to the lantern again. Fascinated, he watched it shimmering in the light. His mind buzzed with confused ideas and fantastic dreams. He lowered the diamond and turned away from Mohamed’s ravaged remains. He thought of the bullying and abuse he had always endured. He remembered how anything he had ever possessed had so easily been taken away from him, and for a moment he was glum. Then his expression changed, and he looked more determined. Now life was different. For the first time in his life, he had a 94

friend, a friend he could trust. Mike would know what to do! So he hurried back to the others. Mike was sitting off to one side of John and Nancy. "You okay?" he signalled to Sam. Sam gave the thumbs up sign and stood facing Mike, holding out his hand with the diamond held between his fingers. There was a shocked silence. Mike stood up and invited Sam to give him the stone. He rolled it into Mike’s hand. The others stood up and strained to see the mystery object. “It’s a diamond." Nancy said. "Where did you find it?" Sam grinned proudly and signalled: "Follow me", but when Nancy joined in the move he held up his hand, indicating a vigorous "no", and holding his nose at the same time. Mike understood immediately. "You have to stay here, Nancy – you wouldn't want to see what’s in there, I can assure you.” Nancy sensed the seriousness of Mike’s words. "Okay, but don’t leave me here for long, please." They lit the other Gaz lamp and placed it on the table so that she would have plenty of reassuring light. The three men moved into the corridor and towards the hideous carcass. "I must tell you, John – the rats have torn Mohamed’s body to pieces. So don’t say I didn’t warn you." The rats were already making their way back to their feast as the men returned. Alarmed by the new intrusion, they reluctantly scurried back into the shadows. Sam had thought to bring a piece of cloth with him, which he threw over the grisly head, but not before John had caught sight of it in the flickering light. Not prepared for the nearly picked clean skull, he sucked in his breath in horror, gasping, "Oh, my God!" while holding his hand to his mouth. Mike was surprisingly calm. "First I suggest we remove the waistcoat to see what else is stashed in it.” 95

Sam produced two more bits of rag and wrapped the remains of Mohamed’s hands in them. Between them they managed to struggle the limp arms free of the garment. Mike ended up with the waistcoat in his hands, then looked up at the others questioningly. “Let’s get back to Nancy," John urged, eager to get away from the gruesome scene and the stench. The others needed no further persuasion. Nancy stood almost exactly where they had left her. "So what did you find?" She noticed the waistcoat. "What’s that smell?" she asked, holding her hands to her nose. “This is Mohamed’s waistcoat; it’s where Sam found the diamond." Mike just stood there, unsure what he could say about the smell. Nancy’s eagerness made her forget the odour. "Go on then, empty it out!" she urged, a note of excitement in her voice. Mike sat down in his chair and methodically went through all the pockets, emptying the contents one by one onto their makeshift table. There were fifty diamonds, varying slightly in size and colour, the four largest ones the diameter of a man’s thumbnail, the smallest the size of a garden pea. They had no way of knowing the true value of this astonishing find, other than to dream of untold wealth. These were, in reality, all the finest gemstone-quality diamonds – and consequently worth many millions of dollars. With Mohamed dead, ownership of the stones could not easily be established. It was certain, they agreed, that Mohamed had obtained the stones illegally. "Well, I think," said Mike, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, "that no-one is going to know about these stones. So we just sell them and divide the money equally." “That sounds like the simple solution, but I can’t believe the owner of these diamonds is just going to forget that 96

they’ve been stolen – assuming they have." Nancy reasoned. So the discussion went on for hour after hour. Finally, John leapt out of his adopted armchair and addressed the others in a stern but dramatic voice. "I think, folks, the time has come to cut out the fantasy and face reality!" They turned in surprise. John had never used such a commanding tone before. Sam, seeing the others turn, followed their gaze. “We may well be the richest entombed people in the world, but it isn’t worth a light if we can’t get out of here, right?" The others cautiously agreed. Sam looked from one to the other as they nodded in unison. John continued, "We’ve been down here for more than six days now and there's no sign of any movement from outside. We're soon going to run out of lighting materials. The Gaz is almost exhausted. The oil lamps have had their last refill. There are still several tins of tuna and anchovy, etcetera, but the rats are definitely getting braver." In his mind's eye he saw the rats gnawing at poor old Mohamed. "And I don’t relish living in the dark for any length of time, especially with them around. Do you?" he asked emphatically. "We’ve been waiting for someone to find us," he continued after a pause, "but now I say the time has come to have another try at digging ourselves out!" “How do you suggest we do that?" Mike responded testily. "We’ve been through all this before. Unless you've found some secret tunnel, I don’t see what we can realistically do.” John ignored him. "I’ve been thinking about the building and how it may have collapsed." The others moved closer as if to hear him better. "Now look: the hotel was built on the side of the hill, yes?" He mimed a drawing on the table. Mike nodded, showing renewed interest. 97

John continued, "Okay, so assuming the building collapsed evenly, I think most of the rubble will have slithered downhill towards the lake. Our original idea of trying to dig out through the garage doors at the low end of the site was wrong, because the rubble will be deepest there!" He paused. No-one spoke. "I think we must try to dig out towards the road opposite the other hotel, which was across the road and slightly uphill from us. Hopefully the rubble will be shallower there, and more importantly, that may be where the rescuers are digging. They must have vehicles clearing the road. It make good sense, don’t you think?” Mike once again poured scorn on the idea. "It’s easy to guess these things, but do you really think we can dig with our bare hands through all this reinforced concrete?" He seemed on the verge of hysterics. Nancy quietly placed her good arm around Mike’s shoulders. "I know how you feel, but John is right – in about 24 hours we could easily be locked in total darkness. That gives me the creeps!" She shivered involuntarily. "I think it's better to dig than lie down and die without trying.” Mike half-turned and put his arms around Nancy. He hugged her tightly, sobbing quietly on her shoulder. Sam moved over to stand closer to Mike's side with a hand lightly on his shoulder, a look of distressed concern for his friend on his face. After a short time in complete silence, Mike looked up. "I’m so sorry. It all seems to catch up a bit, doesn’t it?" Then, squaring his shoulders, he turned to John saying, "Well come on, you seem to be the boss, where do we start?" Sam, looking on, hadn’t understood a word and was still clearly distressed by Mike’s emotional state, but once Mike had spoken with renewed confidence, he somehow caught the mood. So like a faithful and trusting pet, and smiling once again, he waited patiently for his orders. John moved to the beer cellar, the site nearest his hotel room, which he knew was on the high side of the hill and 98

facing the main road in front of the building. "Perhaps here," he reasoned, "the road is more likely to be cleared to allow the rescue vehicles through." The hatch in the corridor to the cellar was completely blocked by a concrete beam and other bits of timber. It looked hopeless. "I don’t think we can move that. Even with the right equipment it would be quite a job!" John said to Mike glumly, the renewed burst of vigour draining quickly from him. “What’s this over here?" Mike called. He was standing by the cage of the small hand- operated service lift. John scrambled over several barrels to look up at where the hatch was hinged. They’d looked at it before, but for some reason had eliminated it as a possible exit. Mike climbed into the restricted cage and pushed at the panel. It moved and to his utter amazement made an opening big enough for a man to crawl through. "Here, let me squeeze up there," John excitedly volunteered. He struggled up to the hatch, and standing on a beer crate managed to push his head and shoulders through the gap. Some sort of fencing had obviously protected the hatch. This was partially crushed, but the rest had held and prevented rubble from blocking it. There was just enough room to crawl out of the hatch and into what he guessed was the corridor. In the light of one of the flickering oil lamps, he could see that there was a large slab of concrete acting as a roof and keeping the small space clear. There did not appear to be any other openings or gaps through which to crawl. He tried to get his bearings, remembering the position of his room in relation to the hatch where he had seen the man collecting beer kegs. He was fairly confident that the road must be just a few metres away; his room had looked out over it, towards the other hotel. He tried pulling at the broken bits of concrete. At first only small pieces came away, then gradually he was manoeuvring much larger pieces. He passed them back down the hatch to Mike, who threw them as far away as 99

he could. The dust started to build up, and soon they were both choking. Sam, who had been patiently watching and waiting, realised the problem and scurried away – to return after a few moments with a triumphant simile and three makeshift masks, made from old curtains and a piece of carpet. These helped, but dust continued to fill the air until, in spite of the masks, it became impossible to breathe or see what they were doing. They had no choice but to stop and evacuate the tunnel to let the dust settle. Back in their living quarters they reported their progress to Nancy. "I’ve managed to burrow about one metre towards the road," John proudly proclaimed. He was exhausted. The physical effort had taken its toll. Mike noticed. "I’ll do the next shift at the coal face," he volunteered with a grin. “Be my guest!" John replied without further ado. Mike and Sam moved into the cellar to continue with the digging. The sound of pieces of concrete and bits of rubble being levered out with the nail-bar and screwdriver drifted through from the cellar. Time passed slowly. ***** There wouldn’t have been any diamonds for the buried souls to discover if Mohamed hadn’t seen the two men in the bar as he went on duty that fateful evening. His natural curiosity combined with his experience as a crooked hall porter naturally tempted him to speculate about the tall one who had been wearing that strange waistcoat under his shirt. He simply had to take a look in the bedroom; so doublechecking that the two men were still comfortably ensconced in the bar, he stepped unnoticed into the lift and pushed the second-floor button. The lift stopped, he got out, and looked 100

up and down the corridor. The maid’s trolley was parked at the far end, where she was still working. Mohamed found the room and let himself in using his own pass-key. He’d picked up a light bulb from the porters' cupboard. This would be his legitimate excuse if caught in the room. He had done this many times before – it was the easiest thing in the world. People so often left valuables out on the dressing table. The best ones were the couples away on an illicit weekend. “Difficult to make too much fuss when you’re with someone else’s wife!" He bragged once to a friend. In this room there was nothing of interest in sight. The most obvious hiding place was in the coats hanging in the wardrobe. Some people regularly hid their valuables in the pockets. But he found nothing of interest. The next secret place was under the mattress. Bending down, he lifted the corner of the nearest bed and slipped his hand underneath. Bingo! He pulled out the waistcoat. He was about to go through the pockets when he heard the familiar rattle of a key being inserted in the door. He quickly stuffed the waistcoat under his own porter’s jacket and made for the door. As he placed his hand on the handle, the door opened cautiously. The face of the maid appeared in the gap. “I thought I saw you going in there! What do you want?" she said sharply, curiosity in her voice. “I was sent to change a light bulb, "he replied with a smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he added, cheekily placing his hand on the back of her neck. “Get away with you, you lecherous young buck." She ducked out of his grasp. "Don’t you have anything else on your mind?" He laughed, gently pushing her into the corridor and closing the door behind him. "Not where you’re concerned," he drooled at her as she turned angrily away and marched back 101

to the bedroom at the far end of the corridor. In fact she hadn’t taken any notice of his comment; she was much more interested in what he may have been looking for in the room. Mohamed took the lift to the staff level and wandered into the changing area and locker room. He had taken his shirt off in the lift and slipped into the waistcoat. Nancy, the new receptionist, had changed out of her uniform and was just closing her locker as he entered the staff rest area. On the hotel landing, the maid had surreptitiously watched Mohamed enter the lift. She knew him of old. He was always sniffing around, looking for opportunities to pocket a few bucks. When guests were leaving, he would often try to get into bedrooms before the maids in order to pinch the tips. Equally curious, she doubled back to the room. She had also noticed the strange waistcoat when they were separating the beds. Once inside, she immediately spotted the sheet hanging down below the duvet and knew at once that Mohamed had been looking under the mattress. She picked up the mattress and ran her hand underneath. Nothing. She turned and tried the other bed. With a look of surprise she withdrew her hand holding the other suede waistcoat. Without even thinking, she slipped her housecoat off her shoulders, quickly put her arms into the waistcoat and pulled the housecoat back on top. Trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear, she left the room and scurried quietly down the corridor to the laundry room, where she intended to examine her find more closely. She switched on the light and locked the door behind her. The first earthquake shock struck as she reached for the buttons on her housecoat. The flimsy shelves in the room were packed with boxes of various cleaning materials and other items for servicing the bedrooms. Already buckling under the weight of the heavy load, the first tremor split the shelving, sending 102

several of the boxes crashing down on top of the terrified maid. She was knocked unconscious to the floor, where she lay in a shroud of dirty linen, blissfully unaware of the subsequent collapse of the building with its fatal crushing energy. That was also the moment when Mohamed entered the rest area. He was raising his hand in greeting to Nancy, about to speak, when the first massive wave struck. He stood there, as if frozen, mystified by the shock. The whole room trembled. The floor tiles splintered into thousands of flint-like pieces. The lockers crashed over at a crazy angle seconds before the roof descended like a sledgehammer onto the unfortunate people below. Nancy and Mohamed were only saved from being completely crushed in that instant because the stainless steel table and the metal lockers had formed a protective arch, partially deflecting some of the cascading rubble. Nancy’s scream died in her throat as a heavy cabinet toppled over and hit her. Mohamed was hit in the small of the back by a scything concrete beam, his back and pelvis crushed by their weight. They were both instantly unconscious.

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Chapter Five Following his meeting with Hans in Antwerp, Alex decided that his next move should be to see if he could pick up the trail of the missing agent in Greece, before travelling on to Angola. The scheduled evening flight took him from Antwerp to Athens, where he would have to charter a private flight to an airfield in northern Greece. There, he was told, there should be transport to the earthquake-hit villages. The last report from the undercover courier had unfortunately come from a town in one of the worst-affected earthquake zones. Ominously, nothing more had been heard since the initial report that he had arrived safely at the hotel. Alex eventually arrived in the town on the sixth day after the disaster. He’d hitched a lift in an army helicopter, and was deposited without ceremony at the relief camp that had been established beside the lake, below the demolished town. The Royal Engineers had dispatched a detachment of heavy earth-moving equipment. They’d been rapidly assembled as part of a massive NATO effort to coordinate the initial rescue initiative and to spearhead the clearing of vital areas. Starting with the access roads to the stricken town, they would then concentrate on reopening the main streets, clearing as much of the rubble as possible for restoration of the vital municipal services: water, electricity, drains and telephones. The gruesome business of recovering and burying the dead was also an inevitable part of their role. Alex was astonished when he first saw the scene from the helicopter. It reminded him of photographs he’d seen of the aftermath of the bombing raids on Hamburg and Dresden during the Second World War. At the base camp there were now hundreds of people, both military and civilians, taking part in the massive rescue organisation. It was impossible to determine who was who. All 104

were being temporarily housed in rows of army tents. Red Cross canteens had been set up to feed them. Alex reported to the blue-bereted officer standing with a clipboard of papers outside a Portakabin marked "Headquarters". “Alex Scott, International Press," he introduced himself with a smile, and proffered his hand. The captain looked down scornfully at the hand for a moment, then flipped through a couple of pages on his clipboard. "I know that name from somewhere," he said seriously. "Ah, yes – here we are. Orders from God. You're to be given the VIP treatment." The captain looked back at Alex for a couple of seconds, then as if he’d finally made up his mind, smiled and took the outstretched hand. "Welcome to Hell," he said waving his other hand complete with clipboard at the devastated landscape. “I’d appreciate a corner somewhere to dump my kit and rest my head for a couple of nights, if that’s possible," Alex asked politely after surveying the scene. “Mr Scott, this is the British Army – we always do things with style. Corporal!" he called, and a young soldier jogged forward. "Find Mr Scott a tent and show him the routine, please." “Yes, sir," the corporal responded glumly. "This way please, sir." Alex thanked the captain and followed obediently. "Got made up from the ranks, you know – still thinks he’s the bloody sergeant major and we’re still in barracks at Aldershot!" the corporal told Alex in a conversational tone. Alex responded with an understanding grin. "What are the catering facilities like around here? Do the civilians have access to any social activities?" The corporal replied, smiling, "Do you mean is there a pub? Well, there is something like that.” 105

A shanty town had sprung up on the undamaged side of the lake, shelters hastily built from salvaged corrugated iron or sheets of plywood; tents formed from curtains and blankets – in fact anything to provide modest sanctuary. Fortunately, supplies of army tents were arriving daily now, offering more effective protection from the elements. Rich and poor alike face the same problems in such circumstances. Once the earthquake had settled down, people began congregating by the side of the lake. Somehow it seemed safer there. Someone found a guitar; another an accordion. They started playing together, to the delight of the otherwise dazed survivors. It was surprising to see how quickly the human spirit seemed to be able to come back from catastrophe. “There‘s plenty of beer and some cheap wine down by the lake if you fancy it, but I suggest you stick to our canteen. Their beer – and especially their wine – will send you to the loo for a week," the corporal laughed, nodding towards the shanty town. "Talking of loos, there’s the latrine. Your tent is on the other side, in the officers' area." The corporal pointed. Half a dozen more steps and they arrived at Row H. "You’re No. 14 and that’s the captain’s tent just over there. The showers and stuff are there." He pointed. "The canteens are right opposite. Okay?" “Thank you," Alex responded. “See you later then," the corporal called as he left. Alex had the tent to himself. "Luxury indeed," he thought as he dumped his kit bag and headed towards the sound of the earth-moving machines. It was getting late; arc lights were being switched on here and there, lighting the way for the sweating workers. There was to be no rest. Relays of teams were working 24 hours a day now, until the minimum basic access had been established. Alex found his way to the site of the clearing operation. The machines were picking away at their seemingly 106

impossible task: clearing a path through the great wall of concrete rubble. The huge claws of the hydraulic arms grabbed at protruding bits of debris, each time dumping what appeared to be a pitifully small amount in the bottom of a bucket. This was of course deceptive, because the buckets were so large. "My God, this will take for ever," Alex said to himself. He returned to the camp to see if he could learn anything from the people there. It was dark now, and dozens more people were collecting by the lake. There were beer and soft drink stalls. Small fires were being lit. Cooking pots and other pieces of everyday outdoor-living equipment appeared. The smell of food drifted across the camp. In spite of the odd strains of music here and there, the atmosphere was drab. The people milling about were drawn and sullen. The mood was overwhelmingly depressing. Alex walked into the canteen. "A beer would do no harm right now," he thought. There were only two people in the large catering tent. Leaning against the counter, one was still wearing his hard hat and drinking a large mug of tea; the other held a glass of beer. They both appeared to be civilians. Alex moved to the counter next to them and asked the attendant for a bottle of beer. "Do you have anything to eat?" he added, realising he hadn’t eaten since leaving Antwerp that morning. “Sandwiches," the attendant muttered. “I see," Alex smiled, "and what sort is on the menu today?" “Ham or cheese," came the abrupt reply. “That’s great. I’ll have one of each," Alex grinned in reply. He had an infallible way of getting close to people and breaking down resistance. "I didn’t realise it was à la carte tonight," he added.

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The po-faced attendant finally smiled. "You’re right mate, à la carte it is, and what’s more there could even be strawberry jam sandwiches for pudding later!" The ice broken, Alex chatted happily with the attendant until he was called to the kitchen to collect the order. One of the other men, still leaning on the counter, turned to Alex. "You seem to be blessed. That miserable bugger hasn’t said a word to anyone since the camp was set up!" "Well, hi there! I’m Alex Scott, International Press," Alex replied cheerfully. They all shook hands. "I’m Matt and this is Joe – Sergeant Joe, I should say." He gave a mock salute. “Not much here for the press now," Joe said, "The others have all gone, as far as I know. To some other disaster no doubt, to collect and sell misery to the rest of the world." “I specialise in exactly what the others miss. The rebirth after such catastrophes." Alex looked serious. The others looked at each other and nodded approval. “So what's happening here now?" Alex continued, trying to tempt the hard-nosed rescuers to open up. Matt, the one still wearing his hard hat, spoke first. "Well, our job is first" – with a cynical look at Alex – "to dig as many of the poor buggers out of the wreckage as we can, then to make rough tracks into the town centre and worst areas in lieu of roads. Then we reconnect the services and bring the town back to life." He looked away, shrugging his shoulders. "With that done, I suppose we’ve done our bit and the locals take over and complete the job of rebuilding it all." He paused, and added sourly: "Making a bloody fortune at the same time!" Sergeant Joe laughed cynically. "We live in a strange world don’t we?" He looked directly at Alex. "People make a fortune in these tin-pot countries, building tin-pot houses and hotels, which then fall down. We move in, clear it all up, and 108

then the same people make another fortune, rebuilding more tin-pot buildings.” Matt added acidly, "Then the poor buggers who lived in the last ones move into the new ones and wait patiently for them to fall down again – and often pay for the privilege with their lives," he added bitterly. Alex waited a moment before responding. "You know, that’s the sort of stuff I should be writing about. I've tried to find the human stories in the past, but perhaps it should be the story of the profiteers behind it all." The others agreed. Ordering more beers from the once truculent attendant, they spent another hour putting the world to rights. Finally it was Joe who said: "We’re on early shift, Mr civilian Matt. So away to your bed, please! I’ll call you at 5.30. Tomorrow we start to open up the road into town. That’s when the grisly part begins," he looked away, grimacing in anticipation. They wished Alex good night and left. The attendant called to Alex as the others were leaving. "I don’t know if it’s of any interest for your new story-line, but a couple of nights ago there was a foreign-sounding fellow in here, asking questions about survivors. Especially survivors from the hotels." The attendant served a beer to a newcomer and returned to Alex. "He said he was looking for an important businessman who had probably been staying in one of the hotels. There was something about him that didn’t ring true. I haven’t seen him since, but I had the impression that he was seriously agitated about something – and I don’t mean the human tragedy.” Alex thanked the attendant and asked to be contacted immediately if the mystery man should return. "You can leave a message for me with the captain's office, okay? Thank you once again. It might be just the right lead for my story." Alex left the canteen and wandered down to the lakeside. The fires 109

were now mostly just glowing embers. The atmosphere had changed completely, with people sitting or standing around quietly chatting, some just listening. Some children played and danced, someone was singing to the sound of gentle music floating happily on the warm night air. He found the captain walking in the same direction. "How resilient the human body and soul can prove to be," Alex said as they strolled to their tents. The captain looked across towards the glowing fires. "These unfortunate people were living normal lives less than a week ago. Now they're living in a field, having lost everything, yet they can sing and dance while waiting patiently for someone to do something for them. I never cease to wonder." The captain concluded: "Good night. See you in the morning." ***** In the basement beneath the remains of the hotel John dozed fitfully in his chair. They were all much weaker than they had realised, and the physical effort of digging soon exhausted them. A significant tremor vibrated throughout the basement. Dust floated gently down from the numerous cracks in the ceiling. It looked exactly like a light snow flurry in the flickering amber light of the oil lamp. The two who were squeezed into the tunnel stopped their toil, fearful that they had dislodged something. John and Nancy, alert and tense, sat up in alarm but stayed frozen to their chairs, waiting for something else to happen. No-one wanted to say what they thought it could be: perhaps another tremor. They suspected that previous vibrations had been mild tremors or settlements, but none had been quite like this. Could it be something else, something they’d all prayed so desperately for? Suddenly there was another, much stronger, shuddering sensation. The whole structure shook this time, and more 110

dust filled the air. Mike’s voice was heard from the hatch. "What the hell’s going on?" Finally breaking out of his stupor and leaping from his chair, John reached the cellar door in three bounds. "Get out of there quickly, before it caves in again. We’re either having another quake or someone is digging in the rubble above us!" The two tunnellers needed little encouragement and scrambled out of the dusty corridor, their faces covered in sweaty grime. Sam was smiling as usual and making hand signs that looked like a rabbit digging, and pointing upwards. At least he was convinced that the vibrations came from rescuers. They stood close together in the middle of their quarters as the rumblings became louder and more frequent. The atmosphere in their tomb became more polluted as showers of choking dust continued to fill the air. Nancy stepped away from the group, turned suddenly and said, "Now listen, people ..." She coughed. "If it’s the rescuers, then we must decide now what we are going to do about the diamonds." The others looked at her in astonishment. They had quite forgotten about the diamonds. "Okay Nancy, so what do you suggest?" Mike asked. Nancy knew exactly what she wanted to do with them. In fact she was more than a little sorry that she should have to share with the others at all. Overwhelming dreams of a glittering, exciting future had dominated her mind since the discovery of the stones. “Now don’t get me wrong," she started, "but for a start, do we really have to share with Sam?" “I can’t believe I’m hearing this!" Mike almost spat the words back at her. "Sam is one of us. We all share equally!" He looked to John for moral support. John turned to Nancy. "Did I misunderstand you? Just what exactly do you mean?" John trembled with anger. “I mean, quite simply," – she held a hand to her forehead and coughed dryly again – "we only need to give the 111

simpleton say, one stone. After all, what will he do with it, exchange it for a couple of pipes of opium?” John was numb, his mouth almost too dry to speak; his own fantasy suddenly shattered. He had romantically dreamed that once they were out of this dungeon, he and Nancy would live together like lovers in a glorious paradise. Mike, also shaking with anger, rolled his tongue around his mouth. "Sam gets his share, and I will ensure that it is properly invested for him." He coughed desperately, sucking in the choking air. Then patting Sam on the back encouragingly, he smiled at his friend. "There'll be no more skivvying for you, pal." But Sam was not smiling now. He had followed the drift of the dispute and clearly understood the spirit of the conversation. Shrugging off Mike’s friendly hand, he turned and walked silently away. They could not see, but his eyes were wet. “Where are the stones anyway?" Mike demanded. “I’ve put them somewhere safe!" Nancy replied haughtily, "and they’ll stay there until we agree what is to be done with them." Mike was about ready to pounce on her and grab her by the neck when suddenly the building was rocked by a massive rumble, followed almost instantly by the collapse of a gigantic slab of concrete from the roof of their sanctuary. The roar of a powerful diesel engine could now clearly be heard. They threw themselves to the ground as blinding light penetrated the dust cloud through a hole the size of a large car, which had suddenly appeared just a few metres from where they’d been digging. No-one moved as the dust slowly cleared and they were able to see the huge slab of reinforced concrete. It had fallen onto some other rubble and miraculously formed a small gap inside which Sam was hopelessly pinned. The others didn’t see him in the dust and chaos. The persistent roaring 112

noise stopped as the bulldozer cut its engine. Standing on the edge of the crater was a man wearing army fatigues and bright red hard hat. “Just hold it there a minute, Matt ... it looks a bit dangerous to me. I think we may have to come at this from the other side," the sergeant called to the bulldozer driver in English. The dust rising from the hole they had made looked rather like smoke pouring out of a bomb crater. Matt was about to start his engine again when the helmeted sergeant shouted again. "Hold on a minute Matt! I think there’s something down there," he called out in alarm, as he saw the waving arm of the pinned Sam. He wondered for a moment if he should believe his eyes when he scrambled down into the crater. Then he noticed a vile, overpowering stench. Not the familiar smell of decaying bodies that pervaded the whole scene, but more like gas or drains. "Watch out! There may be gas trapped down here." He slithered out of sight into the dusty crater. By the time he'd reached the waving arm, it had almost stopped moving, but was still making feeble pointing gestures. The sergeant’s eye followed the direction of the finger – and there, to his complete astonishment, three ghostly shapes emerged from the dust and rubble. With their hands clamped over their eyes, they stumbled towards the redhelmeted man. The arm had stopped pointing now and dangled by the slab, apparently devoid of life. The sergeant moved towards the dust-covered apparitions, wrinkling his nose at the acrid stench; then, not expecting to be understood, and not knowing what else to say, he greeted them with: "Blimey, you folks could use a bath!" Matt, seeing the ghostly apparitions emerging from the hole he had just created, jumped down from his machine and rushed forward to help pull them up the rough slope to a 113

cleared space. "I can’t believe anyone is still alive inside there! Can you, sarge? After all this time?” The three survivors remained silent. They had not yet recovered from the sudden shock of liberation and sat motionless on the edge of the crater, their eyes gradually becoming accustomed to the sunlight. Covered in a thick layer of grey cement-dust over their ragged clothing, they reminded Matt of the Egyptian mummies he’d seen at a museum, as they sat on the edge of the crater in the weak morning sun. Mike was the first to speak. Taking stock of the situation and anxiously trying to summon some moisture into his mouth, he croaked, "Where's Sam?" then leaned back on a convenient piece of rock, trying to ease a cramp from his leg. The sergeant looked back, startled. "English? You’re English?" He placed a friendly hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Yes, but there’s still someone else in there!" Mike started to rise painfully to his feet, intending to go back for Sam. “Yes, I saw someone pinned under that slab over there," the sergeant pointed and started towards the hole. "I’m sorry mate, but I don’t think there's much hope for him," he warned Mike gently. Looking down from the top of the hole, they could just make out the forlorn arm, covered in grey dust. Mike slithered down the slope behind the sergeant and grabbed the hand, squeezing it several times, trying to send a signal to let Sam know that help was close by. The hand, though still warm, did not respond. "Come on Sam, come on!" Mike shouted, repeatedly slapping the hand. He refused to let go – "Can’t we get him out?" He carried on slapping the hand. "Can’t we do something?" he pleaded. “Hold on a minute! Let’s try and find out what’s what first, eh?" the sergeant tried to calm Mike. He reached under the slab to feel for a pulse in Sam’s neck. He was only just able to touch him, but could not detect any sign of life. "I’m sorry 114

mate, but I think he may be beyond help now." The sergeant stood up. “All the same, I’ll get the JCB over here – we should be able to get a purchase under this slab, enough to pull him clear. Come on ... you get out of here now and leave this to us, okay?" Mike reluctantly released the limp hand. The sergeant radioed the field hospital and requested urgent assistance for the survivors. The dispatcher could hardly believe the call. "Yes," repeated the sergeant, "they're alive and standing. In fact, they walked out on their own – but only just!" It seemed to be only a matter of seconds before an ambulance with three paramedics screeched to a stop, its earsplitting sirens still wailing. Mike climbed out of the crater then, and paced about morose and silent, a little apart from the others. The paramedics were fussing about, trying to assist their surprise patients, when suddenly Mike took three quick strides to where John and Nancy were sitting. “You murdering bitch!" he shouted at Nancy. The others turned in surprise. It was the first time the sergeant had realised that one of them was a woman. “Just for the sake of a few miserable bits of glass!" Mike ranted, threatening Nancy with his clenched fist. The others restrained and tried to pacify him. "Easy Mike, we’ll sort it all out later," John urged, jumping up and physically positioning himself between Mike and Nancy. “When I get my hands on you, you miserable bitch, I’ll stuff the bloody diamonds down your throat!" he shouted as John gently but firmly nudged him out of reach. "Miserable whore," he growled, shaking his head. "How low can you get for a few bloody baubles?" He looked about for support. John tried again to pacify him. "Take it easy Mike, let’s get Sam out first," he tried to reason with him. "After all, he might only be unconscious." 115

Mike stopped and looked John in the face. "Do you really think so?" “Come on, let’s give them room to work." John led the defeated Mike away to the waiting ambulance. ***** Alex called into the canteen for a quick breakfast. He had slept "like a log" in reply to the mess orderly’s polite inquiry. The food had just arrived on the table when the captain came racing in. "There you are! You better come with me quickly – this should be right up your street!" Alex jumped up, knocking his chair flying. "What’s going on?" he called after the captain, already running across the grass to a waiting Range Rover. “Get in, I’ll explain on the way," the captain instructed breathlessly. The Range Rover lurched off over the rough ground. "They’ve found some survivors in the basement of one of the hotels. Seems they were in a part of the underground kitchens that stayed intact!" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Must be the only part of town that did," he added. "Apparently they've lived on a diet of beer and tuna fish." He paused, then said with a curious smile, "I wonder what that does for your bowels?" Alex smiled with him. "I don’t suppose it matters too much as long as you’re all on the same stuff.” They arrived at the rescue site as the ambulance was being driven away with the three survivors. The sergeant was busy directing the JCB driver to persuade his machine to climb the loose mountain of rubble, intending to use the giant arm to get purchase under the slab and to pull Sam free. The driver managed to make his dinosaur look-alike walk up the slope by using the bucket as a prop, then manoeuvring the hydraulic legs and massive wheels. It was an impressive feat of driving over the unstable debris. The great machine eventually posi116

tioned itself, somewhat precariously, on the rim of the crater. The driver extended the arm until it was just inches from the slab. With practised precision and directions from the sergeant, the jaw at the end of the arm gingerly tucked itself under one corner of the huge piece of concrete, and lifted slightly. The sergeant reached in and tried to pull Sam free, but his legs were still stuck fast and would not move. He signalled "a little more" to the driver. The slab moved a few more centimetres – any more and it would almost certainly slip from the jaw and crush Sam again. Alex scrambled down to the sweating sergeant. "Here, let me give you a hand." The sergeant gave the driver the signal to lift a little more. Together they tugged at the flaccid body. Gradually, although not too gently, they managed to drag Sam from the deathly squeeze of the slab. They carried him a few feet to the top of slope. Matt lowered the slab gently, trying not to make any more unnecessary dust or vibration. The sergeant looked at the forlorn body. "Poor sod!" he said to the body. "Fancy surviving for a week down there, then copping it like that." The ambulance reappeared with its paramedics. "Okay boys, let's get him out of here," the leader instructed. They placed Sam on a stretcher and drove back to the hospital without their siren – there didn’t seem to be any urgency. Alex borrowed a torch from one of the paramedics and descended into the basement. The stench was indeed nauseating. Wandering cautiously throughout the cellar he noted their dining area, the crude sleeping arrangements and the home-made lighting equipment. He marvelled at the improvisation and wondered who these people were, and how they had managed to cope with being so hopelessly entombed. If only he had really been a journalist, what a fantastic story this would make! – he thought as he returned to the surface. 117

Alex had endured many life-threatening situations in his lifetime, but even he shivered at the thought of being buried in such circumstances, and was grateful to feel the sun on his face again as he walked back to the Range Rover. "I'll tell you something captain: those guys are going to need some therapy. To have survived in that stink-hole all this time is surely going to leave them with some very deep mental scars." “Don’t worry Mr Scott, we have all those facilities laid on here," the captain replied, then after a pause added: "Although come to think of it, I believe all the therapists are Greek." He frowned. "I don’t suppose they were expecting too many Brits ..." He shook his head. "The Doctor should know what to do." Alex found the survivors in the field hospital. They were the only bed patients there. All the other injured had either been transferred to other hospitals or discharged into the care of their families. They were all asleep, the two men separated from Nancy by a mobile screen. The orderly whispered gently, leading Alex away from the makeshift ward, "They were completely exhausted. We’ve given them a heavy sedative and I expect them to sleep for at least 12 hours." “How were they generally?" Alex asked hopefully. “The two men were okay. The big fellow was very excited but eventually reacted to the sedative. He should be more relaxed when he wakes up." He pointed towards Nancy. "I’m a bit worried about her, though. She seemed to have gone totally catatonic." He shrugged. "She has a broken arm, but we’ll see to that later." He looked up smiling. "Well, at least they’re safe now, and our doctor should be back in camp by morning. He’ll know what’s best." He hurried from the ward. Realising that there was no more to be achieved until they were all fully conscious again, Alex wandered back to the canteen. "I wonder what happened to the other one?" Alex 118

asked himself as his stomach rumbled in complaint. He would have to find out later, but first he’d finish his breakfast. ***** The international Emergency Rescue Group set up specially to assist the earthquake victims had been divided up into sections, each with responsibilities according to its specialist skills. The role of the Royal Engineers, thanks to their heavy earth-moving equipment, would be to clear the main thoroughfares, enabling the municipal services to be repaired as quickly as possible. The clearance of the damaged or destroyed buildings was to be the responsibility of the local authority. The exception to this general rule was sites where it was thought that a high concentration of bodies might still be buried. The two hotel sites were included in this special group. Working in a team, the men with their powerful oxyacetylene cutters patiently cut into the tangled mass of girders. Then the bulldozers attacked the barriers of broken concrete, carefully working their way into the rubble that had once been the town’s main tourist facility. By late in the evening of the day that the "miracle survivors" had been found, they had cleared a route between the two hotels. At a signal from the sergeant, the drivers finally stopped their monsters to refuel and change shifts. There was a brief silence for the first time that day. Alex borrowed the captain’s Range Rover and toured the surrounding countryside. He wondered at the forces of nature as he surveyed the scene from a vantage point above the town. It was while he was quietly taking in the scene of devastation that he noticed the lonely figure standing opposite the hotel where the three survivors had been found. The diggers had resumed their grisly task, and the man seemed to 119

be watching every scoop of debris as the machines munched their way into the ruins. Alex was reminded of the canteen attendant’s comment about a man asking questions about survivors from the hotel. "This could be the same man. I wonder what – or who – he's expecting to turn up," he thought. Alex watched the bedraggled man for some time; the man didn’t notice Alex and continued to concentrate on the rubble being displaced. That evening Alex met up with the sergeant and the driver, Matt. He greeted them cheerfully. "Well gentlemen, I see that you’ve made history by finding those people in the basement of the hotel. Congratulations!" Matt was sombre. "Yes. But I crushed one of them, didn’t I. That wasn’t quite so clever, was it?" He looked down at his hands. "Have you heard how he is? Did he make it or not?" Matt sounded dejected as he looked up at Alex, hoping for a reassuring answer. Alex didn’t know. He'd intended to find out, but had put it off, assuming that the poor soul was dead. "I don’t know, but I’ll find out for you right away." He went straight to the field hospital. There was a different orderly on duty. Alex approached him. "Do you know what happened to the fourth survivor from the hotel they found this morning?" The orderly shook his head. "I don’t know exactly what happened. He was alive but had multiple internal injuries, so they took him by helicopter to a specialist intensive care unit somewhere." He thought for a moment. "You’ll have to ask the captain – he should know. We can’t ask the doctor because he went with him.” Alex thanked the orderly. He returned to the others and relayed the information to his new friends, who by the time he had returned to the canteen were starting yet another round of drinks. 120

Noticeably relieved by the news, Matt stammered, "Well that’s certainly encouraging! I hope to God he makes it," and took a deep draught of his beer. "I hope so too," the sergeant responded quietly, then added, "I wonder what all that stuff was about – you know, when the big fellow was screaming at the woman. 'All for a few trinkets,’ he said, ‘bits of glass', or something like that. ‘I’d stuff the diamonds down your throat’ – I’m sure that's what he said!" He raised his eyebrows. Alex was instantly alert, his natural poker face covering his surprise. "I didn’t hear that bit! Diamonds? Did you say diamonds?" Matt asked abruptly. “It’s probably nothing, but it seemed odd at the time." The sergeant quaffed the last half of his pint in one practised swallow. He briefly savoured the experience then, changing the subject, declared, "Well, it’s been an interesting day all right, how about some food before we all get pissed?" They queued up at the counter, chose their meals, then wandered over to a table with their trays. They ate in silence. Matt finally broke the spell. "Sarge, what do you think he meant when he talked about diamonds?" The sergeant looked up. "I think he was just hallucinating. Think of it: suddenly you're alive and free after being trapped in that stink-hole for a week." “I suppose," Matt admitted. "But you said he mentioned diamonds specifically – that’s a bit strange. Don’t you think so, Alex?" he asked, redirecting his question after the sergeant’s negative response. Alex needed to know the answer to many questions himself, but had to play the game of innocence. "I think the sergeant is right, to be honest. You could easily be bonkers after an experience like that. Who knows what you might say?” 121

The steward came over to the table and passed Alex a note. "A message from the captain," he said casually, then left. “Thanks," Alex called back. He opened the note. In neat block capitals it read: That man I told you about last night has a camper down by the lake. See you outside. “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen, seems as though I have a telephone call waiting for me in the captain’s office." He left without ceremony. He’d hardly stepped out of the canteen when the steward appeared from the shadows. “He’s in a camper-type van down by the lake. It’s the only one this side of the trees." He looked pleased with himself. Alex thanked him profusely. "You've been really observant – I do appreciate that." He shook the man's hand, palming a $50 bill. The man looked down at the concealed note, a smile spreading across his face. “It’s a pleasure, sir. Just let me know how I can be of further assistance!" He almost skipped back into the canteen. The van was parked exactly as the steward had described. It was a Mercedes camper and had been fairly badly knocked about, with dents and scratches all down the near side. The top had a big dent towards the rear and the window below it was broken. Alex approached the vehicle casually. He could see the silhouette of someone apparently dozing in the passenger seat. He coughed loudly, then tapped gently on the window, not wishing to alarm the occupant unduly. In spite of this ploy the man reacted suddenly. “What do you want?" he stammered in alarm. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’d like to ask a few questions." Alex held his Press Card against the window. "International Press! I’d like to have a talk with you," he continued with a warm smile.

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The man opened the window cautiously. "What do you want at this time of day that can’t wait until the morning?" The man spoke with a faint foreign accent. “Why don’t you ask me in? We could share a beer or something, and I’ll explain," Alex coaxed, still smiling. The man was clearly nervous, but sensed that he was trapped. "Okay," he sighed. "Let’s get into the back. The door’s open. It doesn’t lock any more.” Alex slid back the battered door and climbed in. There was a bunk bed hinged to the side, neatly made up. Two leather chairs faced each other. Alex sat down in one of them. There was room for another bed. Tight, he thought, but adequate. The man climbed in and sat in the other chair. "So what can I do for you, Mr ... ?" “Scott, Alex Scott," Alex offered his hand and the man shook it lightly. "What about that beer?" Alex coaxed. The man reached into a small box beside his chair. “Here you are – a can of beer. Now what?" He passed one to Alex and helped himself to one. He tugged at the opener. There was sharp hiss and a flood of froth; he sipped at the foam dribbling from the can. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name," Alex started, his can unopened. “Otto Anderson," the man replied mechanically licking the froth from his lips. “I couldn’t help seeing you watching the diggers at work today, and just wondered if there was a special reason." Alex casually opened his own can. “You reporters never miss a trick, do you? Anything for a grim headline." He leaned back. "If you must know, my colleague was in the hotel when it collapsed. He has not been found yet." The man looked sombre.

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“I’m sorry to hear that." Alex sounded genuinely sympathetic. "Was he a close friend or a business associate?" he asked innocently. “Well, actually, he was just a business acquaintance. We were travelling together." “I see," responded Alex, "And what line are you in?" The man became agitated now. “We were commercial travellers," he snapped. "So why is this of interest to you?” “Oh, you know us reporters – we look out for any new angle on life, which may in turn be of interest to our readers." Alex smiled. He didn’t bother to ask what products they were promoting as "commercial travellers". He was pretty certain by now that he knew. “Did you know that four survivors were found in the basement of the hotel this morning?" Alex asked casually, taking a long draught from his can. “Yes, I was watching. It was a miracle that they survived in there. I don’t expect my man was so lucky," the man muttered. “Funny thing," Alex said conversationally, "when they were discovered, they didn’t seem to be pleased to be free – instead they were fighting, shouting at each other! Very odd, don’t you think?" The man thought for a moment. "I suppose you could easily go crazy, entombed like that, with little hope of survival. What were they arguing about anyway?" “That’s the funny thing," Alex replied, after drinking the final dregs from his can, "The man shouted something about ‘the gems’ – diamonds, in fact." Alex observed the reflex flick of the eyes at the mention of diamonds. "But I think you must be right," he continued, looking suitably shocked, "they would be completely bonkers after a week buried alive, probably unaware of what they were saying." Alex smiled. "Well thanks for the beer. I’m sorry if I’ve been a 124

nuisance. I’ll let you get some sleep." He shook hands with Otto. "Maybe we’ll meet in the canteen some time – my turn to buy the beers, eh?" Alex left the man sitting in the back of the camper with his unfinished drink in his hand. Alex was smiling with satisfaction as he walked briskly back to the canteen, confident that he had, by pure chance, found a link in the diamond trail. The man did not go to bed. He was far too tense for sleep. "What could those survivors know about diamonds?" He was desperate to recover the diamonds. If he didn’t get to Antwerp with the stones soon, his life and that of his family wouldn’t be worth a grain of sand. He had to find out somehow. He opened the glove compartment and took out a revolver. He held the weapon awkwardly, his hand trembling slightly. It was damp with nervous sweat. "I don’t want to have to use you," he addressed the weapon, weighing it in his hand, "but if it means my life, I will!" ***** Five grim-faced men sat around the café table. They had agreed to take the unusual step of meeting in public due to the catastrophically serious and now urgent nature of their problem – one which left them all in fear for their lives. The Syndicate executive did not look upon failure, whatever the circumstances, with anything but scorn. The price would be high. Their families' lives were now at risk. In fact, their families' lives were more vulnerable than their own; that was how the system worked. "Fail, and first we kill your wife, then your son or daughter," ... and so on. The outlook was bleak. The diamonds had started their journey at the mine in Angola. They were some of the finest-quality stones to be have been found recently. Because of the international position on Conflict Diamonds, it was imperative for the miners to sell and ship their stones in small batches to several differ125

ent countries, in order to disguise their origin. At the same time, the governments of some countries, as well as various terrorists groups, wanted stones to finance their own objectives. They too had to smuggle diamonds to other countries to disguise their starting-point. Such a set of circumstances provided perfect conditions for The Syndicate to impose its influence. The largest shipment ever entrusted to one pair of couriers had simply vanished into the ground as a result of the earthquake. The Syndicate officials were in a sombre mood. "The last message from my agent stated that he had escaped the earthquake by the skin of his teeth, but that his assistant, essentially his guard dog, had gone into the hotel to make contact with other couriers just minutes before the building collapsed. We have to assume that they are all dead." He looked indifferent. "The surviving agent escaped because he decided to turn the car around, ready to head out of town. Apparently he was pushed down the street like a surfer on a wave of moving tarmac and rubble." He stared at his hands. "At least, that’s what he said!" He looked around anxiously. "Anyway, he’s still there, hoping to recover the diamonds when the bodies of the three men are eventually recovered from the ruins." He continued more aggressively: "My Controller has ‘recommended’ that we meet to devise a definitive plan to ensure the recovery of the stones and complete the delivery." He looked at each of the ashen faces, hoping for a constructive response. One of the others spoke in a monotone. “My men were the two in the hotel; they were my most reliable contract couriers. They operated the first stage. They must have been killed, because they would have made routine contact by mobile otherwise. I’ve heard nothing since the confirmation that they’d arrived at the pre-arranged location. They’d successfully carried the cut stones from Johannesburg to 126

Greece without any incident." He shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. “How well do you know them? Is there a chance that they may have gone into business for themselves, using the disaster as cover?" one of the others interjected abruptly. "I doubt it," was the reply. "They were independent but very reliable – and they would certainly have kept each other under control." “We must send two of our best hard men to the location," one of the others chipped in. “You’re quite right. The man still there now is a courier, not an action man. There could be all sorts of difficulties with the people checking the dead bodies. We would be lost if the waistcoats were found by the wrong people." The others readily agreed. “But who shall we send?" asked the first man. “I have two good ones just back from a mission. They’re the type who will love this sort of thing." This offer was made by a man who had remained silent until now. “Okay. It’s agreed then, is it? We send your two and keep in close touch. The Controllers are very fidgety and heads will roll if we get this wrong," concluded the first. The meeting broke up. Telephone calls were made. Two very nasty enforcers were given their instructions and dispatched to Greece.

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Chapter Six The first part of the therapy to readjust their minds and bodies after the trauma of being entombed for so long was to induce a long period of sleep. John slowly regained consciousness, having slept for almost 24 hours. It was late afternoon. The sun was still pouring its searing heat into the improvised hospital. John tried to sit up, but the severe stabbing pain in his head, coupled with the impression that the room was being viewed through the bottom of a bottle, caused him to fall back on his pillow with his eyes screwed shut. After a few moments, as his focus slowly returned, he cautiously surveyed his surroundings without taking the risk of sitting up. The bright light was the dominant factor, having endured the gloom of the hotel cellar for almost one week. His mind struggled to come to terms with being alive. Eventually he was able to sit up. The bed next to him was empty, but looked as though it had been slept in. He swung his legs out and placed his feet on the floor. He recoiled as the pain from his swollen feet took him by surprise. He gingerly placed them back on the floor, slowly increasing the weight until he finally heaved himself up. He hobbled over to the dividing curtain, curious to see what or who was on the other side. Nancy lay on the bed, eyes wide open in a fixed stare. She did not appear to be aware of his presence. "Nancy," he called, "are you all right?" She did not answer or even look in his direction. A voice behind John startled him. "She’s been like that for the last half hour," the orderly whispered to John. "We’re waiting for the doc. He should be back soon.” “How long have we been here?" John asked. 128

“You were all pulled out of the ruined hotel this time yesterday. The other one was awake two hours ago. He just got up and walked out. He hasn’t been seen since! I’m a bit worried about him." He pointed to a pile of clothing on the empty bed. "I put out some army fatigues for you. All your own clothes were beyond help." John ran his hand casually down his side and smiled as he realised he was only wearing a standard hospital gown tied loosely at the back. Now he knew why his bum felt a bit draughty. John selected clean underwear and a suitably-sized set of the khaki outfits from the pile of clothes put out by the orderly. "You’ll no doubt want to wash and shave," the orderly suggested. "Here’s a wash kit with razor and towel." He pointed. "The washroom's over there.” “Thank you." John took the materials and wandered over to the Portakabin facilities. He was startled at first by the strange face in the mirror. Tousled hair, a gaunt face and more than one week’s growth of beard stared back at him. He ran his hand over the stubble. It had become quite soft. "Perhaps this is my opportunity to grow a beard," he said aloud to the apparition in the glass. “So you’re awake at last?" He turned to see Mike standing in the doorway. John realised that he had never seen him in daylight, other than the brief moments after they were released from their tomb – but then there had been so many other things happening. Now he realised that Mike was much bigger than he had imagined. At least six feet three inches tall and quite heavily-built. Washed and shaved, Mike had also taken advantage of the special service "The stamp of a fastidious chef!" John’s inner voice said. “Mike! How long have you been up? Where have you been? How do you feel?" John blurted, relieved to see him. Mike looked sullen. "I’ve been trying to find out what they’ve done with Sam. But everyone just shrugs and sends 129

you to the next orderly." He sighed. "Anyway, I finally located him. Seems he was pretty badly busted-up, but still alive. He was flown by helicopter to a neurology unit in a town on the other side of the mountains. But nobody knows anything else." He shrugged his great shoulders. "Well, I suppose if he's still alive, he has a chance, eh?" he paused then added, "That bitch! How could she have been so cruel to him? He looked after us all down there! He asks for nothing more than a little human kindness." John moved over to Mike and placed his hand on his folded arms. "I honestly think that she was going a bit crazy, like the rest of us – and didn’t really mean it. Anyway, now she seems to be in a rather strange trance, so perhaps it’s our turn to help her." “Yeah, I know. I suppose we all went a bit doolally cooped up in there," Mike conceded after a pause. He turned to leave, then added, "Thanks, John. Always the mediator, eh! You finish your ablutions and we’ll take a look at her, okay?" By the time John had completed the cleanup, the face he used to know smiled out of the mirror at him. "You’re a lucky bastard, John Lawrence! It seems the Good Lord is saving you for more important business," he addressed the image confidently. There was a polite cough from the doorway. Mike was standing watching the performance, and he was smiling at last. "Let’s hope it includes finding the diamonds," he added lightheartedly. They walked together into the sunlight. “Ah, there you are, gentlemen!" Alex addressed them as they entered the canteen. "You seem remarkably cheerful after having survived a week in that hell-hole. Alex Scott, International Press." He stepped forward and shook hands with the slightly bemused survivors. “What can we do for you?" Mike asked. 130

“Well, you see, I was there when you were ...' liberated' ... shall we call it?" he lied, his tone more serious now, "so I would appreciate an exclusive on your story. The world press would be here in droves if they were to learn of your miracle survival. But the story hasn't yet been released yet." Mike was the first to react. "Why not?" he retorted. "We should be allowed to sell our story to the highest bidder, if we want to.” Alex smiled. "You're right, of course, but in this case there is a very special reason." Alex pointed to the canteen." Have you people eaten anything today?” "Come to think of it," John answered, "I’m bloody starving. I’m happy to talk over some food.” They seated themselves at the far end of the canteen. It was too early for the hot dinner service. "Sandwiches only, at this time I’m afraid," the steward informed them. "Cheese or ham, or both?" “Bring both, please. Oh, and do you have rolls rather than sliced bread?" Alex enquired. Big crusty rolls filled with cheese and ham were produced, accompanied by large mugs of tea. They were alone in the canteen. Mike tucked enthusiastically into one of the giant bread rolls. "I didn’t realise how hungry I was," he muttered as he munched with relish. "A welcome change from beer and tuna fish, eh?" They all laughed and attacked their food; the atmosphere became noticeably more relaxed. Allowing sufficient time for their initial hunger to be satisfied, Alex casually started the conversation. "I’d like to outline my particular position while we're still alone in here." He sipped his tea and placed the mug on the table. His roll remained untouched. "As I told you, I represent the international press. I am, however, also making a special study of diamond smuggling, which is the real reason I found myself here." 131

The listeners looked up instantly. Alex continued, as if he had not noticed their reaction. "Diamonds are being stolen from mines in Angola, cut at illegal workshops in South Africa, then smuggled in ever-growing quantities out of Africa to be distributed throughout the world. This has a serious effect on world diamond prices. That in turn threatens the economies of several smaller countries which depend on legitimate diamond exports." Mike and John listened intently, the last of their rolls uneaten in their hands. “The sergeant in charge of the digging team and I heard your angry exchange with the young lady who was with you." He looked directly at Mike. "'Diamonds,' you said; ‘I’d stuff the bloody diamonds down her throat’, to be precise." There was a stunned silence. Alex ignored it and continued. "Let's suppose for a moment that you knew about a large cache of diamonds. The probability is that they are part of a batch of smuggled stones. That means that the owners are certainly not going to be normal, decent, law-abiding citizens." He scanned their faces. "Now, if the wrong people were to make the assumption that you knew something about smuggled diamonds, then I think your lives could be in serious danger." The silence continued. Mike looked questioningly at John. "I believe that we already have a serious problem," Alex continued, his tone philosophical. "Just think: if the sergeant’s already told Matt, and Matt’s told a few others, then I don’t think it’s going to stay a secret for much longer, do you?" He paused and looked at his attentive audience. "So, gentlemen, do you have any information that will help with my investigation, or are we just going to wait until one of the bad guys turns up and asks you for his diamonds?" He frowned. "I can assure you that if they are the people I think they are, they will ask you the same questions – but will use a rather different technique. Remember, these people don’t ask 132

twice, and always dispose of inconvenient evidence, permanently." John recovered his composure first. "I’ve been trying to think why I know you." It was Alex’s turn to be surprised. "I’ve had this face for a long time," he smiled, making light of the comment. Mike’s reaction was different. "I don’t give a toss for the diamonds – they’ve probably caused a good man’s death. I for one don’t want any part of them." He sat back in his chair. "If you want to know, it was another man: Mohamed the porter. We found him with Nancy, buried in the ruins of the staff canteen. Poor sod died, and we had to bury him down there. We found a waistcoat full of diamonds on him when we tried to bury him. We were going to split them, but that bloody woman hid them somewhere. She wanted to cut Sam out of his share." “So there are some diamonds – actually in the cellar where you were trapped?" Alex asked cautiously. "Just like Mike said, "John confirmed, "we found them on the porter. Somewhat naturally, we assumed he must have come by them illegally. Unfortunately Nancy went a bit off her head – not too surprising, really. So while we were trying to dig a way out, apparently she hid them somewhere." Alex tried to think of the best way to use this remarkable information. "I'm not interested in the diamonds for their value. I only want to know how they're being smuggled. So if you find them, they're all yours." The two men looked at each other, then returned their attention to what Alex was saying. "What I'm asking now is for you to assist me in tracking down the smugglers." The two men nodded silent agreement. “I am certain that others have heard your story and that very soon now they will start to search for the stones. I suggest that you try and persuade Nancy to reveal where she hid them – and without any further delay. Then you put them 133

somewhere safe." He changed his tone. "Now, the next part will be the hard part, because what I need you to do is act as bait. You see, those stones must have a huge value. The owners, legitimate or otherwise, are not going to let the matter go without putting a great deal of effort into trying to recover them." He addressed them directly. "I warn you now, it'll be dangerous! Your lives are already at risk. I can offer some protection, but I can't guarantee it. The decision must be yours." Mike answered with the question: "Why do we have to get involved? Why can’t we just take the diamonds and get the hell out of here?" “Mike, you don’t realise the influence of these people! If I’m right – and I feel pretty sure I am – we are dealing with a group of people known as The Syndicate. They are probably the most powerful criminal organisation on the planet." He shook his head. "To attain their objectives, they will follow you to the ends of the earth, and destroy you and your families with no more compassion than they'd swat a fly.” “I know where I've met you!" John announced triumphantly. "Jersey! That’s it, Jersey last summer. I learned to scuba-dive at your diving school!" Alex was expecting this eventually, but not at that precise moment. "Well, now you mention it, I remember you too. What a small world." Smiling reassuringly, he added: "I hope that means you realise I’m one of the good guys!" John nodded. "Alex, I’d like to have a few minutes with Mike – and possibly Nancy – if she’s come to yet." “Of course," Alex replied, "But please don’t take too long. I'm pretty certain there's a Syndicate agent here already." Alex left them to talk the situation over. They in turn agreed that they should check on Nancy first. Hopefully she would tell them where she’d hidden the stones. "That is, if she's rational again," Mike snapped cynically. 134

The two men returned to the field hospital. Nancy was not in her bed. They momentarily panicked. Grabbing hold of the orderly, Mike shouted, "What’s happened to the woman?” “Steady on, pal!" the orderly cried, pulling himself free of Mike’s powerful grip. "She’s taking a good long shower and sorting herself out, just the same as you two did, okay? Then she has an appointment to have that arm fixed.” “I’m sorry, mate," Mike replied in a contrite tone. "Still not quite myself." “It's okay. I don’t expect she’ll be much longer. Though you can never be sure with women, eh?" The goodnatured orderly winked. Some time later Nancy appeared. She seemed to be in much improved spirits. The vacant stare had vanished, to be replaced with a gentle, though rather pallid, smile. Her forearm was neatly strapped into a plastic support. John realised that apart from the brief time he'd spent seated beside her on the hospital bed, he’d never seen her in daylight before. He thought she looked just perfect, and told her so. She smiled at him without speaking. He was definitely in love. “Nancy," Mike started quietly, "I must apologise for my outburst. Sam’s in a special hospital now and getting the best possible attention." “I know," she replied, "the orderly told me. It seems that he's out of danger, but has several broken bones. It's just a question of time before they all mend." She bowed her head. “Thank God for that!" Mike exclaimed, relieved. "I don’t know exactly why, but that little guy somehow gave me the determination to survive down there." Mike sighed with relief. Nancy put her hand on his arm. "I’m the one who's sorry. I don’t know what came over me, behaving in that way. So please, Mike, I must ask you to forgive me.” John intervened. "How’s the arm?” 135

“Much more comfortable, now, thanks," she smiled weakly. “Look Nancy, we were all a bit bonkers down there, so I think the only solution is for us to thank God that we are alive at all and try to forget our little differences. Don’t you?" John looked back at the others in anticipation. They touched hands in silent agreement. “With Sam alive after all – and out of danger – we must think of ourselves as having been blessed with the most incredible good fortune. Yes?" John grinned. "So now let's look at our current situation." He looked at Nancy and his pulse raced. In fact, he wasn’t sure what to do next; his mind was working in slow motion. Suddenly he blurted out: "What you need, Nancy, is a cup of tea. Let's all go back to the canteen." They went back to the table they had been sitting at with Alex, and ordered tea and a sandwich for Nancy. Once the attendant left, John turned to her. "There’s something you need to know." She looked up at him curiously. John quickly repeated the story related by Alex. "So, Nancy, how do you think we play the situation?" Nancy had quietly nibbled her way through the sandwich as the story unfolded. When they finished, she said quite simply, "Why do you believe this Alex bloke? After all, he could just as easily be a Syndicate member!” John explained how he knew Alex from the diving school in Jersey. "The other thing that convinces me is that he doesn’t seem to care if we keep the diamonds or not. Surely if he was the Syndicate man, he’d be trying to take them away from us?” Nancy was not convinced, but agreed that they could not risk trying to run. "Let’s get the stones and hide them without telling anybody first. Then we try and establish who our friends really are.” 136

“Makes bloody good sense to me." John looked at Mike. “I go along with that," Mike confirmed. Shortly afterwards, Alex walked back into the canteen. Mike beckoned him to their table and told him that they had all agreed to co-operate, but they were not willing to return to the cellar tonight. They wanted to rest and start with their batteries fully-charged tomorrow morning. Alex masked his suspicions and amiably agreed. "Good idea, folks," he said supportively. "So we'll get the show on the road first thing tomorrow, right?" “Makes sense to me," said Mike, looking at the others. "Agreed," they echoed. Alex stood up to leave. "See you all here for breakfast then – say eight o’clock?" They happily agreed. "Good night," Alex saluted casually and left them huddled in whispered conversation. It was almost dusk as Nancy and her bodyguards – as she had jokingly described them – left the canteen and went straight to the hospital's sleeping quarters. “I found a lantern. I suggest that we get up there now and collect the diamonds before anyone else tries to find them," Nancy urged excitedly. "It’s all very cloak and dagger, isn’t it? I really hope your friend is wrong though. I don’t need any more excitement for the moment." They started towards the hotel, but spotted two hardhatted men walking down the newly-cleared road. John hissed: "Into the shadows! We don’t want to be seen by anybody." They ducked behind a pile of broken concrete. John watched cautiously. "Oh shit! They’re climbing up onto the rubble. They must be close to the entrance of the cellar."

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They waited, tense with curiosity. After a couple of minutes the men reappeared and sauntered down the road past their hiding place, into the canteen. It was beginning to get dark as the sergeant and Matt finished their shift. They handed their machines over to the next squad and started on the trek back to camp. As they passed the hotel site where they had unearthed the survivors, they paused. "I’m sorry to keep harping on, but I wonder what that bloke really meant when he spoke about diamonds yesterday morning?" Matt rubbed his chin in thought. The sergeant sighed, "I reckon he was off his head myself." “Come on!" Matt urged with almost child-like excitement. "Let’s see what’s down there." They scrambled over the rubble until they stood on the edge of the dark hole. They glanced at each before slithering down the steep slope and vanishing into the dank open space. “You can’t see a bloody thing! We’ll have to get a lamp from the ordnance truck." Matt conceded, disappointed. The sergeant eagerly agreed, recalling the recurring nightmare of being entombed that had haunted him all last night. They gratefully climbed back up into the fresh air. It was quite dark outside now as they hurried back to the canteen. Mike, John and Nancy emerged from the shadows as they passed. “Come on, Mike," John urged, "Let’s get this done with. I don’t relish going back down there, to be honest." “Neither do I," Nancy whispered, "That’s why I asked you to come back with me!" They ran quickly to the site and scrambled awkwardly down to the cellar through a tangle of reinforcing wires and broken concrete. All attempts at secrecy had been forgotten; any observer could easily see the beam of their lamp. Cautiously, and with some trepidation, they entered their former 138

tomb. The door to their makeshift living-room was at the far end of the opened-up area. They hurried over. “So where did you hide them, Nancy?" John asked quietly for the first time. “You’ll see," she answered teasingly. Back at the camp, Matt found a powerful lamp and was keen to start back to the cellar. "You go if you want to," the sergeant said. "I’m going to have a shower and a beer. I suggest you do the same! You’ve done 12 hours straight already today." “It won’t take long," Matt replied, and vanished into the night. "See you later," the sergeant called to the empty doorway. In the cellar, the survivors had just entered their former living-room and were immediately assaulted by the powerful stench; it was almost unbearable. “My God! Did we really live in this?" Mike asked indignantly. Nancy was heading towards the derelict kitchen area, holding a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, when a voice boomed. “Stop right there!" John swung the torch around but could not see the owner of the voice. “If any of you move, I will shoot you. Do you understand me?" the voice commanded. Nobody moved. "That’s good. Now, you, young lady! You go and get the diamonds and bring them to me!" Nancy, in spite of being frozen with shock and fear, spat defiantly: "How can I bring them to you if I don’t know where the hell you are?” “Just get the diamonds," was the curt reply. Nancy moved forward and across to their makeshift sleeping arrangements. As she approached, she called: "John, give me some light over here, please." 139

Then suddenly she was aware of a familiar sound, the soft mewing of the cat. John also heard the sound and swung the torch to find the feline mother, curled up unperturbed, the two kittens suckling at her belly. “They’ve gone!" Nancy screamed. "Someone’s been here and taken the diamonds!" she cried out in anguish. At that moment another beam of light shone across the room and Matt’s voice called out. "What’s going on down there?" A single shot was fired in reply. The ear-shattering report was massively amplified by the acoustics of the enclosed cellar. There was panic. John ran to where he guessed Nancy was. Mike threw himself on the floor. The hidden gunman seemed to loose his nerve, firing two more random shots as he tried desperately to get to the exit. He jumped from his hiding place and skidded across the open floor. Mike’s dive to cover had ended with him crashing into the table, scattering the lamp, metal pots and bottle of champagne onto the floor. The gunman was unexpectedly and dramatically thrown backwards when he tripped over the champagne bottle, which had rolled across his path. The gunman fell heavily to the floor, knocking the wind out of his overweight body before splitting his head open on a jagged piece of metal. The echoes died away to leave a strange silence, punctuated by the sound of the semi-conscious gunman trying to suck air back into his lungs. Matt called out again. "I don’t know what’s going on down there, but I’m going to put my light on again. I warn you – I am also armed, so don’t shoot or you’ll get some of your own medicine!" The light came back on, dramatically piercing the darkness. There were no shots or any sounds other than the laboured breathing of the gunman. 140

“Okay, you with the gun, where are you?" There was no reply. “Who else is there?" Matt called again. “I’m here," Alex said quietly from a position just behind Matt. Matt turned in surprise, pointing the lamp directly at Alex. “Christ! you startled me!" was all he said. “Sorry. What’s the score?" Alex asked lightly, rubbing his eyes – their night vision temporarily lost. “I don’t know. Some bugger with a gun started letting shots fly. Is anybody hurt?" he called, directing the lamp back to the improvised living-room. Alex whispered, "Leave the lamp there, and move over here with me!" Matt complied. Then he called out again: "Is anyone hurt?" "We’re alright! What‘s happening?" John called back. John found Nancy sitting on the floor. She grabbed him and buried her head in his arms, hugging him in sheer terror. With his other hand he comforted the abandoned kittens. Their terrified mother had vanished. “Mike, John: it’s Alex. Where’s the gunman?" Mike, still hiding behind the capsized table, cautiously poked his head around the edge. There, just three metres away, was the curled-up figure of a man gasping desperately for breath. Blood poured profusely from an ugly-looking wound to his forehead and temple. “The bastard's over here!" Mike called, standing up cautiously. Alex was beside the wounded man in a couple of bounds. "I know this man," he muttered, pocketing the .32 revolver lying just a few centimetres away from his hand. He checked the man's clothing and found two reload clips of ammunition. He also found a business card with a 141

telephone number written on the back. There was little else of interest. “We’d better get him to the hospital, or he’ll bleed to death," Alex suggested casually. “Couldn’t happen to a better bloke!" commented Matt, still flushed with adrenaline from the fracas. Nancy recovered quickly. "Thank you," she said to John sheepishly. "I knew it was all going to be a bit ‘James Bond’ ... but not like that!" "Listen," she whispered into John’s ear, "the diamonds are right here. Don’t get me wrong, but I suggest we take them and say nothing to the others – at least not until we're sure who’s who around here!" Nancy reached over to the cat’s bed and pulled a white plastic bag out from underneath it. "Here you are. You hold them – and you decide." John held the bag of stones. "I think you could be right!" and kissed her lightly on the mouth. She smiled and returned the kiss in the same gentle way. In spite of being flushed with emotion he was suddenly conscious of the package still held tightly in his hand. "Strange," he thought, "it feels just like a bag of frozen peas!" then slipped the bag discreetly into his pocket. They emerged to find Alex, Matt and Mike standing over the slowly recovering but still very dazed gunman. “We couldn't find the stones!" John whispered to Mike. Alex looked up. "Let’s get this creature to the hospital and handed over to the military police. Then perhaps we should talk again." Matt was standing with the others. "What is this all about?" he asked. Alex replied: "More to the point, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing here?" Matt shrugged his shoulders. "I heard you talking about diamonds, which triggered my curiosity. But I was also 142

genuinely amazed that anyone could have survived in such conditions for almost a week! So here I am! What happens now?" Alex laughed. "Well my son, that will depend on the others, but you may have unwittingly taken a step too far." ”What does that mean?" Matt queried. “You’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, if you value your life you'd better keep close to us. And furthermore, do not breathe a word of any of this to anyone, is that clear?" Alex turned to Mike. "I hope you understand what I mean now! The chances of keeping all of this under wraps are minimal. That guy is certainly Syndicate." He pointed towards the still groaning gunman. "I’ll warrant a few of his pals are not far behind him. So now folks, I think it’s time to get back to camp and review the situation, don’t you?" Alex grabbed the injured man by the arm, and with Matt’s help hauled him to his feet. "Come on, you’ve got some explaining to do.” John bent down and picked up his unopened bottle of champagne. “That’s the second time you’ve saved my life this week!" he addressed the bottle, and held as lovingly as a newborn baby. He looked up at the curious onlookers. "I’ll explain some other time," he smiled. Holding Nancy’s hand and swinging the unopened bottle, John led the way out of the cellar. ***** The gunman lay semi-conscious in the hospital bed, his head heavily bandaged, a saline drip plugged into his arm. He had been delivered to the field hospital, stitched up and sedated by the duty doctor. Alex, seated on a canvas chair facing the bed, was determined to question the man he had immediately recognised as Otto, as soon as he was sufficiently coherent. 143

The doctor had arranged for an X-ray. "A blow to the head like that could easily have been fatal. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his skull has at least a hairline fracture. That slight bleeding from the ear is not a good sign at all." Alex didn’t really care; he simply wanted to know how soon the man could talk. “It could be several hours. He’s certainly concussed and must stay as quiet as possible for a few hours. At the very best, with those injuries he’s going to have one hell of a headache, and won’t be too co-operative for some time. I’d prefer him to be left alone, if possible. I don’t think he's likely to go anywhere." The doctor smiled, looking at the Elastoplast bandages securely binding the man’s left arm and leg to the bed frame. Reluctantly Alex agreed, asking to be advised as soon the man’s condition improved, and returned to the canteen, where he found the others waiting for him. Matt was sipping a glass of beer and the others were drinking large mugs of tea. "There you are at last! We were waiting for you. We thought you might like to take a bite of food with us," Nancy welcomed him. "The à la carte menu is off again tonight but I’m told the bangers and mash are okay." “You know the fast track to a man’s heart, don’t you!" Alex replied as he sat down. "I fear we must have yet another serious discussion," he started. The others were silent. "Matt, my friend, I’m afraid you’ve stepped into the shit, and you can’t wipe it off." He shook his head. "The minute you went into that hell-hole out there, you became involved in a deadly business." Alex looked at Nancy and John. "The others didn’t think I was serious, but perhaps now they realise that what I've been telling them is true." They looked at each other sheepishly, aware of their recklessness. Alex took the next few minutes to repeat the whole story for the stunned Matt’s benefit. 144

“I volunteered to come out here because I'm a JCB operator and I wanted a bit of an adventure. But what you’re saying is far more than I bargained for!" Matt protested. “Well I’m sorry Matt, but you’re stuck with it. The Syndicate is definitely onto the situation and I’ll guarantee that our gunman next door is at least a Syndicate courier. Thank God – for your sake – he was not one of their enforcers. They don’t miss." The food arrived, but their appetites had suddenly disappeared. ***** Following the return of James and his team from their initial marathon trip to assess and trade their first samples, things started to move very quickly. Their initial jubilation was summarily quenched when they learned that their contract with De Beers had been terminated with immediate effect. "Look at the small print," was the simple response to their protests. There was little they could do. Nick called the main members of his team together. They assembled in the tent used as an office-cum-store-room, where he gave them a no-frills outline of the situation, explaining how De Beers had been obliged to pull the plug for political reasons. “Conflict Diamonds," he told them, were to be the latest pawn in the politics of the warring African countries. "I have spoken at great length to our investors, and I have to tell you that in the circumstances they are no longer prepared to underwrite our enterprise; nor will they fund any further development. Not, that is, until we have a legitimate alternative market for the diamonds." He looked directly at his men. "That, gentlemen, means we are effectively out of business.” No-one spoke. As always, they waited for Nick to take the lead. 145

“There could, however, be one chance – but it would require everyone’s agreement." Then he addressed James. "What did you think of the assessor bloke?" He looked back at the others and explained: "The assessor who appraised our samples last week offered James some sort of trading deal ... even development capital." James thought for a moment. "I have to say that I had the distinct impression he was a crook." He looked at the others and shrugged his shoulders. "At the same time, I don’t suppose it can do much harm to see what he has to offer.” It was agreed; the assessor would be contacted and invited to explain to Nick and the others exactly how he and his business partners proposed to assist them. About two weeks later, the assessor, accompanied by two other Europeans, arrived at the camp. “These gentlemen represent the investors," the assessor announced proudly. The discussion was brief and one-sided. “Basically, we become your new partners. We will each do what we do best: you dig for diamonds, we market them and look after all the business affairs, which includes security. Most importantly, you survive! That’s about all there is to it.” James whispered cynically to Nick, "I just hope he doesn’t ask us to trust him." Trapped in a cleft stick as they were, what else could they do? They accepted the deal and signed the various papers, which, James noted, had been prepared in advance. There was no provision for any amendments. That had been 12 months ago; soon after signing the agreement, things started to move very quickly. Within days an armed security team arrived, followed by the new Executive Director, Sly Hussein. Originally from Bangladesh, he had been educated in England but his home and family, so he said, were in Singapore. He appeared pleasant enough to the prospectors, but kept largely to his own private world, busying 146

himself with proposed production volumes or organising various additional security procedures. Nick and his team had easily fallen into step with the new regime. Nick was an engineer, not a business tycoon, so was happy to leave such mundane details as distribution, marketing and security to his new directors. It wasn’t long before they were recovering stones in significant quantities. Even more importantly, they were producing a high percentage of the best-quality gemstones. Provisionally graded by Nick, the diamonds were flown out weekly to workshops in South Africa aboard the investors’ twin-engined light aircraft, where they were cut and distributed. He had no reason to believe that it was all anything other than legitimate. They all received notice of monthly transfers to their bank accounts honouring their various salary agreements. The real incentives, however, were the production bonuses, which would be paid annually. That was the heady target they were all aiming to meet. It was a couple of months later that Nick was advised via their new satellite telephone that a government mines inspector would be paying an official visit. When he asked for the exact date and time, the reply was simply: "Very soon, very soon". Then he asked who exactly the official would be. "A representative of the Mining Rights department, whose responsibility it is to administer all mining concessions," was the terse reply. Ten days later a camouflaged Range Rover, followed by two covered military lorries, arrived at the camp and stopped outside the new administration shack. Two officers stepped out of the dust-covered vehicle, to be swiftly joined by an escort of 20 men. All were armed with light machine guns and dressed in jungle combat fatigues. The senior officer held back while a rather dapper lieutenant strutted forward, addressing the flustered clerk, who 147

had opened the office door and poked his head out to see what all the noise was about. “We are here on official business and wish to speak to your Mr Nicholas Weston. He's expecting us!" the lieutenant snapped. “I’ll call him for you. Who shall I say it is?" the clerk asked meekly. "Just call him, and quickly! It’s hot standing around out here." The lieutenant sauntered casually into the shack, to reappear almost immediately. "It’ll be cooler in here, sir!" he called to the other officer. The major stepped away from the Range Rover and swaggered into the building. Sitting down in one of the armchairs, he removed his hat and surveyed the room. "No air-conditioning?" he asked. Nick, accompanied by Sly, appeared at the door. "Good morning, gentlemen." He offered his hand. "I’m Nick Weston, and this is our Business Executive, Sly Hussein." The lieutenant did not take the offered hand. "So how exactly can I help you today?" Nick continued unabashed. The major, still sitting casually in the armchair, drawled arrogantly, "We are here to verify your contract and to quantify your yields." He paused for effect. "Because of the treachery of the international companies and their governments, we are having to review all concession contracts with immediate effect!" He wore a pained expression as he delivered his carefully-worded sermon. "Quite simply, in spite of their treachery, we are prepared to let you continue extracting precious minerals," he emphasised the words deliberately, "but under revised conditions." He hauled himself out of the chair, replaced his cap and addressed them as if making a royal proclamation. "As from today, 50% of all your production will be handed over to the regional government, of which I am the official representative." He glared at his audience, daring them 148

to challenge his words. He took a sheaf of papers from the lieutenant. "Here is a copy of the new regulations." Sly put out his hand to take them but the captain deliberately ignored him and tossed them casually onto the desk. “We will deploy five armed soldiers at this location, and they will supervise the division of the precious minerals. The lieutenant here will call weekly to collect the goods and relieve the men." The major looked commandingly from Sly to Nick. "Is all that quite clear?" Nick started to protest, "Surely we'll need some time to consider all of this!" Sly placed a restraining hand on Nick’s arm. "I see. No problem, Major. I’m sure we can all work together in these troubled times." He smiled benignly. “Good. I do sincerely hope so." He glared at Nick for a moment, then turned sharply away and took a pace towards the door. Stopping suddenly, he turned around, waving his swagger stick deliberately at his audience. "For the avoidance of doubt: the consequences of trying to cheat will be swift and painful!" He turned and left the room, the lieutenant following like a puppy at his heel. Nick turned on Sly. "Why did you give in so easily? Those morons are almost certainly going to collar most of our diamonds for themselves. I doubt their government will ever see any of them!” Sly was philosophical. "Nick, we have not yet become close friends, but let me assure you, people like that have featured many times in my business experience. Remember, you can’t say 'Don’t bite me, please!’ to a mad dog. You have to shoot it. These people are like the mad dog. Don’t worry – we will deal with them in our own time and on our own terms, okay?" he smiled. "First I will speak with our business colleagues. That’s what they’re there for, isn't it?” Sly called his Controller. The visit of the military officials, and their proposal, were described. 149

“Thank you Sly. You’ll have to leave this matter with me for a few hours, but I tend to agree with you. They are almost certainly – how shall I say? – independent businessmen. Did they spot our own security?" “I don’t think so." Sly said. "I kept them out of sight, as you suggested." “Good, then keep it so. Just play along for the moment. I’ll call quite soon." The line went dead. The Range Rover and one of the trucks departed with the major and his motley bunch of troops. They left behind one truck with a driver and four ragged-looking men, each armed with a Kalashnikov rifle. One of the men, who looked considerably more professional than the others, approached Nick. "I’m in charge," he said simply. "Now, where’s the diamond-sorting place? We are to make that our quarters." At that moment, there was piercing woman’s scream, which appeared to emanate from the truck. The soldier smiled. "They travel with their own entertainment," he winked at Nick, before walking back to the truck and peering into the vehicle. "Don’t you ever take a rest?" he sneered in disgust. "Some blokes just can’t get enough, can they?" he said casually, as he sauntered back to the astonished Nick. "So where's the sorting shed then?" he repeated. ***** The Controller telephoned a selected member of his own group. The details of the so-called "official government visit" to the diamond concession were carefully repeated. "These are definitely freelance operators!" – was the immediate reply. "We are fully aware of the official government position. As you know, this whole operation is designed to work to our mutual advantage. I will have to double check with one of my operatives. Then I’ll advise you whether we 150

are to resolve the problem ourselves or leave it to the military. I should be back to you within the hour.” The Syndicate’s influence was legendary. Their expertise had been honed over many years of co-operating with rebel regimes and maverick political entrepreneurs. Their reputation for retribution was so formidable that even the most manic and blood-thirsty of the tyrannical African leaders recognised the wisdom of working with them, rather than against them. Both parties usually realised that the day would inevitably come when they could manage without each other; and so they coexisted, relatively comfortably, for their shortterm mutual interests. Strangely enough, The Syndicate's appetite for vengeance was usually limited to ‘current activities only’ and rarely extended to the point where it would either risk their own exposure or prove to be blatantly uneconomic. Sly's personal telephone buzzed. He picked it up immediately. "Sly," he answered. The voice on the other end did not introduce itself. There was no need. It was his Controller’s direct line. "They are mavericks and we are to dispose of them ourselves. Did the major and his lieutenant say exactly when they are due to return?" "Every seven days, they said. The lieutenant is supposed to collect the stones and change the guard. We don’t know how often the major will visit. Seven days makes it next Wednesday," Sly replied cautiously. “Okay then, you will have to deal with the soldiers at the camp on Wednesday and not before. They will certainly have some sort of communication system. If they fail to establish their rendezvous, it will put their officers on their guard. Deal with the lieutenant and the fresh soldiers when they arrive. Your own security men will know how to handle it." 151

`“Consider it done!" Sly replied almost cheerfully, and replaced the receiver, a cocktail of adrenalin-inducing excitement and anxiety surging through his body. He shivered involuntarily. He knew that it was in fact pure fear.

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Chapter Seven The dry, penetrating heat of the African sun seemed to burn right into the Angolan scrubland. The new guards were an undisciplined rabble. Only one, the NCO leader of the group, paid any serious attention to the diamond sorting. He was the one who spotted the ex-painter slipping a diamond into his pocket, and then followed him to the cloakroom. There, after a minimal amount of persuasion, he’d found the rest of the cache of almost 30 stones. To make the thief talk, he was roughly stripped naked and tied to the legs of an upturned table, his legs spreadeagled, his genitalia exposed and undefended. It took only a few minutes to heat one of the chef’s metal knife-sharpening steels until it was glowing red. A simple test touch on the thief’s tender thigh extracted a piercing, agonised scream from the petrified man. The threat of a similar touch to his withered penis instantly induced the miserable creature, himself a sadist, to deliver a complete confession, implicating his friend and accomplice, Marcel. Finally, when he was convinced there was nothing more to be learned, the leader of the guards spoke. "There you are! See how sensible it was to get all that off your chest. Now you can relax." The look of terror in the thief’s eyes did not abate; he knew how he would have treated victims in the same situation. Yet still he hoped. "Perhaps they will let me go," he prayed to himself helplessly. The leader left the room; he had to make a radio call. As he passed through the door he called back, "He’s all yours now, boys!" Although he abhorred – in principle – torture and brutality, he knew that there could be no escape for the victim. His men were endowed with a simple animal instinct. To try and deny them the opportunity to slake their lust on the 153

unfortunate man could quickly and easily cost him his own life. He laughed out loud for effect. "At least he’ll be a change from regular pussy for you young studs!" he spat at one of the men. He made his call, then strode purposefully across the compound and walked straight into Sly’s office. “I have to report that we’ve found one of your men stealing diamonds!" he said simply. "I have spoken to our officer and he has ordered the thief to be punished. Please do not try to interfere. Is that clear?" He turned and left the office, adding in a different tone of voice, "I’m sorry." The screams were being heard all over the camp. Nick made to go to the sorting room, but was held back by Sly. "Steady! Once they get into a killing rage, all normal reactions leave them. Whether that poor soul really was a thief or not, there is nothing we can do for him now!" He looked defiant. "Just hold on. We don’t have very long to wait for our turn, I can assure you!” Sly’s own guards had discreetly integrated the drilling gang before the officers and their men arrived. They were also anxious to reverse the situation. It was about 11.30 on Wednesday morning when the Range Rover with its escort drove into the camp. The lieutenant stepped down from the vehicle and politely opened the door for the major, who eased himself out slowly, trying to be as graceful as possible. “Where are my men?" he asked suspiciously. “They're at the drill head, Major." Nick called from the office door. "There's been a massive diamond find at one of the sites – they’re over there supervising the situation. It’s all very exciting!" Nick enthused. The major seemed satisfied and swaggered over to where Nick was standing, closely followed by the lieutenant. “After I learned of the disgraceful theft of government property, I decided to accompany the lieutenant on this first 154

exchange. Be assured, I am not going to allow this sort of behaviour to be repeated." He stood defiantly, hands on hips, in front of Sly and Nick. "I am going to demonstrate our resolve to stamp out such disrespect!" He was sweating with the effort of his tirade. “Perhaps you should step inside where it’s a little cooler; then we can go through your proposals," Nick suggested, trying to calm the situation. The major stepped forward silently, pushing out his swagger stick to clear the way. They all moved inside without speaking. The escorting vehicles seemed to be packed full of armed men, who poured out onto the parking area in front of the office. Two khaki-clad soldiers lit cigarettes and lolled in the shade of the truck. Four squatted by the rear wheel, eight moved across to the shade of the terrace outside the office. Five others looked around and climbed back into the rear of truck. The camp's own guard leader crouched unseen in the shadows talked quietly into the VHF radio built into his helmet. "20 altogether, including the driver." The driver remained sitting in the cab listening to the radio, a cheroot dangling casually from his mouth. He was drumming his fingers on the wheel in tune with the music. Two men carrying what looked like garden tools over their shoulders walked slowly towards the truck. A third man was pushing a wheelbarrow in the same direction. “Number one, a grenade into the truck; numbers two and three, take the eight outside the office – be careful not to kill our own people inside! I’ll take the driver and the other four." He paused as the men approached casually." When number one lobs his grenade, the rest open fire." The wheelbarrow approached the truck. The man slowly put it down then calmly withdrew a Mills grenade from 155

inside his shirt. He drew the pin, waited briefly, then threw it into the back of the truck. At the same moment the others swung up their "garden tools", throwing aside the Hessian camouflage, and commenced controlled firing at their chosen targets. The whole action lasted less than ten seconds. The din was ear-shattering. None of the major’s bodyguard managed to get off a single round in reply to the murderous onslaught from the camp guards. Inside the office there was near panic. Some of the shots smashed the front windows. The major and the rest of the occupants hit the floor the instant the assault started. The lieutenant un-holstered his pistol and made himself ready in a trained military fashion. The major simply cowered in the corner where he had thrown himself. The racket suddenly stopped. The lieutenant cautiously raised his head to try and observe the situation. The cold press of a pistol barrel on his neck curtailed any further action. “Drop the gun, Lieutenant!" Nick ordered. The lieutenant obeyed without hesitation. Nick kicked the gun aside and ordered him to stand up. At that moment the door burst open and the leader of the camp guard sprang into the room, ducking low to stop in a crouched ready position, the Israeli automatic pointing menacingly at the occupants. His eyes scanned the scene; satisfied, he visibly relaxed and assumed the safe position. “So," he queried tensely, picking up the discarded handgun and stuffing it into his trouser belt. "All safe in here now?" He looked around again as if to convince himself. "The others have been neutralised," he said simply. There were a couple more shots from outside. Finally standing up, he laughed artificially. "Just tidying up.” They tied up the terrified major and his arrogant lieutenant and moved out of the office to sit on the step, sucking 156

in the fresh air and trying to purge the horror of the incident from their trembling bodies. Pumped full of adrenaline, brave, well-trained men can perform like well-oiled machines, and often at the moment of victory will laugh at their apparent invincibility; later, even the toughest will relive the moment in all its horror, and crave forgetfulness. Earlier that morning the camp guards had easily overpowered the five soldiers. Sly had carefully instructed them: "I want the leader alive! I don’t care what you do with the others." It had been a gruesome scene. The men had all been asleep. Their so-called guard was snoring at his post by the door. The camp's own security men tiptoed into the room and swiftly, silently dispatched the drunken soldiers with their razor-sharp hunting knives. Their sergeant was spared, as instructed. Nonetheless, once he was securely tied, they amused themselves by kicking and beating him for a while. Once he’d stopped resisting, they tied him with his hands behind his back to the doorknob, and then slowly swiped their bloody knives tauntingly across his chest. Suddenly one of them, his eyes glazed, was unable to resist any more and swiped the bloody blade of his hunting knife across the defenceless man’s forehead. A fountain of bright red blood cascaded over the squirming sergeant’s eyes and cheeks. “You stupid bugger! You’ll get us all killed!" – one of the other security men snapped. “This’ll be okay though, won't it?" another mocked menacingly with a grin. He had found the sharpening steel used on the unfortunate diamond thief, and had already reheated it before applying it to the squirming man's genitals. The tethered prisoner roared like a giant bull elephant as the glowing steel briefly touched his unprotected penis, then fell back unconscious. 157

The guards laughed hysterically. Sly appeared at the door. "My God! I hope he’s still capable of speech!" He angrily admonished the flushed guards. "Get out of here now," he commanded. The manic laughter abated and the excitement became a sullen silence. They stared at each other in defiance for several tense seconds. It was Sly’s cultured arrogance that eventually imposed itself on the situation and tipped the scales in his favour. The aggrieved guards finally wilted under his steady glare; sheepishly they backed down and slipped out of the room. It had been a tense and dangerous moment. Sly took a deep breath. "That was close," he said moving alongside the tortured man. "In fact it seems to be your lucky day." He crouched beside the terrified man, who appeared to be conscious again. "Because I think you’re a cut above the others, I have persuaded my boss to keep you alive, but he has given me very precise instructions as to your future!" Sly stood up and sat on the edge of the table facing the man still tied to the doorknob. "You see, they think you have some information that is so valuable, they are prepared to exchange your life for it." Sly folded his arms and surveyed the hapless man smugly. The man had recovered enough to be defiant. "Do you think I’m completely stupid? I know you’ll kill me the minute I give you any information." “I certainly don’t think you’re stupid, that’s why I think you should consider the situation. Your major and his puppy lieutenant will be back here by lunchtime today." He called to the guard still loitering outside the door. "Come in here, and cut him free." The man shuffled into the room and cut the cords. The relieved former leader slithered exhausted to the floor. “Guard him," Sly ordered without looking away. 158

“Now – I don’t want any heroics," he addressed the man who, marginally comforted by his revised situation, appeared to be more receptive to Sly’s soft, convincing tone. "My people have promised that you could be given a new position in our own defence contingent. You are obviously a skilled combatant.” The accolade was accepted suspiciously. "So what do you want?" he asked, genuinely curious. “What we need is very simple really." Sly raised his eyebrows. "Who are you actually working for, and where were the diamonds to be taken? Easy really: two simple questions, and you live." He raised his hands in supplication. "So what is it to be?" he paused. "Oh, by the way, I know how you extracted the information from our diamond-thief. It seems that my guards have already exceeded their duties in that respect. So at least you now know how it would feel, if absolutely necessary!" He smiled. "But I’ d rather not have to go that far again." Sly stood up. "Anyway, please don’t tell me your answers now." He raised his hand. "I think that it is better that you reflect for a while. I’ll be back soon. Then I will require the answers; there will be no second request. Do you understand?" “Yes, I understand. Okay." Still squatting on the floor, the man looked sullen and dejected. He knew his life was almost certainly over – the question for him now was just how much more painful was it going to be? “Good. So – on your feet, I have other matters to attend to." Sly and the guard helped the suspicious sergeant up, then the guard pulled his arms tightly behind his back, securely tying them just above his elbows. Apparently satisfied, they left the hut without a further word, locking the door as they went. ***** 159

Alex Scott returned to the field hospital. The commercial salesman-cum-gunman was just conscious and clearly dazed, but still recognised Alex. “Where am I?" he asked weakly. Alex was compassionate. "Well Otto, you were badly concussed in the fall when you foolishly tried to shoot your way out of the cellar!” Otto Anderson, the so-called commercial salesman, groaned. Alex persisted. "You see Otto, I know all about your association with The Syndicate." Otto stiffened at the mention of The Syndicate, and tried to sit up, but was stopped dramatically by the Elastoplast restraints. “What’s going on here? Why am I tied to the bed?" he cried out in near panic. “For your own safety, Otto," Alex said gently. "I know you are a Syndicate hit-man. How many times have you killed, Otto?" Then he added, punctuating each word, "Just who were you trying to kill in that cellar?" Otto’s head was still fuzzy and being tied to the bed was altogether too much for him. "Look," he begged, "I’m not a hit-man! I’m just a courier." He was sobbing. "If I don’t deliver the stuff safely my family are as good as dead!" He looked up at Alex pleadingly. "Who are you anyway – you’re not really a reporter, are you?" Otto tried to recover some of his self-esteem. “I’m what you might call one of the good guys. Your life and the life of your family are going to depend on what you tell me now. If I like and believe what I hear, then it's just possible that I might be able to protect you. Do you understand that?" Alex waited for the reply. Otto was silent for a moment. "I just don’t know anything any more," he eventually sobbed, falling back on the bed. 160

"I think you had better tell me what it’s all about. I’ve crossed swords with these Syndicate people before, so I know their style. Once I understand your situation, I’m fairly certain I can help you to be rid of them once and for all!" Alex offered encouragingly. Otto gave in. He could not face the lies and deception any more. Right or wrong, he was going to have to trust someone and for some unaccountable reason he felt that he really could trust this stranger; all his pent-up pain and anguish came pouring out. Otto Anderson was a highly skilled specialist in all aspects of the diamond industry. Even as a small boy he had been fascinated by the lustre of diamonds from the first time he saw one in his uncle’s jewellery workshop. He left college and started his career as a diamond cutter with his uncle in Antwerp. In the course of his training and with extensive experience over the ensuing years, he developed the rare art of identifying the origin of certain types of diamonds. He could usually tell quite accurately by their colour, texture and grain in which region of the world they had been originally unearthed. His skill gave him quick promotion and a leading position with one of the top diamond specialists in the country. Sadly for Otto, he made one fatal mistake. It had all started a few years before, when he was selected from a group of Antwerp’s most skilled lapidaries as the most appropriate to appraise and cut an extra-special stone. The enormous diamond he would have to cut belonged to some mysterious, wealthy industrialist. Even with the aid of sophisticated x-ray equipment it can take several days to study a large gemstone properly if you are to make the right decision how to cut the final shape. This decision must achieve both the finest cosmetic design, as well as utilising as much of the stone as possible. It was a few days later that he learned that the recipient of the unique finished jewel was to be a rather dizzy young 161

blond – "the client’s plaything", his boss had contemptuously described her. Otto assumed that all she wanted was a big rock to flash about, and would not really appreciate the aesthetic value of such a prize diamond. "What a waste! Still, who cares – this is my chance to show them what I can do," he muttered to himself in disgust as he gazed at the majestic diamond. At that time it was certainly one of the most perfect stones he had ever seen. He sat back after studying it for almost an hour. His heart was pounding, realising that from this stone he could fashion his dream design. He’d had been given the honour of submitting some of his own design ideas for the huge uncut stone. It was his unique proposal that had attracted the client’s attention. “Make a good job of this one, Otto!" the silly little girl had said when he was introduced as "our best cutter". She winked, then teased him with her smile. "I’d love to see you at work on the stone," she purred. Otto shuddered. "What a waste!" he kept repeating to himself. “Certainly, Mademoiselle," the grovelling workshop manager agreed. "We will give you a call the minute we are ready to start the cutting.” Otto was a fit, good-looking young man in his midthirties. He'd been married for eight years and had three children and a large mortgage. His wife had moved the family home three times since they had been married. “We must have a lifestyle that complements your craftsmanship!" she used to insist. They had always been relatively happy. Their children were the central focus of their lives, but the new mortgage repayment plan guaranteed that they remain permanently on the edge of financial crisis. Otto made the first cut into the diamond, establishing the waist of the stone. Now he would start making a series of cuts to achieve the basic shape. This stone was going to be 162

oblong, and set in a magnificent platinum and gold claw discreetly clasping the mighty jewel. On that day, Otto was completely absorbed in his study of the stone. He only became aware of young lady’s presence in the room when he inhaled her subtle perfume. She’d moved quietly up behind him and stood like a statue, fascinated by Otto’s profile. Her stomach muscles flexed involuntarily. She felt the warmth of passion in her body; her heart rate quickened. Otto’s senses were subconsciously aroused without quite knowing why. He turned and just gazed at her. She smiled meekly. "I hope it’s okay? The manager said it was.” She was French and spoke with the deep musical accent found in the Mediterranean region of that country. Otto was born in Belgium, his father English and his mother German, so he spoke both those languages naturally. Having been raised in Brussels, he also spoke French and Flemish. Tall and slim in those days, he had always been a gentleman. "Yes, of course it’s okay," he stammered. They stood and looked at each other for a while before Otto continued, "Now! Well, er ... look at this: I’ve made the first four cuts and the principal shape has been established." She peered at the sparkling stone gripped in the jaws of the clamp, then leaned forward to look more closely through the thick magnifying glass he’d handed to her. As she passed him, her bare arm brushed softly against Otto’s upraised hand; for him it was like a charge of static electricity. “It’s beautiful," she said. “So are you!" Otto said quietly but clearly. He could hardly believe he had spoken in such a manner. He flushed with embarrassment. She turned around and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And my Apollo is also beautiful." She stood up on her toes and touched his lips with hers. He could not resist. Without 163

any more thought he gently took her in his arms and responded to her embrace. Her lips were warm and moist, her tongue darted into his mouth and he responded with equal excitement. She thrust her hips into his and he felt his manhood leap in response. “Where can we go?" she hissed in his ear. His mind was blank. He urgently to wanted to consummate the moment, but could not bring his mind to think clearly. ”The cloakroom," he blurted out. "There’s room enough in there." She broke away. "Come on then," she laughed, "I’m going to reward you for your work in advance! Which way?" “Over here." He took her by the hand and led her down a short corridor to the cloakroom. Once inside with the door locked, he tried to kiss her. "Wait a moment, my darling," she cooed. "I want to get a little closer first." Frantically she tore at the buttons of his shirt and pulled it free. She ran her hands over his bare chest. They were in ecstasy. She noticed that he had little or no body hair. "Do you have hair anywhere else?" she teased, stroking his swollen manhood through his trousers. By now his courage had recovered. "If you want to find out we’d better get some of these obstacles out of the way" he challenged, pulling her blouse out of her skirt and slipping his hand around her exquisitely soft waist. He flicked the fastener of her bra; her firm breasts, taut with lust, did not move. He slipped his other hand inside her blouse and eased the cups away from their charges, his hand brushing teasingly across her nipples. The effect was to make her recoil. "Oh my God" she murmured, then groaned in ecstasy as he bent down and kissed the cupped orbs in turn. She tried to undo his belt but gave up, expertly pulling down his zip instead. Her hand moved deftly into his groin grabbing his aching testes then running her hand softly up to the throbbing manhood. She 164

pulled it roughly from its hiding place. "Now my beauty," she whispered huskily, "you’re all mine." She plunged the mighty limb into her mouth, gently running her teeth around the acorn, her tongue darting around its tip. For Otto it was just too much; his orderly marital style of sex had never approached such amazing heights. He could no longer control himself and blurted out, "Careful, I can’t hold back!" She attacked with more vigour. His passion released in an uncontrolled explosion, flowing voluminously into her hungry mouth. Moments later she stood up, dabbing her mouth with a petite crooked finger. "What a wonderful hors d'oeuvre. Now what’s for the main course?" she whispered into his ear. Then urged: "My turn now!" The room reeked with the sweet pungent odour of their passion. They were both completely exhausted. They’d been in the cloakroom for about an hour, and now they lay huddled in a corner among their discarded clothes, their bodies limp and sated. Suddenly someone was banging on the door. What’s going on in there?" an angry voice demanded. They looked at each other in alarm. With their crumpled clothes scattered around the tiny room, they tried in panic to dress themselves. The voice at the door was not going to wait. “If you’re in there, Bitch, with that prissy-assed diamond cutter, I’m going to have his balls and your hide!" The door buckled under the brutal attack. There was no way out. The voice attacked the door again. It could not resist much longer. The girl was crying profusely now. "Help me darling, I’m in here!" she sobbed. "He’s trying to rape me!” Otto could not believe his ears. "You little bitch!" he shouted angrily. He’d just managed to struggle into his trousers when the door splintered open and a huge red-faced 165

man appeared. He surveyed the couple for a moment then disappeared. In his wake, a tall smartly-dressed, grey-haired man with a twisted, angry face stepped into the cloakroom. The man’s steely eyes pierced Otto like a laser. "You are a dead man," was all he said. For the first time in his life Otto felt real, primeval fear. The girl, naked to the waist and clutching her blouse, rushed over to the grey-haired man. "Thank God, darling!" She tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her contemptuously away and stepped out of the cloakroom. “I told you, never again. Why couldn’t you understand that when I told you I only say things once, I mean it?" He nodded to the big man. With one stride he was at the girl’s side. He placed his great arm around her neck and gave a quick flick. The neck cracked like a brittle twig. The big man released his grip and the dead body fell to the floor like a rag doll. The big man looked at his master, his body language begging, "Next?" The grey-haired man nodded. Otto backed into the corner; urine ran uncontrolled down his leg. He put his hands out in front of him in a futile attempt to stave off the attack. “Wait!" the grey man ordered. "Are you really the diamond cutter?" he asked. Otto nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. “Maybe there’s another way." He signalled to the big man, then turned on his heel and walked towards the workshop. "Follow me," he called back. The big fellow, clearly disappointed at the revised plan, grabbed Otto painfully by the hair and shoved him out through the shattered door. Otto stumbled down the corridor back to the cutting room. “I take it that this is my diamond?" the grey man demanded. 166

Otto tried to be brave. "I don’t know – I only cut them!" he pleaded a little too defiantly. The blow to his kidney area was sudden and extremely painful. “You saw what happened to someone who disobeyed a second time! Now, is this my diamond?" “I was introduced to the young lady as the client, but I can see now that you must be the real client!" It was to be his last attempt at bravery. “You’re not trying to commit suicide are you, you cheeky young pup?" He nodded to the big man. This time the blow was to the back of his head. He crashed to the floor, his ears ringing. The big fellow kicked him forcefully in the groin. Otto was winded and almost unable to draw breath. He thought he was going to choke, but gradually his breathing returned to normal. “Get up!" he was ordered. Otto staggered to his feet. The big man grabbed him and held him firmly by the neck. "I have decided that you should be given a choice. You seem to have two skills: one with your dick, the other with diamonds. So, option one: I can have you killed now; or two, simply let you go, but you’d never use that dick again; or three, perhaps you can work with me – cutting diamonds. Very simple, really.” “Am I allowed to ask a question?" Otto did not believe the words had come from his own lips. He looked up nervously at the big fellow. “I’ll allow it in the circumstances," the grey-haired man smiled thinly. “If I were to choose to work with you, am I allowed to know the deal? I have a family, mortgage, responsibilities ..." “Yes, I imagine that you have." The grey-haired man was thoughtful. "A pity you didn’t think a bit more carefully about them before you started on your last little excursion."

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Otto was silent. He was beaten and dejected. The big man let him go. He sagged round-shouldered into a chair by the bench. “That is my stone. You will now finish it. When it has been delivered, you will receive your instructions. That is, if you chose that route.” Otto looked up. "I’ll go along with it, but please can my family be kept out of this?" “They will be quite safe as long as you follow your instructions correctly. Is that sufficiently clear?" was the simple reply. Thereafter, Otto had worked for The Syndicate without any further questions as to the legitimacy or otherwise of his duties. His mortgage had been mysteriously settled. He regularly received a substantially-improved salary, and his devoted wife had seen the opportunity to move house yet again, this time to a location by the Dutch border, alongside a quiet backwater canal. Otto looked up blankly at Alex, as though he were emerging from a dream. "I’ve never been able to tell anyone before," he murmured miserably, his mind drifting back to that first day at the new house. He could picture his wife clearly, the twin short blond pigtails, her florid cheeks seeming to puff out even further as she grinned. “This is the house of my dreams!" she confessed happily. "I’m so proud of you, my darling," she told him as the removal men disappeared. They had stepped over the new threshold just like a newly-married couple. The house was still a shambles of packing chests, boxes and all the usual flotsam of a move. "I think we should christen the place, don’t you?" She squeezed his hand. "The bed is the only thing in place and the kids are all at school!" She giggled and led him to the bedroom. 168

Otto remembered how they had made love mechanically – yet to their mutual satisfaction – then lay back panting, and relaxed. Alex coughed politely and Otto lurched back to the present. "Sorry, just wallowing in painful memories.” Alex smiled with genuine understanding. "It that it then?" he asked. Otto looked towards the blank tent side, his mind wandering back to that fateful day. He would never forget that sensational, though brief meeting with the dizzy blonde. “I guess so. I never did learn her name, you know." Otto concluded sadly. Alex placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Otto, I have met many people who have been subjected to The Syndicate's rules of loyalty. They almost all end up dead or insane." He stepped away from the bed, then turned to face Otto. "You, I’m afraid, are no different." He paused. "There is possibly just one chance for you to be reunited with your family.” “What would I have to do?" Otto asked eagerly. “You would have to tell me in as much detail as you can everything The Syndicate have ever made you do, the people you have met and anything else that will help me put an end to their activities!" He stopped and sat on the edge of the bed. “It will not be easy, but it may just save the lives of your wife and children. You’ve seen how they work. I need you to help me to stop them.” Otto started talking. Almost two hours later he fell back on his pillow, exhausted. "I wouldn’t mind a bit of sleep now," he pleaded softly. “Shut your eyes and sleep, my boy. I’ll see you in the morning." It was very late so Alex went to his own bed, but he too was exhausted to sleep. His mind kept running through all 169

the various factors and implications that Otto’s story had brought to the case. Otto had continued to work as a diamond cutter, not of course at the old workshop, but at another one situated in the basement of a very smart building in the centre of Antwerp. There, his uncanny skill at being able to recognise the origin of most diamonds came to the attention of his masters. One day a man called at the workshop and asked him: "How do you fancy travelling the world?" It wasn’t a question, but a command. They always made offers in this way. You couldn’t say no. When he started as a courier, the job was mainly to check that the stones being transported were the genuine originals. The Syndicate had once suffered an embarrassment when a trusted courier had, at one of the changeover points, switched genuine diamonds for some good glass copies. Otto always travelled with a bodyguard. The stones were usually carried in a special body waistcoat with Velcrosealed pockets. The courier wore one, the bodyguard the other, to maximise security and minimise risk. The Syndicate almost always arranged for different people to operate each leg of the route. The exception had been Otto. Because they were so paranoid about being cheated, they used him more and more frequently to confirm the identity of batches of diamonds. In this way, they gradually revealed every leg of their convoluted trade routes. Out of fear for the lives of his family, Otto continued to fulfil his obligations honourably, without realising the value of the unique knowledge he was accumulating. Only The Syndicate’s most senior executives were supposed to know the entire smuggling network. The route for the Angolan diamonds was relatively simple. Collected at the source, the stones were flown to a small airstrip some three hundred miles away, close to the Zambian border; from there they were flown by long-range 170

private jet, direct to a small airfield just outside Johannesburg. Then they were taken by road to an illicit cutting room somewhere in the city. The largest and the finest quality would be cleaned up and left uncut. The buyers of such stones would wish to apply their own unique design ideas. About 50% of the remaining stones would be locally designed and cut into quality gemstones. The balance went for industrial use. From these illegal workshops the stones would be sent to buyers around the world. The Syndicate’s main client for both industrial and gemstones was the People's Republic of China. Occasionally diamonds were sent to the Antwerp auctions. The most valuable, the large much rarer, and finest stones were usually sent to the USA, where the exclusive specialist market is most active. Otto knew every aspect of this lucrative trade. ***** Stripped naked at Sly’s command, the major had lost any trace of his former arrogance. Holding his hands protectively in his crotch, trying to hide his manhood, he cowered in the corner of the office, his face bathed in sweat and tears, which ran in torrents down his ebony face as he sobbed and blubbered unintelligibly. A couple of the camp guards were taunting him, jabbing him with the barrels of their automatic rifles, laughing at his misery. He was at the point of complete collapse. Sly intervened. "Enough, boys!" he commanded, "I think our major has had enough, don’t you?" They backed off. "Put him back in the chair, please!" Sly applied his compassionate approach again. "Well now, Major, we can’t let these chaps treat an officer like that, 171

can we?" Sly looked up and asked one of the grinning men to pass him the major's shirt and trousers. “Here." He handed them across. "Put these on. I just need to know one or two facts. Then I think there is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to leave, right?” The major was not convinced but asked cautiously as he dressed, clinging to any morsel of hope, "What do you need to know?” “Okay then, who are you really representing?" Sly asked, raising his hand to protest in advance. "Now please don’t say the government! Because I know that’s not true. You see, I am a very good friend of the Minister for Natural Resources and he has never heard of you. So please make your answer truthful!" Sly nodded towards the smiling guards and sat back. The major clearly noticed the gesture; with his courage long since drained away, he wilted at the thought of more humiliation. “The lieutenant and I, together with all the men," he began eagerly, "were formerly with UNITA. The Angolan Government recently offered a general amnesty. We decided for one reason or another to accept it. Part of the deal for the two of us, however, was that we should spend the next 12 months wooing other units to accept the amnesty. So since we’d already surrendered our arms and equipment, we had little option but to agree." He sighed, defeated. "We were immediately sent out to find and persuade other UNITA units to lay down their arms or cross over to the government." He sank into the chair, relieved of his confession. “So you betrayed your new masters by stealing their diamonds for your own devious purposes. Am I right?" Sly fired back at him. The major sat up, attempting to display a little dignity. "We have been fighting a lost cause guerrilla war for over five long years. We have had little or no reward. The so-called 172

democratic government has no more intention of honouring our status than spit! I can assure you that once we have done our job, we’ll be thrown to the wolves." He sighed. "The only thing for us is to make enough money to get clear away from this wretched country!" he finished defiantly. Sly asked encouragingly: "Okay, I understand that. So tell me, how many other nest eggs have you organised, and where are you selling the diamonds?” He slumped back into the chair. "This is the only one so far. We were going to see how well this worked first. We sell them to a man in Luanda; what he does with them, I can’t say." “How does he pay you?" Sly asked spontaneously. “He’s supposed to be setting up a Swiss bank account for us. Today’s collection from here would have been our first delivery." He sighed, completely defeated. “Well done! And thank you for your co-operation. You see how you saved yourself from so much discomfort!" He started to get up. "So just one final question before we release you. What’s the name and address of this man in Luanda?" Sly sat back and waited confidently. The major co-operated unconditionally, then sat with his bowed head in his hands. Nick, who had witnessed the systematic browbeating of the major in silence, spoke to Sly in a whisper. "What are you really going to do with him now?" Sly averted his eyes. "I don’t like it any more than you, but this man has served his purpose and that’s that!" Deeply disturbed by the whole interrogation process, Nick turned away in shame and marched out of the office. "Just what the hell have we got ourselves into?" he wondered. Even his iron constitution had been sickened by the last couple of hours of blood-letting. Little did he realise it had only just begun. 173

“Nick!" Sly called out behind him. "Just give me a couple minutes, please." Nick turned. Sly was waving him to return. Nick’s immediate reaction was to ignore him, but then decided that it was more prudent to co-operate at this stage, so reluctantly obeyed the request. “You need to understand," Sly started as they strolled away from the office. "The Syndicate are a non-negotiating organisation. Once you attach yourself to them, there is no way out. Their rules are simple. Succeed or fail, and reap reward or retribution in equal portions." He shrugged his shoulders. "The major and his men would have taken our lives without any more thought than swatting a fly. The Syndicate play by the same rules – that’s all!” Nick shook his head in disbelief. "But why all this killing and torture?" “Regrettably it’s the way the game is sometimes played." Sly replied simply and returned to his office. Nick did not reply, just turned and walked thoughtfully across the compound. He wanted to find James urgently. It was time to review their situation. Sly watched him walking away and knew that he had another problem developing, one that he knew would have to be resolved very soon. The prospecting crew had been gathered in the canteen. They’d been ordered by Sly to stay there. "For your own safety," he warned them. "Well away from the planned ambush of the major and his men." As Nick entered he was bombarded with questions. He raised his hand and calmed the excited group. James moved over to stand at his side. “Okay, so this is the state of play, as I see it," Nick addressed them. "We now have an additional hostile situation on our hands. That is, I’m sorry to have to say, with Sly and his guards. I’m only just learning the full facts about our position 174

here. So I’m going to need a bit of time with James before we can come up with some sort of proposal to resolve everything. Stay put please, and we’ll work out some answers as quickly as possible." He signalled to James, and left amid a buzz of low conversation. They walked to one of the small shacks used as an office at the rear of the canteen. James was silently expectant as Nick sat himself on the edge of the rickety table. "I’m afraid we’ve got one hell of a situation on our hands here. It seems that the major and his rabble were exguerrilla troops gone over to the government side by virtue of some kind of amnesty, who then decided to set up in business for themselves." He shook his head in disbelief. "Now they’ve been quite ruthlessly eliminated by Sly and the camp guards." He looked helpless. James remained numbly silent. “There are bodies everywhere – I’ve never seen anything like it." He ran his fingers through his hair. “The other problem is this; as you know, Sly and the guards are all part of the group we know as The Syndicate. It’s now been made quite clear to me that they are something more than just a major international industrial conglomerate. Based on what we’ve seen and what Sly’s just been saying to me, they are more like an organised crime syndicate – not quite as philanthropic as we were all led to believe! According to Sly, they have done some kind of deal with the local government, and that’s how our diamonds are being shipped out of the country so easily. I suspect that really means that there will be little of the proceeds left for us, legitimately or otherwise.” He paused for breath. "I have never felt so helpless. Would you ever have thought that Sly could say boo to a goose?" He sighed. "Our benefactors, from the way Sly describes them, seem be completely devoid of any moral 175

conscience. I am now convinced that the project and our lives are seriously at risk. The question is: what can we do?" James had remained silent, allowing Nick to unburden himself. Now he too shook his head. "How did we walk into this?" “I keep asking myself the same question. I've been so engrossed with drilling for diamonds that I just accepted their deal – I admit, with little thought of the consequences. How could I have been so naïve?" Nick was lost for words. His head ached and his mind felt numb. James broke the silence. "Okay, so it’s no good wallowing in any more self-condemnation. Let’s take a look at what we have here, then decide what we can do, eh?" He gestured with his thumb ."First, we have some bloody good men. Yes?" James rubbed his chin. "Do we have access to the diamond stock?" His brow wrinkled in thought. “Yes we do!" Nick replied, excitedly latching on to the spirit of James’s thinking. "We also have control of the recovery technology, which must not be allowed to get into their hands." Nick wagged his finger. "If necessary, we must take care of it." He pondered for a moment. "I think we need a serious accident at the drill site." He raised his eyebrows with a wicked smile on his face. James nodded agreement. "We’ll have to be wary of the camp guards.” “Don’t forget we still have our own private armoury!" Nick added, getting back his positive attitude. “Yes, and I’ll bet you anything some of the men are experienced with some of the weapons." James suggested. “You're right, James, it’s time to take the initiative!" He was feeling much more confident now. "We'll have to think our strategy through very carefully though; those Syndicate guards are all professional killers.” James nodded. "Yes, I saw some of their handiwork this morning. That reminds me – that soldier they tortured – is 176

he still tied up over there? He seemed different to the others. I bet he could use a friend, if he’s still alive. In turn he could be very useful to us." “Okay James, you go and see if he’s still with us. Then meet me in the canteen for a talk with the men. Be quick! They may be getting tired of playing with the poor old major.” Using his duplicate key James unlocked the diamondsorting shed and found the soldier sitting on the floor, still tied with a long piece of plaited nylon cord to the doorknob. He looked up in fear as James entered the room. The blood had dried on his face, which now looked more like dark mud. There was an angry open gash on his cheek and forehead. The flies were already laying the next generation of their species in the open wounds. James did not speak, just took his clasp knife and cut the cord. The face was suspicious. "What now?" the man muttered. James was brief. "Listen, the situation has changed quite dramatically." He explained quickly. "Do you want to join us? Because we could use your help. Otherwise you are free to get out of here on your own.” Still naked and unaware of it, he stood up painfully from his crouched position in the corner, racked with cramps, let alone the pain of the beating and torture. He leaned against the table for support, and after a few moments easing his taut muscles, was able to stand upright. James handed him a pair of crumpled trousers found on the floor. The man took them and eased himself into them. There was a safari jacket hanging on the door. “He took it off while he was beating me. All that effort made him sweat." He sniffed at the material. "It could do with a shower as much as me," the soldier grinned cheekily. "I suppose I could run, but I guess I have some unfinished business with a couple of your ex-mates," he added. 177

James smiled. "Okay then, come with me." They left the sorting shed. James didn’t relock the door. In the canteen Nick outlined the current situation to the men as they waited for James. "Good! I see we have one more member of the team." James and the soldier nodded. Adrian the medic stepped forward. "I think you had better come over here and let me look at that cut." The soldier obeyed as Nick addressed his anxious team. “I’ve already explained how we came to be in this position. The question is: how do we save the day?" He raised his eyebrows. No-one spoke. “First, we have the ungraded diamonds. By chance we have quite a big stock at the moment." “Don’t forget the stones we caught your man with the other day," the soldier interrupted. "He had 30 uncut diamonds; I took charge of them until the new troops returned. They’re buried under the floor of our hut." “Good! By the way, what's your name?" Nick asked. “Ali – just Ali. You’d never be able to pronounce the other part." He smiled. “Okay, Ali – thanks. Now listen, all of you. One day there will be a change in circumstances in Angola, and we'll be back. But right now we are going to destroy this site and all the equipment. Unfortunately these Syndicate people are a bit like bloodhounds, and they are definitely going to try and prevent us spoiling their plans. So I’m afraid we have to take them out as well. Does anyone have a problem with that?" Nick looked at each of his men. No-one moved or spoke. Adrian the doctor had cleaned up Ali’s face and put five stitches in the wound on his forehead. Ali then discreetly undid his tattered trousers to reveal the other, more sensitive problem, his raw and swollen penis. Fortunately the steel had not been red-hot, but even then, where it had touched the 178

delicate organ, it had taken away several layers of skin. The pain was excruciating. “I think Ali here would like to fix them all himself, yes?" The doc looked up at Ali, then across at Nick, and shook his head. “Hang on son, this is going to be very painful. I’m afraid it has to be done. We don’t want to lose it, do we?" he grinned, trying to ease the situation. Ali tried to laugh, but the pain as the doc gently swabbed the raw wound with a sterile solution suddenly obliterated everything. “Here, this will help." He passed Ali a small capsule. "Bite this – they work very quickly." "We don’t have much time now. The others seem to be finished with the major." Nick continued looking out towards the office building, where he could see Sly and a couple of the guards standing by the door. Sly was wiping the perspiration from his face and neck with a white towel. “We have a cache of small arms. How many of you, other than Ali, has experience with arms?" Three hands went up. "Okay, we’ll organise ourselves into four groups. One man with experience to be in charge of two others. James, the doc, and myself are excluded. So you three each pick two others for your squad, okay?" He made some notes on a pad. “We'll wait until the courier plane arrives the day after tomorrow. In the meantime I will devise a plan of action. We mustn’t gather in a large group like this again. I'll pass the plan through your group leaders, clear?” The doc stepped up and quietly addressed the men. "I think I’m talking for everyone here, Nick. This is just to say thanks for the chance you gave us all; we knew the risks when we started. Now we are still 100% behind you in sorting these bastards out, yes lads?" he looked around for support. “Bet your bloody life!" a voice from the back called. “I’m in!" Another raised his hand. 179

“All the way, mate!" The swell of support was unanimous. “Thank you boys, but keep it down." Nick gestured. "Sly is heading this way – probably to explain things. I think he already doubts my devotion to the cause. Ali, you’d better keep your head down behind that counter!” Sly walked into the canteen accompanied by two of the armed guards. They were laughing as they entered. Nick took the initiative. “I’ve just been explaining to the boys here how our guards beat the shit out of the major and his morons! Give them a hand, boys." He led the clapping as everyone entered into the spirit of the game. “Thanks, thanks!" Sly raised his hand to quell the slightly over-enthusiastic display. "We disposed of the major and his men without any causalities. This was entirely due to the dedicated professionalism of our guards." He cleared his throat. “From now on, we are going to have to be much more careful. It is quite possible that other maverick groups could be loose in the area. With that in mind," he continued, his eyes flitting around the faces, "I would be grateful if for the next couple of days nobody leaves the camp. We should also cease night operations – at least until I have managed to organise an extra shift of guards. Any questions?" Nick asked, "I take it you will want us to continue with the new connecting shaft, by reorganising it as a day shift?" “Certainly! I think that’s a good idea. Any others?" There were no further comments. "Okay, well you know where I am if needed. Oh, by the way, we need a digger to bury the casualties. Sorry to ask this of you, but they can’t be allowed to hang about in this heat for long, can they?" He smiled thinly. “Taffy, your JCB will do the job. Go with these two and sort it out, please." James somewhat reluctantly ordered. 180

Taffy nodded. "Dug holes for most things, but never been a grave digger before. Don’t worry, Boss, Taffy will sort it out!" he grinned cheerfully as he followed the two guards out of the canteen. Suddenly another guard came running. "Sly!" he shouted. "That bugger we tied up and left in the shack, somehow he’s managed to get away! We’ve looked everywhere – he must have made it to the bush.” Sly was uncontrollably angry. "We should have completed the job when we had the chance!" he shouted. "We should know these bastards are as slippery as eels!" He stormed out of the canteen. "You see – it simply doesn’t pay to be kind!" he screamed, holding his hands up to the sky. The guard standing closest to Nick winced. "No sense of fun, our Sly. We were saving the soldier and the girls for some evening entertainment!" He sloped out of the canteen. “Girls?" Nick retorted. "What girls?" Nick had quite forgotten about the girls secreted in the lorry that first day.

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Chapter Eight Alex lay in his camp bed at the earthquake rescue camp, trying to sleep, but his mind had different ideas and continued to race through all the facts Otto had so eagerly revealed. He sat up suddenly and switched on the lantern, trying to clarify his thoughts. "What if one of the survivors had been a courier. Could one of the others be the bodyguard?" Yet none of them seemed the type. It was no good – try as he may he could not yet make any acceptable sense of the facts. Frustrated by his mental confusion, he threw off the sleeping bag and sat briefly on the edge of his camp bed. The chill of the night air seemed to galvanise his thoughts; he dressed quickly, grabbed the lantern and jogged over to the canteen. Operating 24-hours a day, it catered for the multitude of drivers and helpers involved in the clearing-up operation, so it was still reasonably busy even at 3 o’clock in the morning. Alex looked around, but at first glance none of the survivors were to be seen. Then he spotted Matt, sitting with his back to him, the customary half-full glass of beer on the table in front of him. He appeared to be talking with two other people. “Matt," he called, "Can you spare me a moment?" He apologised to the others for breaking up the conversation. Matt turned, recognising Alex’s voice. He stood up, having obviously had several beers, and sauntered unsteadily across to Alex. "How can I help you, Mr Reporter?" he beamed, his face lightly flushed with alcohol. “I’m trying to find Mike and John. Actually, I need to talk to you all. Do you know where they're bunking now?” "What on earth do you want at this time of day?" He staggered slightly. 182

Alex was diplomatic. "Don’t worry – I just want to make sure they're all right, you know, after all the drama." “Well, yes I suppose ..." Matt reasoned. "I think you’ll find them sleeping in the recovery tent, at the rear of the field hospital." “Thanks," Alex patted Matt’s broad shoulder. "See you back here shortly." Matt waved his acknowledgement and wandered back to his pals. Alex found the tent where John and Mike were sleeping. He couldn’t see Nancy. He roused Mike, who was closest to the entrance. "Mike," he whispered, nudging the bed with his knee. Mike stirred. "What’s happening?" he asked sleepily. Alex nudged the bed again. "Wake up! We have to talk," he said in a normal tone. Mike sat up and John stirred, disturbed by the noise. "What do you want at this time of the night?" he muttered, his eyes bleary. “We have to talk urgently. I said I’d meet Matt in the canteen in a few minutes.” “Can’t you just tell us your problem and let us get some sleep?" Mike said testily. “Okay, it’s your life!" He placed the lantern on the floor. "I am now certain The Syndicate will send some heavyduty enforcers to collect their diamonds." The two men looked up at Alex from their beds. “They’re not going to do anything tonight, are they?" John asked. “Please just listen to me for a moment. I have discovered where the diamonds originated and probably where they were going. The fact that you came by them is to some extent your good fortune – providing you can get away with it. But it will also be your death sentence when The Syndicate's enforcers cotton on to your involvement in the affair. I can guaran183

tee they will provide you with some very painful moments before you beg to be allowed to die!" Alex paused to let his words sink in. There was complete silence as the two men looked nervously at each other. “So," Alex continued, "who’s going to tell me – first of all – how and where you found the diamonds, and then – where they are now?” “I can help you." Nancy said from the shadows. "I was in bed on the other side of that screen. It’s a good job I’m not your Syndicate enforcer!" “Thank you, Nancy," Alex greeted her. "It's imperative that I have a complete picture of the situation. What I urgently need to know is exactly how you came by them." Nancy sat on the edge of John’s bed and quietly explained how they had found the stones in the waistcoat worn by the now dead Mohamed, the hotel porter. “Just the one waistcoat?" Alex asked. “Of course. Why do you ask?" Nancy responded. “I’ve learned that the couriers always travel with a bodyguard who also wears one of those waistcoats." Alex gestured towards the ruined town. "So, you see – there’s another man buried in there with a waistcoat full of diamonds.” The survivors looked at each other in amazement. "If that’s true, I suppose that’s why you think your Syndicate friends are even more likely to be swarming around here." Nancy surmised. “That’s exactly my point. I’m even more surprised that they're not here already. Mind you, they may not necessarily be immediately obvious." Alex paced about the recovery ward. "I’ll have to ask around to see if there've been any new faces around recently." “That’s going to be hard to find out with people coming and going all the time around here. That Otto guy made 184

himself obvious by simply hanging around. I don’t suppose these Syndicate experts will be quite so naïve," John reasoned as he made to get out of bed. Alex excused himself. "I’ll go and get Otto, then we’ll join Matt in the canteen. Five minutes, okay?” “You don’t have to go to the canteen to find me: I’m right here!" came the happy reply. Matt stepped into the light, still holding a beer mug. "So then, before you tell me about those other diamonds, why don’t you tell us where the first lot are?" he added much more seriously. ***** Two inconspicuous businessmen stepped off the international scheduled flight at Athens airport. They showed their Greek passports at immigration, collected their light travelling cases and walked untroubled through customs. The drug sniffer dog paid them little attention as they walked through into the public concourse. They went straight to the south exit as instructed; there they found their courtesy car, and a young man, casually-dressed, holding the handwritten sign "Private Chauffeur-hire". They approached him and were immediately led to the parked estate car. They seated themselves in the rear seat. The youth got behind the wheel and drove off without speaking a word. They travelled for about 45 minutes until they arrived at a small private airfield. The helicopter standing on the taxiway was a private charter. The crew of two stood close by the aircraft. The car pulled up a few metres short of one of the rotor blades moving gently in the light breeze. The men jumped out of the car and walked towards the crew. "Are we ready to go?" the first man asked by way of a greeting. “If you’re the two who want to go sightseeing over the earthquake town, yes." The captain raised an eyebrow, then 185

turned without any more ado and climbed up into his seat. The crewman folded down the step to the passenger cabin saying, "I’d get in before the rotors start!" The men settled themselves into the comfortable leather seats. As they fastened their seat belts, the indifferent crewman handed them each a headset. "Here, you’ll need these," was all he said. “This is also for you." He passed over a briefcase. A few seconds later the engine coughed into life. The pilot skimmed through his pre-flight checks, then, with a stomachtwitching surge, they were airborne. “It’s about one hour, so make yourselves comfortable," was all the captain offered by way of passenger information. The helicopter swung into a north-easterly direction and soon settled into its cruising altitude and speed. The man still holding the briefcase on his lap flicked the combination locks and the case opened without difficulty. He peered cautiously inside. With a look of relief he noted the contents: two heavyweight, 38 calibre semi-automatic Browning pistols. Each of the deadly weapons had been adapted to fit the bulbous Russian silencer nestled in the soft packaging material alongside each gun. There were three spare clips of ammunition for each weapon. The man took one of the matt black guns lovingly from the case. He checked the stock. There was a full clip in the pistol grip as well. He looked at his companion and nodded with approval, the flicker of a smile on his usually expressionless face. Now they were ready to carry out their orders: "I want you back here with both sets of diamonds within three days. Furthermore, be sure that you neutralise anyone who may be a threat to us." The Controller’s voice had been icily emphatic. In slightly over an hour they were circling the devastated town. They took several pictures, then instructed the pilot to land at a village about 3km away. 186

“What’s so interesting for you at that godforsaken place?" the pilot queried. There was no reply, just a shrug of the shoulders as the man returned his attention to the view from the window of the helicopter, until the pilot found a landing place on the edge of the village and expertly settled his machine on the stunted grass. “We’re going into the town by road from here, so we will terminate the charter now," the man said simply into his headset. The crewman looked questioningly at the pilot. "Is that okay, Jack?" he said into his mike. “It’s okay by me!" the pilot replied. "They paid in full in advance, so they can do what they like.” The crewman opened the door and lowered the steps; the men descended, thrusting their headsets into the crewman’s outstretched hand, and then quickly ducked away from the already moving rotor blades. The shorter man shouted at his companion. "You know, I think that pilot is just a bit too cocky – do you think we should have silenced him?" “You worry too much! All these cowboy pilots are the same," the taller one laughed, though he was not entirely confident. The helicopter roared away just as the camper van appeared at the landing place. The driver got out, holding out the keys. "Who’s going to drive?" was all he said. The taller man took the keys and the driver sauntered off into the village. The short journey over the rough track took much longer than anticipated. Arriving at the town around dusk, they parked the camper inconspicuously among dozens of other similar vehicles near the lake, then spent the next couple of hours getting their bearings. Later they made their way separately to the canteen, where they sat quietly and chatted casually with some of the other occupants. 187

***** It was late afternoon. There was little or no breeze, so the heat from the relentless African sun was suffocating. Sly stormed into his private office, the only one with air-conditioning. He threw himself down into the high-backed leather chair at his desk, picked up the telephone and dialled his Controller. “We’ve secured the place but one of the soldiers managed to slip away. I expect he will still be running this time next week. I don’t think he’s any kind of threat to us," Sly tried to make light of the matter. “My recommendation is that you catch and silence that soldier. I do not share your optimism that he is not a danger. Do I make myself clear?" the toneless voice ordered. “Yes of course, and that brings me to my next request. I must have at least eight extra men. How soon can I have them?" Sly challenged his Controller. “You get that soldier and leave the extra guards to me. I’ll call you back." The line went dead. Sly sat back in his chair exasperated; he mopped his face and neck with a paper towel. Sly looked up as the door opened and the lieutenant was pushed into the office. "Ah, there you are. Leave us alone, I’ll be alright," he ordered the guard. To the lieutenant he said: "I hope you have not been offended in anyway?" “I’m fine," the lieutenant replied quietly. Sly had noticed the cultured, aristocratic bearing of the lieutenant the first time they’d met. He noticed how he moved as gracefully as a cat and spoke in a quiet, modulated voice. Sly had sensed instantly that they might share the same interests. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed any suitable company. Inevitably, the men around the camp were all tough, bawdy rednecks, with no appeal for Sly. The lieutenant however was quite obviously different. 188

Sly walked around the desk and placed his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "I don’t know your name." The lieutenant made no attempt to pull away from Sly’s hand. "David" was the simple reply. “Well, David, as I told you earlier, I am confident that you and I could have something precious in common, yes?" David smiled weakly and nodded. “It has been a long time for me, stuck out here with all these morons." Sly glanced out of the window. He looked back at David and smiled. He slipped his hand down into David’s palm, squeezing it gently. David responded willingly. They fell together in a gentle embrace. Sly, being taller, placed his hand under David’s chin, lifting his smiling face up to his own, and kissed him gently on the lips. David returned the moist kiss lightly, almost teasingly. “Yes, my darling," Sly panted," I was confident we were going to be good for each other!" The telephone rang, the sound shocking them out of their trance. Sly broke away and fumbled for the instrument. “Yes?" he snapped angrily. "Oh it's you." He hadn’t realised he was speaking into the special phone. He listened briefly. "That’s good. Thank you. No, we haven’t caught him yet –but we will," he said with determination into the mouthpiece. Sly remained standing, still holding the tips of David’s fingers with his other hand. "Don’t worry, I’ll see to it." Sly returned the handset to its cradle. “We have eight extra guards arriving within the next two days. That should keep everything under control, don’t you think?" He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he pulled the willing David towards him again. "I think we should spend a little time getting to know each other, don’t you?" Sly bent towards the lieutenant. "David, eh? – that’s a good name." They kissed passionately, caressing and exploring each other’s bodies with their hands. 189

Sly broke away. "Phew! We'd better stop, but only for the moment though!" He winked at David. "It’s a bit public in here. Let’s go to my hut." Sly turned and walked from the office, the lieutenant following close behind like a puppy, neither noticing the noise of the JCB, its message of doom filling the air as it went about the gruesome task of digging graves for the slaughtered men. Nick’s men were discreetly allocated their weapons. They teamed up in four groups and then dispersed as instructed. Nick, James and Doc were quietly trying to formulate a plan that would enable them to turn the situation to their favour. Nick addressed them as he sipped from a cold can of lemonade. “The important thing, in my opinion, is to act sooner rather than later. Once Sly has his extra guards, it will be nearly impossible for us to get the upper hand against those trained killers." "The weekly diamond shipment should normally be collected tomorrow. What if some of the new guards were to arrive at the same time?" James asked. “I just hope it’s too soon for them. But you’re right James, we should try and take over before the flight arrives, just in case, – then if there were some heavies in the cargo they should be easier to deal with." Nick looked more confident. "I think I’d like to have another chat with Ali. We need his professional opinion. I’m sure that he’ll have some ideas on the best tactics for our situation. Where is he now?” “For his own safety," Doc told them, "I’ve locked him in my bedroom at the back of the surgery. I assumed that if the guards were to find him now, we wouldn’t be able to stop them from tearing him apart." James shuddered. "Just how did we get ourselves involved in all this killing and mutilation?” 190

They found Ali resting on Doc’s bed. "Sorry to trouble you. Doc told me about the nasty burn. I hope he gave you something for the pain," Nick said, with genuine empathy. “Yes thanks, he gave me a painkiller. It’s better than a bottle of whisky!" he said drowsily. “We were hoping you might be well enough to talk. You see, we are not very military- minded here, and the camp guards are undoubtedly professional killers." They seated themselves opposite the bed. “What, may I ask, is your own background? You seem very different to the rest of that rabble of so-called soldiers," James continued. Ali swung his legs off the bed and attempted to shake the effects of the powerful painkiller from his head. "I’m a professional soldier," he started proudly, "trained in the South African army and recruited to a special corps of their commando division." He paused. "Then I was court-marshalled and dismissed for striking an officer," he said defiantly. “Why did you hit him?" James asked simply. “He was kicking the shit out of a couple of handcuffed civilians picked up during a peaceful anti-apartheid demonstration. One of them was a girl. The officer kept calling her a nigger whore while he kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. Naturally he was white. Normally I close my mind to the black/white thing. But something just snapped for me, so I hit him. Unfortunately I hit him a bit too hard. He was dead on arrival at the hospital. Fortunately the other white officer was a decent guy. He witnessed the whole thing and defended me. They eventually dropped the murder charge, but I was still found guilty of striking a superior officer. Got stuffed with a dishonourable discharge. Well – at least I wasn’t shot," he smiled philosophically. "Now I have to sell my services as a mercenary soldier.” Nick smiled with him. "Well in that case Ali, you’ve just been rehired!" They shook hands. 191

"I agree! On the understanding that the fee was paid in advance when you saved my skin back there, okay?" Nick and James nodded agreement. “Okay, now this is the situation. Sly is expecting eight extra guards very soon. What you need to know is that Sly represents a criminal organisation known as The Syndicate. It’s a long story, but briefly we unwittingly became involved, believing them to be genuine development investors. Now as you have seen, they are quite simply taking this diamond concession away from its legitimate owners, namely the original investors in Europe and most of the men you met here today." Nick took a deep breath. "Because of the Angolan Government's continuing military oppression of the people of this country, diamonds from all of the mines here have been blacklisted by the democratic nations of the world. Conflict Diamonds, as they are now called, are no longer easily saleable. We unknowingly allowed The Syndicate, represented by our friend Sly, to act as our sales agent as well as our mining development investor. Now we have seen their true colours, we intend to destroy the mine and as many of them as possible with it." Ali listened intently but remained silent. "We will collect as many diamonds as possible, destroy the mine and the special equipment, then get as far away from here as possible – until the political situation changes, that is." Flushed with anger, Nick paused again for breath. "I believe that we need to start by overpowering Sly and his guards, then we complete the demolition of the mine before the additional guards arrive. We know how to destroy the mine – we think you will know how to destroy Sly and his men!" Ali nodded. "Yes, I’m sure I can sort him and his cutthroats out all right," he replied almost happily. "I’ll need to know exactly how many there are, where they bunk, their patrol routine, what weapons and ammunition they have and 192

the extent of our own armoury." Ali was warming to the game, his thoughts quite clear now. ***** Alex slipped from the recovery tent and walked briskly to the hospital ward where Otto was sleeping. He woke him and quickly briefed him on the situation. “Get dressed immediately. We're meeting the others at the recovery tent." "How do they feel about me shooting at them?" Otto enquired a little anxiously as he dressed. “Don’t worry. I think we’re all on the same side now," Alex tried to comfort him. "... I hope," he added under his breath as they set off to join the others. Just short of the tent entrance Alex stopped and put his finger to his mouth, indicating "quiet" to Otto. Silently he moved closer and listened. His blood froze as he became aware of a new voice. Inside the tented recovery ward, John was sitting on the edge of his bed. The others were still standing more or less where they had been when he'd left to look for Otto. Alex could see Matt standing like a statue with a pint glass still in one of his raised hands; behind him stood a man with one hand on Matt’s shoulder, the other pushing something into his back. A second man, holding a silenced heavy calibre semiautomatic handgun, was speaking in a low but persuasive tone. "So young lady, you know all about the diamonds, yes?" Noone replied. “I see you've suddenly gone deaf." He waved the gun. "We had better start by understanding each other. We are here to collect our client’s property. There is no need for any heroics. Just hand them over and you’ll be left alone. The other thing you need to understand immediately is that we 193

never ask questions twice. Now, since you did not know our rules, I’ll ask again: where are the diamonds?" Mike said: "Look here, we don’t know where they are! If we did, we’d have been out of here long ago!" He smiled at the others and shrugged his shoulders. The shot, silenced by the bulbous adapter, sucked the air as it left the barrel, making a noise like a quick intake of breath, before striking Mike in the stomach with a flat slap a millisecond later. The hollow point cartridge entered, making a hole on entry the size of a large pea, but leaving a hole the size of a golf ball as it exited his back, indiscriminately tearing intestine and stomach lining with it. Mike looked down with a surprised face, then his large frame doubled up and collapsed like a felled tree as the massive impact pushed him backwards a couple of feet, to land against the canvas wall in a crumpled heap. The blood only waited a second or two before jetting out through the terrifying wound. There was a moment’s stunned silence. Everyone was frozen by the speed of the attack. Only momentarily paralysed by the shock, Nancy turned to go to Mike’s aide. “Stop where you are!" She froze, then slowly turned back to face the gunmen, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. “Now where are the diamonds?" the gunman asked again. The second shot was not from a silenced gun, but a .32 Smith & Wesson revolver. The man holding Matt staggered and fell to the ground, a look of surprise on his already dead face. Tough and experienced though he was, the other gunman was taken completely unawares. It took only a split second however, for him to recover, turning instinctively and firing rapidly twice in the direction he believed the shot to have come from, then at almost the same time diving out of 194

the line of further fire to end up on the floor next to John, who had ducked down behind the nearest chair. Once again the champagne bottle appeared to be in the right place at the right time. Rescued from the cellar after Otto had tripped spectacularly over it, John had brought it back with the intention of sharing a celebratory drink, but it had been late, and with everyone exhausted after the day’s events, they'd decided to leave it for another day. Now there it was again, like a guardian angel; as he dived to the floor his hand landed on the neck of the bottle. Almost at the same time the other gunman skidded to John’s feet. In a flash he'd gripped the bottle, and without any forethought, swung it like a club onto the exposed crown of the gunman’s head. There was so much confusion around that he felt rather than heard the dull thud of impact as the heavy-duty bottle smashed into the skull, driving pieces of splintered bone fatally into the soft brain tissue. The bottle however remained intact. Alex rushed into the room, his revolver pointed at the man on the floor with John kneeling over him, the champagne bottle clutched firmly in hand. Temporally stunned by the realisation of what he had done, he looked guiltily up at Alex, who saw at once that the man had been immobilised, though he didn’t yet know that he was already quite dead. Matt was still standing with his hands raised, unaware that his tormentor was dead. Nancy just stood where she was with her hands over her face. The noise of the gunshot alerted the captain and several other duty personnel, who rushed to the tent to see what it was all about. Alex grabbed the captain, pulling him carefully but purposefully to one side. "Listen Captain, you know where my authority came from ... so please, you must keep this under wraps at least until morning!" 195

The captain nodded, still somewhat confused. "You got it. But after that, it'll be difficult." Then he turned abruptly to the handful of curious people gathering in the limited space of the tented recovery ward. “Okay everybody: all those not with the hospital emergency team, out please, as quickly as possible," he commanded. "There’s been an accident here and we must have room to sort it out. Thank you." With arms outstretched he encouraged them to turn and leave. "Thank you." He herded them easily out of the area. “Thanks," was all Alex said, turning to the medical orderly. "Don’t worry about those two; the man in the corner is the one we need to help!" he ordered. Otto was already kneeling at Mike’s side, trying to stem the blood from the ragged wound in his back where the disintegrating bullet had exited. The task seemed hopeless. Otto felt completely helpless and looked around appealingly just as the medical orderly appeared. “Right!" the orderly directed, "Leave this to me now. You fetch that trolley!" Otto stood up and obeyed without hesitation. Mike was lifted, not too carefully, onto the stretcher trolley and whisked off to the surgical theatre and the waiting surgeon, who thankfully had also been disturbed by the shot and had made himself ready for action. Mike’s condition was critical. The surgeon took one look at him and shook his head, addressing the captain: "I’m not sure what I can do here. It'll depend on how much damage has been done to his vital organs. Well – here goes," he said as he turned to the broken body before him. Five hours later the surgeon finished, having painstakingly clamped and stitched, as far as he could, to stop the bleeding and repair Mike’s mutilated organs.

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It was almost nine o’clock in the morning. Exhausted, he handed over the final stitching of the external wound to the attendant nurse. He looked up at the equally tired orderly. “That’s as much as can be done for the moment. If he gets over the shock of this lot, he’ll have to endure some more critical surgery to his stomach and lower intestine. But for the moment we're finished!" He removed his mask and gown as Mike was wheeled to the intensive care ward. "I wonder what that was all about?” “Diamonds," the orderly said quietly, "they were fighting over some diamonds. Well, that’s what he said." He looked away from the surgeon. "He was in shock of course, but he said quite clearly to me: ‘First Mohamed, then Sam and now me; all for some miserable diamonds. Just bits of flashy glass, supposed to be a Girl's Best Friend. More like a bloody Foe if you ask me.’ He kept repeating: ‘Best Friend or Foe? – I ask you. Best Friend or Bloody Foe?’ Dammed strange thing to say, if you ask me." The orderly looked back at the astonished surgeon and shrugged his tired shoulders. "Anyway, don’t suppose it matters to us, eh? I’m going to grab a bit of shuteye, see you later.” The surgeon nodded in mock agreement, his mind racing.

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Chapter Nine The five men sat silently brooding at the boardroom table. The Controller had just left the room. Such a moment had never been experienced before by any of The Syndicate's members. Each cell of The Syndicate was deliberately set up in such a manner that it was impossible for one group to betray another. A tall, smartly-dressed man with an immaculately groomed beard and a generous head of silver hair – in contrast with his deeply suntanned face – had entered the room. He refused the offered chair at the head of the table, and addressed the five men without any preamble. “I am obliged to break the strict protocol in these very special circumstances." His face was tight, his voice sharp and commanding. "Your cell was responsible for the shipping of diamonds from the mine in Angola to our agent in Bangladesh," he snapped accusingly. "I can tell you now that these diamonds were destined to be taken on to Beijing. They form part of a most delicate trading arrangement with the Chinese Government." He looked around the room; his nervous audience avoided the piercing eyes. "The last shipment was the most valuable and consequently the most important stage of the delivery contract." He continued almost conversationally now. “Normally the diamonds are delivered uncut. This batch, however, included some of the best quality stones ever to be seen. They had been cut to a precise design and were allocated exclusively as settlement for one particular contract. "He started to pace the room as he carefully outlined the situation. “Now, at the risk of boring you all, I have to recap the next stage of events. "The diamonds, I was advised, were being carried by your most reliable team, whose responsibility 198

it was to transfer them to our diamond specialist for verification and transport on the last two legs of the journey." He was being unusually detailed. "I know about the violent earthquake in northern Greece – which was unfortunately chosen as the transfer point." He sighed. “Now the situation is this. As you know, the first two and one other courier were killed in the earthquake. They confirmed their safe arrival before they were killed. This should have meant that the diamonds were still there, buried in the hotel that collapsed." He stopped pacing. "Four people were rescued after one week buried in the cellar. They appear to be in possession of some diamonds!” He became tense again. "You sent a couple of your best enforcers to resolve the situation. I am advised that they appear to have vanished as well as the diamonds!" The men looked forlornly at each other, clearly unaware of their enforcers' fate. “My authority comes direct from the main board. I’m here today because the situation is so critical that I have been personally instructed to solve the problem, 'even at the cost of a cell or two' – to quote my specific instructions. Do you understand exactly what I mean?" he added icily. "So now I have to tell you that one or more of you must go to Greece personally to sort this out. You will have to take the risk of exposure." The message was clear to the seated group. "You are expected to recover and deliver the diamonds within seven days. You know the price of failure!" He paused to allow the reality to sink in. “There is one other thing you need to know," he added for effect. "The mine where these unique stones originated has also experienced some difficulties with security. There is a real fear that the integrity of The Syndicate's organisation may have been seriously compromised. Do not fail in this task! Remember to think of your families, who will 199

have to pay the price if anything else goes wrong!" He stared menacingly at the seated men, turned and left the room. They sat in silence for some time. Then suddenly they all started talking at once. “How the hell do they get their information?" Someone asked. He didn’t get an answer. "I thought you said those two were your best?" one man accused the other. “They’ve never failed before!" the browbeaten one retorted. “I had nothing to do with this contract," another wheezed, trying to dodge any responsibility. “Gentlemen, please!" The group leader calmed them. "We are faced with a terrible situation which must be urgently resolved. This is no time to fight among ourselves! One or two of us have to go immediately to Greece and assess exactly what is happening. I understand that there is a man in the area who could possibly help us. Now, we’ll also need a pair of good – no, not just good, but our best – enforcers. Remember, no mistakes! It’s our necks this time. So who’s it going to be?” One man sitting away from the others looked up. "I’ll go," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "Will you come with me?" He raised his voice a little and pointed at one of the other men expectantly. The man addressed slowly nodded in agreement. "Okay, but we’ll organise our own minders, shall we?" he added sardonically. ***** Alex travelled to Angola courtesy of the RAF and British Airways. Now he was sitting in the co-pilot's seat of a privately chartered twin-engine Baron as they headed towards the landing strip at the Sintra Mine. Otto reluctantly travelled 200

with him, and sat looking pale and decidedly uncomfortable in one of the rear passenger seats. He had a particular dislike for small aircraft. The aircraft bucked nervously in the overheated air as it flew over the arid African plain towards the mine. Flying at a little under 500ft was the lesser of two evils, the pilot had warned. Fly low and suffer the updraughts caused by the heat from the land, or fly high and appear on a number of unfriendly radar screens. They found the small strip with its bright yellow Portakabin terminal building. The pilot announced his intention to land. The call was routine at such isolated places; a reply was not expected. It was the standard way of advising other aircraft of your presence and intentions. The people on the ground were surprised by the sudden approach of the aircraft. They were expecting the diamond collection flight the next day. The possibility that some of the extra guards had arrived early sent a shock wave through the unprepared prospectors The Baron taxied and parked close to the mobile control tower. An open-top Land Rover with two armed men stopped a few feet away at almost the same time. A choking cloud of dust filled the air. “Those rifles look a bit unfriendly," Alex commented to the pilot. “It’s not so unusual. There’s an awful a lot of very dangerous people in this part of the world, you know," the pilot smiled nervously in reply. The dust had almost vanished now as the light breeze carried it across the runway. They climbed out of the aircraft and approached the armed men. It was Otto who stepped forward and spoke, a new authority in his voice. "Take us straight to Sly!" The men hesitated, looked at each other in mild surprise, then gestured for them to get into the Land 201

Rover. They were deposited without ceremony outside Sly’s office. Sly appeared at the door, the lieutenant at his side. "Otto! This is a surprise. I was not advised to expect you." Sly said without aggression. “It's all a bit of a last-minute situation. But do we have to stand out here in the heat to explain?" Otto smiled. They were soon seated inside the shaded office. The portable air-conditioning unit struggling to pump a modest flow of cooler air was nonetheless a welcome relief from the searing midday heat. Cool drinks were served and Sly sat silently, his arms folded, waiting to hear the explanation for the unannounced visit. “There has been, as you may already know, a devastating earthquake in northern Greece. The last pair of our couriers carrying the special consignment stones from here was killed when their hotel collapsed." Otto looked at his listeners, who appeared unmoved by the news. Otto trembled internally; he was surprised to find that his voice sounded normal. "They had the stones on them as standard procedure required, but unfortunately their bodies have not yet been found." He looked directly at Sly. "The delivery – worth over $50m – was for a very special contract which now has to be honoured with all speed if serious penalties are to be avoided." Otto emphasised the word "penalties", giving Sly and the lieutenant a knowing look. “I have been instructed to supervise the replacement of the lost stones and complete the delivery. I want to select a new batch from your stock here and get them to Johannesburg for cutting right away. We start our return journey as soon as I have completed selecting the stones!" Otto finished and waited for a response. Sly sat back in his chair. "The only problem with all of this, Otto, is that I have not been advised of the situation. "Sly looked at his unexpected guests." Just why is that, do you 202

think?" He unfolded his arms and placed his hands together on the table. He looked up, not waiting for an answer. "You should know, Otto, that in our organisation nothing happens without careful planning." He smiled menacingly. "So why should today be the day when you arrive unannounced, seeking to collect over $50m worth of our best diamonds?” Otto was beginning to loose his nerve. They had planned the bluff hoping that it would get them into the mine and give them enough time to improvise their next move. Alex’s dedicated task was to stop The Syndicate's activities wherever possible. Stopping this illicit transaction with China would be a major step if it could be achieved. Now at least he was in their mine, but was not sure what to do next. Sitting silently with the pilot just behind Otto and looking sullen, as required for his role as a Syndicate minder, Alex knew that he would have to wait for his chance to make any kind of move. Two more armed guards appeared, apparently summoned by a signal from Sly. "Take these two to the rest room and give them something to eat and drink. Otto, you come with me." Sly pointed at Alex and the pilot, emphasising the words "rest room" with a raised eyebrow. His instructions were eagerly obeyed by a guard nudging Alex and the pilot from their seats and directing them to the door, encouraged by the ugly-looking automatic weapons they held. James and Ali watched the whole episode from the back window of the canteen. They had been hiding there since the unexpected call from the approaching aircraft. At first they too thought it must be the extra guards. That would have been a serious blow for their own plans to escape from the mine, so they were relieved to see the relatively small Baron appear – and with only three passengers. Alex and the pilot were led into the rest room. Once inside, their escort slipped out, slamming and locking the door expertly behind them. The pilot leapt at the closing door. 203

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted, hammering on the door with his bare hands. Alex had anticipated this and placed a comforting hand on the pilot’s shoulder. "Steady now; it must be some sort of misunderstanding. I’m sure it'll be sorted out soon." “Now look here," the pilot complained, "I don’t know what the hell is going on, but my contract was for a simple return flight! No-one said anything about being locked up or transporting millions of dollars worth of diamonds! What next, for God’s sake?" He slumped into a chair. The guards had left the securely-locked hut, confident that there was no chance of escape for the two men. As soon as they walked away, Nick, James and Ali, watching from the other side of the compound, approached the locked room. Ali used the key he'd obtained as a guard. They opened the door and peered inside. Alex stood at the far end, facing the door. The pilot still sat at the table looking dejected. “So what do we have here?" Nick said as he strode into the room, closely followed by James and Ali. “I have to assume, as you have been committed to the ‘rest room’, that you've fallen foul of our temporary masters," Nick smiled encouragement. "Nick Weston. I am – or I was – the boss around here.” Alex came forward, his hand outstretched. He knew the name from the report he’d read on the mine. "Alex Scott," he replied. "I think we need to exchange information, don’t you?" Nick cautiously shook the hand. "We certainly do, but not here. You need to vanish, and quickly. They won’t leave you alone for long. Follow us." Nick led them out of the rest room. Ali relocked the door as they left. Installed in the old underground explosives store, temporarily renamed their Battle Headquarters, Nick started somewhat aggressively. 204

“Now, I recognised Otto, who arrived with you on the Baron, as The Syndicate's diamond specialist. You had better have a convincing reason for being with him." “The same goes for us. I know your man Sly to be Syndicate, so why should we trust you?" Alex‘s tone was one of reason, not accusation. Nick looked questioningly at James and Ali, then returning his eyes to Alex, said: "So what do you know about The Syndicate?” Alex smiled at his liberators. "Look, time is very short and someone has to make the first move, so I’ll tell my side first, all right?” They nodded agreement. Alex briefly explained his and the pilot’s position. Then he told them about the Syndicate's loss of their couriers and their precious cargo, and about the real motives behind all Syndicate activities. He outlined the role of SONIC, telling them only enough to convince them – he hoped – that he was one of the good guys. He assured them that Otto was now actively working with him to bring about the destruction of The Syndicate and its nefarious activities. Nick and the others listened in silence, until Alex said finally, "So now that I've bared my soul, I just hope that we're all on the same side.” Nick looked at the others. "What do you think?” Ali replied quickly. "No harm in telling them our story. If they betray us, we’ll simply have them skinned alive." He was carefully cleaning his fingernails with a large hunting knife as he spoke, smiling, it seemed, in anticipation of the idea. Nick outlined their own unfortunate liaison with The Syndicate and their current situation. When he finished there was an uneasy silence. The pilot broke the spell. "Just what the fuck have I got myself into here?" he croaked desperately. 205

“Well one thing’s for sure," Alex concluded, "It seems that we’re all more or less on the same side and certainly in the same shit hole!" He smiled at his audience. "So now we have to see what we need to do to get out of it.” The others were definitely in agreement with that. “What a bloody mess!" James sighed. “Well gentlemen, for a start I expect that the extra guards will be arriving sooner than you think. The Syndicate will not spare any effort to defend this mine for as long as it’s useful to them. So we need to think how we'll deal with that." Alex paused. "Next, Sly is obviously going to be giving Otto a hard time. I don’t think he’ll be able to take too much of their treatment, so we must get him out of their hands a.s.a.p." He looked at the others. "The other important thing you should know is that as far as SONIC is concerned, the diamonds are all yours." He raised his index finger. "But in your best interests, I think you should secure any that you have in store immediately, before your friend Sly tries to do the same thing!" Alex added, "Next: you, Nick must grab your microchip and the magic box surveying equipment – or whatever it is – that you were telling me about. Then arrange a fatal accident to the drilling rig. What’s next?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes – Ali, you better arrange to neutralise the security guards as quickly as possible. How difficult will that be?" he asked anxiously. “They are a tough bunch and my team are amateurs, but I think we can do it if we have the element of surprise. Mid-afternoon is the best time: that’s when the ones off duty relax with the girls!" Ali smiled. “You must tell me about these girls! They’ve managed to keep them very quiet all this time," Nick replied. “We brought them here when the major tried to take over. They were kept to one side when your guards finished my men off! Now they’re afternoon entertainment for your guards. Personally I’ve never even seen them. Heard them 206

often enough," he grinned. "Just not my cup of tea," Ali explained simply. “Well it’s almost three o’clock now, so perhaps we should strike while we’re in the mood?" Nick offered. “I agree," Alex replied. "Nick, you go and sort out those diamonds right away. We’ll go to the office to rescue Otto. Okay?" – looking at James – "As soon as he's clear, you and Ali can sort out the guards. Nick, you will probably need help to blow the rig, so you better tell Ali who you want in case he planned to use the same men," Alex reasoned. "Finally – once the job’s been done, we should try to get out of here before those extra guards appear!" He looked at each of the assembled men. "I think that’s about it, so good luck and let’s go!” “Hang on, what can I do?" the pilot volunteered in a resigned tone. “Thank you. I suggest you get to the plane and refuel it; we may need it in a hurry!" Alex smiled and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder. Otto was seated on the edge of a thinly-upholstered metal seat, facing a similarly constructed desk. Sly sat back in his comfortable leather high-backed chair, rocking gently from side to side, an artificial smile on his face. The smug lieutenant sat quietly in the corner. "So Otto, who exactly are your travelling companions?" Sly asked casually. “Oh, the usual. You know how it is. I have to travel with a bodyguard – and of course a pilot." He tried to make light of the question. He was sweating. “Of course." Sly responded with a knowing expression. "So tell me the story once more, just so that I can fully understand it.” Perspiration trickled down Otto’s forehead as he leaned forward in his uncomfortable chair, and started once again to explain how the earthquake had devastated the town 207

and how the couriers must have become trapped inside the hotel when it collapsed. His Controller had instructed him to travel directly to the mine, replace the stones and take them directly to the cutters in Johannesburg. He must wait there until the work was completed, then personally deliver them to the buyer. “Most unusual, don’t you think?" Sly mused, "considering the scale of the shipment and all the standard security measures we are routinely obliged to follow?” “It’s true, but remember, I’m the one who vets the couriers and the goods en route. That’s why I get the job of solving this particular emergency!" Otto was coping well on the outside with his tough-guy demeanour, but inside he was trembling like a jelly. Sly thought for a moment. "Of course, forgive me – I’m just being over-cautious. You know what our masters are like if we don’t get things right." He drew his finger across his throat. His face was serious. “You stay here while I go and organise someone to collect the best of the stones we have available. Then you can select the ones you need. Okay?" He stood up from his chair. "Get Otto another cool drink – he looks as though he needs one," he ordered one of the two guards. "I won’t be long." He gestured for the lieutenant to follow. They went straight to Nick’s empty office. Sly picked up the telephone and dialled his Controller. Unusually, there was no reply to his coded call. Unknown to Sly, his Controller was airborne, on his way to Greece. Controllers did not have an answering service. It was not secure. He replaced the receiver thoughtfully. He would have to follow procedure and call again every 30 minutes. Sly sat down in a chair, wondering what to do. The lieutenant lolled silently near the door, instinctively recognising it was time to keep a low profile. 208

It all sounded so unlike any Syndicate operation Sly had ever known. On the other hand, he did know there had been a massive earthquake in Greece. He also knew that Otto was the most trusted of all their people connected with the diamond trade. Yet his gut feeling? When diamonds had been picked out from the crushed and washed spoil, they were taken to a "strong room" built into the only cement-block building on the site. This "strong room", compared to the type of security to be found at a city bank was primitive, to say the least. But out here at the mine, it had been considered good enough. The building was fitted with a sturdy-looking door secured by two stainless steel padlocks. Inside was a metal cabinet that looked a bit like a trunk deep freeze, with yet another hefty-looking padlock. This was the safe. Only Nick and Sly held keys. Sly decided that he should collect the diamonds as arranged; after all, handing them over for selection could do little harm – letting Otto leave with them was the big risk. Suddenly he’d made up his mind. "Go and keep an eye on Otto for me. I’ll only be a few minutes. Then perhaps we can relax a little?" He winked at his doe-eyed protégé. The lieutenant hurried to the office, arriving moments before James. He was just settling into a chair as James entered. “Ah, there you are Otto. I’d like you to take a look at this latest batch of diamonds.” Otto made to get up, but the lieutenant barked: "Stay where you are until Sly returns!" “Since when did you start giving orders around here, you little shit?" James retorted angrily, and grabbed Otto’s arm. "You don’t need to worry about him," James added protectively. “I say stay where you are!" exploded the lieutenant. "Guards!” 209

The guards had been sitting casually, one by the door, the other behind Otto. Both stood up in alarm, holding their weapons at the ready. Two shots rang out. The noise in the confined Portakabin was enormously amplified, slamming into the ears of the stunned occupants. The first shot ended the guard by the door’s life, without him even hearing the discharge. The second’s life ended so quickly afterwards, there hadn’t been time for him to consider what the noise was. They both collapsed in a heap with .38 slugs through their foreheads. Alex stepped into the room, the Browning semiautomatic in his hand pointing at the lieutenant. "Just one little movement, just one!" The lieutenant fell back in his chair with his hands out in front of him in abject surrender. "No! Please, no!" he screamed in panic. “Tie him up, James. Why do I know I’m going to regret letting this reptile live?" He shook his head sardonically. Using the leather belts from the dead soldiers, James tied the lieutenant's hands together as well as securing him by the neck to the headrest of Sly’s heavy chair. “Okay – now you get Otto back to headquarters." Alex ordered James. The rest of the camp had clearly heard the shots. It was the signal for other skirmishes to begin. Ali and his team had already quite easily neutralised the four guards relaxing with the girls. Approaching cautiously, Ali and five other men had quietly opened the door, and pretending to be the relief guard, walked casually into the hut. “Haven’t you guys had enough?" Ali laughed at them as he entered. Professionals though they were, they were genuinely bluffed for those few vital moments. It took only a few more seconds to cut their throats. The girls shrieked in terror. 210

“Now you just stay put! You’ll be safe here until it’s all over," Ali tried to calm the petrified women, then closed the door and left them alone with the still-twitching bodies. Nick had collected the diamonds from the ‘strong room’ moments before the operation started. He’d put them all in a plastic bag. In volume they would have filled a salad bowl. Unaware that he’d missed Sly by a mere matter of minutes, he dashed back to their ‘battle headquarters’. Glad to be back inside the relatively secure room with the stones, he passed the heavy bag to the doctor. "Here Doc – you’re the treasurer now. Best hide them somewhere, I suppose." He turned back to the door. His next job was to blow the rig. "See you shortly. I suggest you keep your head down! It’s going to get quite exciting around here in a few minutes, and your services may be needed.” The remaining six guards stationed at their observation posts acted according to a prepared defence strategy. The possibility of trouble from within had been part of their training brief. They dropped to the ground from their lookout positions on the perimeter of the camp, moving stealthily into the centre. Two of Ali’s team were taken completely by surprise. Realising that they were about to be cut off from their group, they turned and attempted to run back to the far side of the compound. The leading guard easily brought both down with a short burst from his automatic weapon. The other prospectors, seeing their comrades mowed down so easily, were stopped in their tracks, their initial confidence having evaporated. Ali recognised the hesitation of his men. "Strategic withdrawal!" his training shouted, so he immediately ordered everyone back to their prepared line of defence. It was vital to protect their route to the airstrip. Flushed with success, the camp guards systematically stalked their quarry. Having managed to wound another of 211

Ali’s amateur warriors, they started calling to each other, laughing and taunting the frightened prospectors. They‘d quickly realised that their enemy was armed, but not that dangerous. They were cautious, nonetheless – they knew that bullets are dispassionate and tear into any flesh without discrimination. The sound of an aircraft circling the airstrip attracted everyone’s attention. Someone called out: "Aircraft! It’ll be the extra guards. We’re going to get your balls now!" Others silently looked up to see a military aircraft making the turn on its final approach to land. All action in the camp stopped as the aircraft touched down and taxied close to the parked Baron in a great cloud of dust. The engines were switched off and there was an eerie silence. The door in the side of the aircraft opened but no-one appeared for a moment or two. Suddenly armed men in full combat equipment spewed out and took up various defensive positions around the aeroplane. There were 15 of them altogether, Ali calculated. The flight crew stayed inside the machine. Ali and his men were now hugely outnumbered; they were hardy men but not trained combatants and now, unsurprisingly, they were frightened. The guards in the camp, recognising their advantage, were shouting and jeering even more enthusiastically as they cautiously resumed their advance. "We’re coming to get you!" they called, "We’re going to cut your balls off!" They laughed confidently. One of the taunting guards, however, was just too cocky and foolishly put his head around the side of a building. "Where are you?" he called joyously. “Here, you bastard," the angry miner said as he fired his semi-automatic ten-gauge shotgun into the grinning face. At a range of about three metres, the head was blown to shreds by the SG shot. It was very messy. 212

When Sly discovered the strong room door open and the diamonds missing, he knew in an instant what was happening and cursed himself for not relying on his gut feeling. He returned at a run to the office. Alex, James and Otto had already left. The lieutenant was still sitting in Sly’s chair, trying to squirm out of his bonds. Sly released the lieutenant, and then took a pistol from the drawer. Alex had relieved the dead guards of their automatic weapons but one still had his side-arm. The lieutenant took it from its leather holster. "What‘s happening?" he demanded, as Sly picked up the portable VHF radio. “That bloody traitor Otto seems to have changed sides and gone into business on his own account!" Sly panted. "Well, we’ll see about that, Otto!" he shouted. The VHF suddenly crackled into life. “This is A201 military transport downwind to land on your field. No traffic in sight. Turning finals. Over." Sly held the VHF up to his face. "Sintra Mine, you are clear to land." Then: "This is Sly Hussein. I am in charge here and I have an urgent warning. You must exercise extreme caution. We have a rebellion on our hands down here, and we need your assistance. The targets are mostly at the airstrip end of the camp, so we should be able to surround them once you are in position. Over!" The captain replied calmly. "We saw the action from up here. Will contact you as soon as we’re deployed. Out." Nick had only just left the diamonds with Doc when the shooting started. Covered by the bedlam, he raced over to the survey tractor and climbed into its elevated mobile operations room. He carefully opened the sonar control panel and pulled out the cartridge containing the microchip. He then pressed a small piece of plastic explosive into the box and pushed an electronic detonator into it. He leapt from the tractor and over to the mobile rig. It was still in its last drilling 213

position with the probe deep in the earth. He quickly placed three more charges, and fused them. Sweating in the ferocious heat of the afternoon sun he jogged back to ‘battle headquarters’ just as the aircraft with its cargo of new troops was landing. Smiling, he looked at Doc and passed over the microchip and cassette. "Looks as though we're having quite a party." “You won’t think so when you see who’s in the plane. Look!" said Doc, pointing at the new arrivals through the floor-level ventilator. The troops were pouring out of the aircraft and taking up their defensive positions. “Oh shit! That’s serious trouble. Where are Alex and Ali?" Nick grabbed one of the handguns from the table and headed for the door. Doc raised his shoulders. "I’m afraid I don’t know!” “If we don’t make it, Doc, you must find a way of destroying that cassette." Nick vanished through the door and headed for the main office. Ali had been able to take out one more of the camp guards, but sadly another of the miners fell to the lieutenant, who had cunningly taken up position close to the strong room. Alex had been a few feet away, but could not warn the miner in time. Then, as often happens, the lieutenant had remained in the shooting stance, temporally frozen, gloating at his kill instead of rolling away to another position to avoid return fire. In that fatal second, Alex took one careful pace around the corner, his handgun raised, a calm dispassionate look on his face. "Hi there," he called conversationally. The lieutenant looked up automatically and must have realised his fatal mistake, but there was no time to act. The gun fired twice; it was barely possible to measure the time between shots, they had been released so quickly. 214

Alex spun away from the scene even as the last shot left the gun. The lieutenant remained in his trance-like position, only now he was quite dead, slipping gracefully to the ground, his reflexes kicking up a flurry of dust as he slithered to a stop. Another camp guard dashed to alternative cover 25 yards away. Even Alex’s reflexes could not fire in time. He swivelled away as a couple of shots slammed into the ground almost exactly where he had been lying. Another shot was discharged close behind him, and this time Alex turned to see James holding the fired revolver, a look of horror on his face. “Oh God, I think I’ve killed him!" James uttered miserably. “Thank God you have, "Alex called. "Now get your head down." The warning came too late: another shot exploded and James, looking startled, fell face down into the dust. Sly stood panting some 20 feet behind him. "You stupid fools!" he screamed, "Now you are all going to pay with your lives." He fired another angry shot into the already dying James. He still held the mobile VHF in his free hand. Alex could not get a clear shot from his present position so he did not move; amazed, he realised that Sly hadn’t seen him hidden in the shadow of the hut. Sly, unaware of Alex’s proximity, turned away and raised the VHF to talk. "Squad leader! This is Hussein. What is your status?" “We are clear of the aircraft and deployed at the end of the runway. What are your instructions? Over.” Sly looked around briefly. "The enemy seem to be located in or around the three huts and cabins nearest to you. It would be helpful if you would approach them from your side. Shoot everything that moves. We will pull back from this side to give you room to manoeuvre; I’ll call when we're ready." He slipped out of sight. 215

Alex rose slowly to his feet. The dilemma now was whether to warn the men at their headquarters, or to go after Sly. The decision was made for him by an extended fusillade of mixed weapon fire, the sound of heavy slugs slapping into soft flesh, screaming wounded, and orders being issued in a strange language. Ali staggered into view holding his bleeding upper leg. Alex called out: "Ali over here, you okay?" Ali looked up, a pained expression on his face. He looked back at something out of sight from Alex. “A lot better than the other guy!" he turned back and tried to smile, but the pain in his leg was spreading into his hip. Alex, now almost by his side, ordered: "Keep your head down! There’s another hiding in the garden over there somewhere." Alex reached out and grabbed the limping soldier, pulling him into the shaded cover behind the shed. Suddenly Alex caught sight of a movement in his peripheral vision. He stepped over the bleeding soldier, turned and dived, firing three rapid shots in one smooth movement as he rolled to a stop against the flimsy garden fence. There was no return fire. A strange silence settled on the scene; all the shooting suddenly stopped. A voice from the VHF radio broke the spell. "Hussein! Squad Leader here! We are under heavy fire and cannot move yet! What’s your status? Over." Alex crawled cautiously to the edge of the fence, inching his body around to gain a view, yet allow himself the opportunity to fire if needed. The radio lay abandoned on the ground just a couple of metres from his position. He strained even further around the fence. Sly, wounded, was crouched on his hands and knees two meters away, trying to crawl to the unanswered VHF radio. His weapon lay abandoned some distance behind him. Alex stood up, covering Sly with his 216

handgun. He took one step and bent down to the radio. As he picked it up, he looked into the tormented face of the man on the ground. Sly, now utterly defeated, slumped to the ground. "You fools!" he whispered, "you’ve ruined everything!" “For you maybe," Alex whispered back, "but for the rest of the world it’s a small victory." Sly didn’t reply. His dead eyes stared sightlessly into the cloudless sky. “Squad Leader, this is the mining camp. Hussein and his men are dead. You must surrender immediately. We will not fire, and you are free to return to your own base. Over," Alex ordered into the VHF. He lowered the radio and sighed as he looked around. “Who am I talking to? Over," the radio rasped. “I represent the legitimate mine owners!" Alex replied firmly. There was no reply. The airborne troops had formed a defensive line between their aircraft and the first huts. They were barley visible from the headquarters. Nick found his way back, half-carrying and halfdragging two wounded miners with him. Doc was soon busy applying first aid to their injuries. Alex appeared moments later, supporting Ali. He still held the VHF radio in his hand. Looking around, he said, slightly out of breath: "It looks as though we‘ve sorted out the locals, though I think there may be one still at large. If he’s smart, he’ll throw in the towel. The question now is: what are the new boys going to do?" He looked at the battered prospectors. Of Nick’s team of 18 volunteers, four were dead and four, including Ali, had varying degrees of wounds. Turning to Nick, Alex said quietly: "I suppose you know that James didn’t make it?” 217

Nick looked up sharply. He hadn't known. In all the confusion it was nearly impossible to keep track of things. He was deeply shocked by the news. “Oh no!" he gasped, distraught. Moving to one side, he turned back to the others. "My God. I just hope it’s all worth it." James had been his friend and right arm since the beginning of the project. A short burst of light machine-gun fire curtailed any further soul-searching. The leader of the airborne troops sent a man back to the aircraft to radio their base using its long-range transmitter, for new instructions. The Syndicate, through its various channels and following Sly’s request for extra assistance, had requested that the local government militia send a squad of armed soldiers to act as temporary extra guards. The local commander had eagerly complied with the call for assistance. His supplementary pension would benefit, he was sure, so he was specially keen to impress his Syndicate friends. In the circumstances, he had decided to send a squad of his best and toughest men – to guarantee success. The urgent radio message reporting the new situation at the mine came as a hammer blow. All his dreams of The Syndicate providing him with a pleasurable lifestyle in his declining years seemed to have suddenly evaporated in one brief encounter. “Can you still take control of the mine?" he bellowed at the microphone. "I’ll have to check with the captain, but the miners do not seem very well armed. Stand by while I confirm the status.” As he waited for a reply, the agitated commander considered the situation. After all, with Sly and his men out of the picture, he reasoned, there should be no reason why he could 218

not have a piece of the action for himself – which was bound to be even more profitable than the Syndicate deal! The radio came to life. "The captain confirms that we can contain the situation if required.” The revised orders the commander issued were simple and clear. "Good! In that case, you are to take whatever measures are necessary to capture the mining camp and ensure that the equipment is not damaged. Then hold it until I get there with extra some extra men." First the squad leader had to get his men off the open ground. He planned to rush half of his men to the protection of the huts, the remainder giving covering fire. He raised his hand and gave the signal. The short burst of accurate machine gun fire killed the first two soldiers as they raised themselves to the crouch position, in preparation for giving the necessary covering fire for their comrades. There was instant confusion. The fire had not come from the camp. The remaining men pressed their bodies even flatter to the ground. Alex rushed to the observation window but couldn’t make anything out. He too was confused. One helmeted head was raised a few cautious inches, straining to locate the source of the shots. Alex stepped back from the observation window and took one pace to the table still littered with a selection of weapons. He rummaged amongst the various boxes of ammunition and selected a box. “This should do the job," he muttered to himself. He deftly opened the box and selected five rounds, then opened the breach of a .243 hunting rifle with telescopic sight. He slipped four cartridges into the magazine then pushed one into the chamber. He stepped back to the window and made ready to fire. The whole procedure had only taken 20 seconds. There was no sign of the head. He waited in silence. 219

Suddenly, like a flight of partridge, 15 armed men leapt up from their cover and charged towards the huts, shouting wildly. They had less than 100 metres to cover. Firing from the unknown source started again immediately. Alex selected his target and squeezed the trigger. A man pitched forward. Working the bolt-action rifle, he fired again, missing his next weaving target. Reloading reflexively he fired again. A man fell. The survivors of the withering onslaught, six in all, fell to the ground among the huts. The squad leader was one of the survivors, but he was nursing a broken arm – shattered by a high velocity bullet. Alex shouted to Ali. "I don’t know who they are, but we have friends out there. Cover me and bring some men." He dashed from their headquarters, running towards the huts. The squad leader saw him coming and raised his submachine gun single-handed to fire. Alex fired the hunting rifle from the hip and shattered the man’s other arm. He screamed in pain; the submachine gun clattered unfired to the ground. The others saw their leader go down and gave up immediately, raising their hands in surrender, shouting and screaming in an unintelligible dialect. Alex and the men drifted to the scene of surrender and gathered cautiously around, pointing their weapons at the terrified soldiers, who still waved their arms in the air even more vigorously, their faces drawn with the tension of battle. Alex saw the discarded weapons lying scattered impotently on the ground around the demoralised men. "Best kick those bloody weapons over here before they get their courage back, eh boys?" Alex encouraged his immensely relieved men. Moments later, they were alerted by a shout. "Is Mr James there?" The call came from somewhere in the open ground. “Who wants to know?" Alex called back. “Tell him Monty is here," the voice replied. 220

Harry, the driver, moved over to Alex’s side. "That must be the boy soldier we met about a year ago, on our way home from Luanda.” “Monty! It’s Harry, remember me?" Harry called back. “Sure do Harry! Is it safe in there now?" Monty replied. “I think so, they’ve all surrendered – thanks to you!" Harry called back, knowing now where the devastating crossfire had come from. First one, then several other perfectly camouflaged and armed young men rose from the scrub and grass. They moved like wild animals, with a tense stooped trot. These young soldiers had learned the art of survival the hard way. It was several minutes before Monty finally dropped his guard. He seemed to float out of the long grass, then walked proudly up to Alex, Harry and the others, still covering the cowering would-be invaders. Monty’s group took up strategic positions at a distance from their leader. "A bit different from last time we met," Harry respectfully reflected. Monty was smiling. "I told you that I would protect you, didn’t I? Where is Mr James?” “I’m Alex." He held out his hand. "I’m afraid James was killed a few minutes ago, here in the camp," he said, still gripping the young commander's hand. "We were mighty glad to see you and your men! I doubt if we could have resisted these troops." He pointed with his hunting rifle at the defeated men, then towards the pile of discarded automatic weapons. Monty looked sad and angry. "I promised to look after Mr James. I’m sorry we were too late! He was a kind man." He looked about. "These dogs will have to pay now, yes?" he added quietly. Monty’s expression changed as he barked an order. Three of his young men jumped forward. They were all sternfaced and tense. Taking pieces of pre-cut wire from their 221

pouches, they bound the hands of the captured men. Then they joined them all together with a piece of nylon cord, looped from neck to neck. “Don’t worry, we’ll deal with these for you!" Monty smiled, issuing another command. The tethered men were led away. Nick and the remaining miners drifted over to meet their surprise liberators. “Monty, this is our boss man, Nick." Harry introduced Nick. They shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m sure pleased to meet you!" Nick said with sincerity. "We owe our lives to you.” Monty just nodded silently. "But too late for Mr James." He turned and rejoined his men. They gathered around him and he talked to them for some time before dismissing them. Nick looked about for a moment then decided, "I think we should try and tidy things up a bit around here. There are dead bodies all over the place." He looked up and called: "Is Taffy about? He seems to have become our undertaker!" “First we must comb the camp for the remaining guard," Alex asserted. "If he has any sense he'll surrender, but you can’t be too sure. Also, check their aircraft! The crew must be somewhere." Monty smiled. "We have them secure, so don’t worry about them." Monty’s boy soldiers had captured the crew together with two white men found hiding in the rear of the Angolan military aircraft. Alex wanted to send the crew back with the aircraft, but Monty was unhappy. “These people kill us if they have a chance. So we must kill them all, yes!" he reasoned with simple logic. Alex gently argued with Monty that he should let the crew fly the aircraft away, leaving the two white men. Alex 222

desperately needed to question them both. He guessed that they were the genuine Syndicate executives sent to obtain a replacement batch of diamonds for the ones missing in Greece, but wanted to try and squeeze any other information from them if possible. Monty eventually, though most reluctantly, agreed with Alex’s reasoning that it would cause less trouble if the government got their aeroplane back, even if it was without their "miserable wimpy soldiers", as Monty described them. The two white men were dragged from the aircraft just moments before the engines roared into life, and the crew hastily prepared to fly back to their base. With two of the boy soldiers standing menacingly close by, Alex found the men eager to co-operate. “I have been given to understand by the commander at the military base that you are important Syndicate executives?" Trying to make a last-ditch stand, one of the men took the bait and reacted angrily: "Well for a start, I don’t know who the hell you are, but unless you show us a little more respect, you’ll be finding out just how important we are!" He looked defiantly from Alex to his not so confident colleague. "Well, let’s put it this way: we’ve just killed your Syndicate operative here and their military friends. We are the legitimate owners of this diamond concession, and our friends here," – he indicated the glowering boy soldiers sitting crosslegged on the sandy floor, lazily poking the earth in front of them with their evil-looking machetes – "they are pissed off because your people violated their women. In this country the relatives are allowed to punish such a crime. Usually castration, at the very least!" It was too much. Even the arrogant one surrendered to his fear. "We didn’t do anything! We can’t be responsible for what the others did!" 223

Alex was conciliatory. "Look, these guys trust me, so I may be able to sort things out. But you’ve got to make it worth my while." Alex raised his eyebrows, waiting for a reply. “What do you want from us? We are only minor officials," the quiet one pleaded. "Let me decide that." Alex leaned towards them. "So whom do you take your orders from?" Alex asked, knowing the reply in advance. “We only receive orders by telephone from our Controller," one replied tersely. “But you two are senior members of The Syndicate. I know you operate as a cell and make your own decisions," Alex fired back. “Oh no, it’s not like that!" the other said defiantly. Alex nodded at one of the young soldiers. The boy slowly raised the machete, wet his finger and tested the blade for sharpness. Satisfied, he stood up and took a pace towards the man who had spoken. The man reacted instantly with terror in his eyes. "What’s he doing?" he cried out. We only ask once. If we don’t think the reply is truthful, we kill you!" Alex smiled back cynically. Both men started to talk together. They pleaded that they were merely couriers and not executives. "We know very little about The Syndicate’s organisation!” Alex knew that they would not be able to reveal much; their organisation was designed in that way. After about an hour of trying to coax information from them without any significant result, Alex said suddenly, "Okay! I believe you! The question is, will my boss? Anyway, I’ll try and convince him that you are simply minor officers of The Syndicate, sent here as couriers. Is that right?" “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you," one snapped back at Alex as he stood up. 224

“Well, whatever happens next will be up to my boss." Alex stood up and walked from the hut. He knew that the men could not reveal anything useful. Monty had been waiting quietly outside the hut. "You can put them with the rest of the prisoners now, Monty!" Doc had been busy patching up the wounded as best as he could. At last he stood up. "That’s about as much as I can do for our people at the moment. I suppose I’d better take a look at the Angolan wounded now?" he asked innocently. Ali looked up. "You won't have to worry about them, Doc. I’m afraid the rules of war are a bit different out here – there are no enemy wounded!" “Do you mean those young men have murdered the wounded?" Doc asked in astonishment. “There’s no doubt about it! And the prisoners knew it as well. It’s the way war is here. There are rarely any prisoners and definitely no wounded ones," Ali explained. As Taffy and his squad systematically collected the enemy corpses, they found the surviving camp guard hiding in the hut with the women. He tried to use the women as hostages to buy his life. Unfortunately for him, Monty conducted the negotiations. The stand-off only lasted for about ten minutes. Monty was bored with the procedure, so to the complete disappointment of his men he reluctantly agreed to release the man in exchange for the four women. “We will let you go if the women are released unharmed. You must come out within the next 30 seconds," Monty commanded. "Then we will give you one hour to get clear of this camp. Is that agreed?” The man agreed and peered cautiously around the door of the hut, still holding one of the girls by the neck. Satisfied, he pushed her back into the hut and emerged with his hands up. “Now go!" Monty ordered harshly. The man looked uncertain as he sprinted away with a surprising burst of 225

acceleration, then dodged into cover behind a parked tractor. A single shot was heard, then two more, close together. A moment later a small soldier, pistol held firmly in his hand, appeared from behind the tractor. He was grinning. “Oh, I forgot to tell Mo about the deal," Monty declared trying to look serious. His men fell about laughing, mimicking the death throws of the guard, making groaning and gurgling noises mixed with high-pitched hyena laughs. It was not a very pretty scene – and an even less attractive sound. They were in a killing mood and there was more work to be done. Alex, who’d joined them in their hunt for the elusive guard, witnessed the execution without emotion. He knew that the two Syndicate men would meet their inevitable fate with the other prisoners. He did not share in the amusement. Later, as the bloodletting and tension of battle released itself from the young warriors, they gradually calmed down, quietly sitting around in shady corners, looking vacant and exhausted. Taffy and his team collected the remaining bodies from around the camp and finally the last two from inside the hut. "They’re all yours now, boss!" He called out as he drove his makeshift hearse away. “Well, I suppose we’d better do something about those women," Alex tried to urge Monty and a couple of his exhausted young followers to assist. “Do what you like with them," Monty replied. "My men are tired. We must collect some supplies and leave the camp before dark." He sighed, gathering himself together. Alex peered cautiously into the dingy hut. The women were still hiding like frightened animals. Wrinkling up his nose against the rancid smell, he said aloud to no-one in particular: "My God, this place stinks like a pigsty! I think we should start with a shower don’t you?" he said to the startled faces. 226

They’d remained cowering inside the hut, resigned, philosophically assuming that the next batch of soldiers would simply savage their bodies like all the rest of them had done. They were ragged, miserable, undernourished, and filthy. They had not paid any attention to the identity of their liberators. “They’ll be nothing but trouble, I assure you," Monty observed. He chattered to his men, laughing and making lurid gestures, pointing towards the hut. Hearing Monty and the boy soldiers speak for the first time, the girl nearest to the door turned and spoke excitedly in the same strange dialect to the other women. First one, then the others appeared at the door, slowly emerging from the hut, shielding their eyes from the bright sunlight “Agisi! Is that you?" the first one said in wonderment. Monty turned like a striking panther and faced the woman silently. "Banni?" he whispered. “Yes my brother, it is Banni." She hesitated. "Here is your cousin and two other girls from our village." She was still unsure of herself." Have you come to take us home?" she pleaded, the tears streaming down her gaunt face. The troop of young soldiers did not leave the diamond mining camp that night. Instead they took advantage of Nick’s offer to wash, eat and to have the girls thoroughly checked over by Doc. All were treated to a well-earned feast laid on by the camp cook. The young soldiers gorged on their food and chatted excitedly in their own language, dramatically recounting their numerous experiences for the benefit of the rescued girls. Monty explained to the fascinated miners how a guerrilla group had raided their village. The old men and women had been summarily executed. The young men were given the option of joining the guerrillas or suffering the same fate. Unsurprisingly, seven of the eligible joined without hesitation. A blow to the head with a rifle butt had been sufficient to eliminate the babies and infants. The young boys and girls 227

had been spared. They would fetch a good price from Arab traders who sold them to eager clients somewhere in the north. Monty and a handful of the young boys had run into the bush and hidden when the rebel soldiers first arrived. They had watched in horror as the invaders brutalised their families and friends. Some of the boys wanted to cry out, but Monty, the oldest at about 15, managed to make them contain their anguish. "We will avenge them, I promise you!" he soothed them into silence. The captives were taken away and six armed men remained at the village overnight. Monty and the five oldest waited patiently until the men were sound asleep, then crept silently into their hut. Each selected a sleeping target, then on a signal from Monty simultaneously cut their throats, then stripped the arms and equipment from their bloody enemies, and left. They had roamed aimlessly for the next few days, meeting with other stray boys, victims like themselves of similar atrocities. There had been 12 of them when they had stopped James and Harry almost one year ago. They had listened in awe to the stories told by James of the famous British General Montgomery, and had been thrilled when James had given their leader the nickname "Monty." On that one lucky occasion they had been treated with care and understanding. One week later they’d tried to stop a government army lorry and were greeted with machine gun fire. Four of the boys were killed outright and two badly wounded. With their morale as well as their bodies severely mauled, they'd managed to escape into the countryside. Over the next few months they travelled much more cautiously, foraging for food and shelter and occasionally picking up another stray kindred soul. 228

Under Monty’s guidance they became more cunning, as he taught them all to hunt and to kill like the wild predators they understood and respected. Their constant need for food and shelter, coupled with a harsh enemy, very quickly sharpened their instincts for survival. Sitting relaxed around the campfire Monty’s warriors had constructed, drinking beers, Nick, Alex, Doc and most of the other men listened with renewed respect to these young warriors, as they relived their often desperate battles for survival. They told how, fuelled by their pride and determination to avenge their foes – and against all the odds – they overcame their weaknesses and survived. The youngest was only 11 years of age! “You know," Nick said quietly to the group surrounding him, "these young souls are doing something that we should be doing." He looked around at his audience. "They are not running away! Okay, they are ducking and diving, but they are facing their enemy!" He stood up. "We should be doing the same thing!" The others were silent as he paced, concentrating on his thoughts. Doc made to speak. Nick held up his hand, politely requesting silence. "The other concessions?" he questioned himself. "Ah God, James would have known, poor sod!" He paced slowly in front of his audience, then stopped and faced them, seeming to have made his decision. "Now just listen to me for a few minutes." He stuck out his jaw, a look of renewed determination on his tanned face. "The secondary concessions were all in my name. I am almost certain that they were not part of the equity pledged to the bank when we set up the original exploration company. Now, The Syndicate, or whoever they are, may be the legitimate majority shareholders of this concession. However, they do not own or have any lien on the others!" He looked around at the intent, silent faces. "When we started out on this adventure, the choice was either to begin here, or at the rather 229

better location about 250 miles away, just across the border in Zaire. We chose this place because at that time it was logistically and economically easier to access." His audience remained silent. "But now, moving another 250 miles with all our gear would not be much of a problem, would it?" He looked around for support. Alex spoke, breaking the silence as the others looked questioningly at each other, trying to assess the consensus of the group. "Normally I would have said that The Syndicate will come storming back here if they think it's still financially viable." His face was stern. "What is certain is that it will never be entirely safe here until The Syndicate has either been crushed or they lose interest for economic reasons." He raised his eyebrows. "I suggest that instead of blowing the rig, you dismantle it and move it, together with everything else you need to work the other concession. Then you blow out everything that’s left. I know these people – they will be seriously pissed off, but in my experience, they do not engage in uneconomic vendettas. In this case they have been harvesting diamonds for the last 12 months and will have secured a very considerable return from that. I understand they have a similar arrangement with a mine in Sierra Leone. Therefore, trying to reorganise this place, specially having upset the local militia, will in my opinion almost certainly persuade them to make a strategic withdrawal from this region." He looked around at the tired and drawn faces of the prospectors. He knew that they were psychologically exhausted as well. “Once you’re established at the other site, you can build a new village," he enthused. "Ali, you and Monty, with his army, could join in. You could be the security division and protect the village, as well as make it your new home – a new life for you all." Alex waited for some reaction. The listeners, showing new interest, nodded agreement as the idea seeped into their tired minds. 230

“You’re right – it could be something quite different, not just a mining camp but a completely new village, even a town eventually!" Doc dreamily echoed their thoughts. "We could have shops and a proper hospital!" another eagerly added. “Could we have a pub?" another hopefully asked. “Oh, just one thing boys," Taffy leaned forward. "I don’t want to be the undertaker any more, okay!” The mood lightened. The conversation flowed back and forth for some time until one by one, exhausted, they drifted away to their beds and their own private nightmares of the day’s events. Alex and Otto decided to leave the next morning. When they appeared, ready to depart, many of the others were already busy dismantling the essential parts of the camp, ready to move to their new adventure. Alex was pleased with the general outcome; The Syndicate's source of diamonds from this mine had been stopped. The area could only be economically worked using their secret technology, and they had lost that now, at least for the time being. “They're going to be very seriously pissed off!" Alex confirmed to Nick with a beaming smile. "You’ll need to be extra vigilant in future, my friend. I spoke to my people last night on your satellite phone, and they are going to sort out the military situation here. It seems we can still pull a few strings. I think whoever was in command of those troops must be on The Syndicate's payroll, so they’ll have some awkward questions to answer." “I accept your advice, Alex," Nick replied. "But they won’t find me quite such an easy proposition the next time, I promise you!” Alex arranged for the legitimate purchase of all their diamonds through his friend in the International Diamond Council, Hans de Wolf. They would have to keep production 231

to a minimum until the political climate changed, but enough sales would be processed to finance their immediate needs. “All we need are sufficient funds to support the relocation and the start-up of our new village community." Nick was happier now than he had been at any time since starting the prospecting project. It took Otto some time to complete his promised written report for Alex. He meticulously detailed from memory the devious routes taken by Syndicate couriers when transporting diamonds and other precious gems back and forth around the world. Otto felt a sense of relief on completing the report, almost as if a great feeling of guilt had been lifted from him. Now he wondered anxiously what might happen to his family. He decided to ask Alex. Alex was pragmatic. "Look at it this way. The Syndicate must think that you're dead!" He smiled supportively. "This offers you one of the very few moments in time when you could rid yourself of their influence for ever!" He shrugged. "Why not muck in with these guys? They could use someone like you.” Otto scratched his head in thought. The main problem was his family. Otto would certainly miss their little daughters, but not his petty-minded, greedy wife, he admitted to himself. It didn’t take him very long to make up his mind. "I hadn’t thought of it like that before, but you’re right. I should be able to use my skills right here," he said, looking at Alex for support. "Yes," he convinced himself, "you're probably right, this is my only opportunity to make a new life – with the prospectors, always assuming they’ll have me," he added apprehensively. “So what about your family then?" Alex asked. “They'll be okay if, as you said, it appears that I am dead. At least they should not be bothered by The Syndicate. I’ll miss my daughters for sure; but leaving my wife won’t be anything like so difficult!" He smiled broadly. 232

Alex moved to board the aeroplane. "Good luck!" he called out, waving to the little gathering of adventurers assembled to see him depart. The tiny aircraft bounced across the rough runway, gathering speed. It lifted lightly and headed away. "You’ll need lots of it," he added. ***** Alex reported to the Boss in London. "We’ve plugged that hole, for the moment. Otto believes – and I agree with him – that while the current embargo is in place The Syndicate may not bother to pursue that source any further, at least for the time being.” “Yes, I think you’re right," the Boss murmured agreement. “So what do you think the next move should be?" Alex asked cautiously. “Consider this: The Syndicate lost their largest-ever shipment of cut diamonds in that terrible Greek earthquake. You have closed their easy access to a replacement batch. Their clients, whom we know to be the Chinese, will now get very nasty indeed. Especially if they think they’ve been cheated." The Boss smiled grimly. "I have learned that as a consequence, two more of the most senior Syndicate executives are going to Greece to personally try and organise the recovery of the diamonds lost there. This could be a chance to cause more damage." The Boss paused. "Fancy another go at them?" he challenged. “You know me Boss, never miss a good party!" Alex responded. He knew it wasn’t really an option; the Boss just liked to put things that way. “Right. So you get yourself back to Greece and try to pick off those Syndicate executives. Oh, and finding the diamonds would be a bonus.” 233

Alex travelled back to Greece without any further delay. ***** The Syndicate had never lost any of their executives before, primarily because they usually sent lesser beings out into the battlefield to do the dirty work. But now, not only had they lost three of their best couriers, but also two executives and their bodyguards. Their allies in Angola were up in arms over the loss of a company of their elite troops! Their business associates in China had paid for, but not yet received, their shipment of gemstone diamonds. The situation was grim. They were not accustomed to the current scale of failure. The leader of the Syndicate was beside himself with rage, and someone was going to have to pay! Now he had broken his most sacred rule and was sending two of his partners into the firing line. His instinct told him he had been wrong. He knew he should swallow his pride and recall them, yet he pulled his hand away from the telephone and did not make the call. The two Syndicate executives delegated to the earthquake-stricken town arrived at Athens airport accompanied by three deadpan enforcers. They hired a Toyota Land Cruiser at the airport and drove through the night. Unshaven, tired and irritable when they arrived at the devastated town, they went straight to the military headquarters and asked for the surgeon in charge. They were led to his tent. Two of the enforcers waited casually outside. The surgeon greeted them cautiously. They did not introduce themselves. "Do you know who we are?" He gave them a silent nodded acknowledgement only. "We are advised 234

that you have information on the lost diamonds," the taller one asked aggressively. “I understand that one of the survivors recently pulled from the hotel either has them or knows where they are," the surgeon replied bluntly. “So where is this man?" the other blurted out. “You’re not going to find out unless you modify your attitude. So you'd better rethink your strategy right now," the surgeon responded firmly, trying to apply his authority to the situation. The enforcer pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his pocket and took one quick pace towards the startled surgeon, then with his free hand grabbed him by the front of his white coat and snarled, "We’ll ask again, because you didn’t know our simple rule – we only ever ask once. Only once! Do you understand?” The surgeon, taken by surprise at the ferocity of the attack, still managed to place a hand on the enforcer’s chest and push him away. “Call your dog off, please. There’s no need for that." He bravely stood his ground. "Who do you think called you, eh? You’re here because I called you, so just remember that!" he said defiantly “Okay," the taller one sighed, facing the surgeon. "Let’s start again. For reasons that do not concern you, it is imperative that we recover those diamonds without any more delay. You understand?" He looked at the enforcer. "Probably better if you wait outside. We’ll be okay, I’m sure." The man pocketed his pistol and walked out without emotion. “Okay! Now I’ll tell you everything I know." The surgeon relaxed and told his eager listeners his story. ***** 235

After Alex and Otto had left on their trip to Angola, John and Nancy, having little to do, felt marooned at the rescue camp. Mike and Sam were in hospital somewhere on the way to Athens and were apparently going to be there for some time. They knew that eventually they had to make some decisions. Still, for as long as they stayed at the rescue camp they had food and accommodation. Worse, if they moved away from the camp they would need funds to live on. John still had a credit card, but all his other possessions were buried in the hotel. The same applied to Nancy. "Strange, isn’t it? We’re sitting on a fortune but we don’t have the price of a cup of coffee between us!" she said in wonderment. “Just how long should we hang around here?" John asked. "I know Matt is desperately trying to find the other diamonds, if they exist." He shook his head. "But do we have to stay?" “You know what Alex said about those Syndicate people: they'll hunt us down for sure. So I suppose it’s better we stay here until the heat is off. Alex promised to contact us. We don’t have much option but to wait. Then perhaps we can enjoy some of our good fortune ... " she tried to encourage him. “In fact, if you think about it," John surmised, "should Matt find more diamonds, he will be the one in the limelight. That will probably be the best time for us to slip away into the shadows – or is that being unkind?” They were walking by the lake as their conversation trickled to a stop, and they strolled on in silence. It was not so crowded now. John slipped his hand casually into hers. She accepted the gesture, tenderly squeezing his hand. They stopped, turning to look at each other. “I know one thing for sure." He pulled her gently to him. "I’d hate to have to say goodbye to you." 236

She buried her head in his shoulder. "I have the same strange feeling." He put his hand gently under her chin and turned her face towards him; she reached up and kissed him gently on the mouth then pulled away slightly, focusing more comfortably on his face. Then, as if convinced, she pulled him close, burying her head again in his chest. "Oh John, hold me tight; let’s go somewhere away from the sight and smell of this place!" She looked up. They moved together, kissing passionately, their tongues urgently tasting each other. Flushed with emotion, John pulled back and looked down at her. “In spite of all the supposed risks, I’ve had enough of this dreadful place too!" He fell silent, unable to think rationally or know what else to say. She took his hand again and led them back towards the camp. They walked together, still silent, struggling with their own thoughts until they arrived at her sleeping tent and entered without hesitation. John secured the flap behind them. Nancy pulled the mattresses from the two camp beds, arranging them neatly on the floor. John moved the cots to one side. As he turned, Nancy was waiting for him. She stood in front of him smiling. "I think this is long overdue, don’t you?" She moved towards him with her arms out stretched, her hands moving straight to his shirt buttons. He smoothed her hair and caressed her breasts through her tee-shirt before slipping his hand under the shirt and around her waist. He felt for the clasp of her bra and tried to release it. He couldn’t undo it single-handed. He slipped his other hand around her waist and freed the stubborn fastening. He withdrew his hands slowly, flipping the cups of the bra with his thumbs, brushing gently across and around the swollen buds as Nancy sighed with pleasure. In turn she freed his shirt and was struggling with his belt buckle. He felt his member respond as Nancy rubbed her hips slowly and erotically against 237

him. He thought the instrument of joy would snap in two if it weren’t released soon. He urgently and unashamedly removed one of his hands and quickly undid the stubborn buckle. One of her delicate hands swiftly released the zip and dived inside to free the swollen member. Her hand was soft and gentle as she held it to her naked stomach. Then gently stroking the throbbing prize she bent and nuzzled it between her swollen breasts. It took only a few more moments for the rest of their clothes to be scattered about their canvas love nest. For a while they simply stood holding each other, their soft bodies caressing each other as they kissed and hungered to fulfil their pent-up passion. Then responding happily to Mother Nature’s invisible signals, together they slipped to the floor, to roll about excitedly on the various bed covers and thin cot mattresses. They teased and kissed but their eagerness was desperate for consummation. Soon they lay together, joined in an electrifying, all-consuming expression of mutual love. Eventually, their passion sated, Nancy pulled a blanket across their naked bodies. There they stayed, holding each other, temporarily at peace. Not far away, in another part of the prefabricated field hospital, the surgeon finished telling what he knew about the diamonds. In fact he knew very little, only the few snippets his orderly had revealed. The rest he’d inflated and coloured to give enhanced value to his story. When he finished he asked eagerly, "So when will I get the promised reward?” The taller man placed a friendly hand on the surgeon's arm. "You’ve done well. I’ll recommend that you receive the payment as soon as possible!" He smiled reassuringly. "Now we must press on with our part of the job." He smiled again. The surgeon experienced a strange twinge of anxiety; somehow he was not so confident. As the tall man left the 238

room he turned and called back to the surgeon: "Our man here will take the details of how the payment should be made, okay?” The enforcer walked casually into the surgery and up to the surgeon, smiling. When he was about a metre away he brought his hand from behind his back. In that brief instant the surgeon thought that he wanted to shake hands. His own hand started to move reflexively to meet the gesture. Milliseconds later he saw in heart-stopping horror that the enforcer’s hand was holding a silenced revolver. It coughed twice, the silencer effectively absorbing the gases from the exploding cartridges. The resulting noise was little more than a dull "snap, snap" as the soft-nosed slugs hit the air, followed almost instantly by the flat juicy slap as the hollow-point projectiles entered the surgeon's chest. They disintegrated as they passed through his rib cage, destroying organs and tissue as they hungrily tore their way to the outer wall of his body. The only other significant sound was that of the surgeon's dead body scattering a chair, as he tumbled like a felled tree to the floor. “Torch it! Then join us later," the tall man ordered, nodding towards the fatal scene. "I have a special job for you two." He gave the men his instructions. Alex’s arrival at the field hospital coincided with that of the fire engine. Desperate helpers had been courageously spraying the burning prefab surgery with hand-held fire extinguishers, but their well-intentioned efforts were futile in the circumstances, as exploding containers of highly inflammable surgical spirit and other similar products fuelled the blaze, now completely out of control. There had been no opportunity to rescue the surgeon – tragically trapped in the inferno. Preventing the flames from spreading to the other units was now the prime concern. There was nothing Alex could do. His gut feeling told him that this fire was no accident and he knew it was even 239

more vital now to find John and Nancy. As he strode towards the sleeping-tent area he almost collided with the medical orderly. "You’re back?" he greeted Alex in surprise. “Indeed I am, and looking urgently for John and Nancy," he replied anxiously. “They’re popular today! There's three odd bods looking for them as well." The orderly pointed, but the "odd bods" had vanished. "I told them," he nodded towards the lakeside footpath, "that they were walking down by the lake an hour or so ago." He gave Alex an exaggerated knowing wink. "But if it’s really urgent, I also saw them hand in hand heading for her tent!" his head indicated the opposite direction, as he delivered another cheeky wink. Alex smiled his understanding, thanked him and made his way quickly to their tent. John and Nancy had been roused by the clamour of the fire truck. Not wishing to rejoin the real world so soon, they tried to ignore the rumpus. “Must be something serious – and fairly close. I suppose I better take a look." John hauled himself reluctantly to his feet and hunted about the tent, looking for his hastily discarded clothing. He was almost ready to open the flap when he heard Alex’s voice calling cautiously outside. “John, Nancy: are you in there?" he repeated in a low voice. John opened the flap. "Alex! You peeping tom! Where have you sprung from?" Alex took him by the arm and pushed him back inside the tent. He saw Nancy pull the blanket up around her naked body. “I’m sorry folks, but we have big trouble. You’ve only a few minutes to get dressed and away from here! Ignore me, Nancy, there's no time for modesty. That fire was no accident: 240

there’s a Syndicate hit-squad right here in the camp! So get yourself and Nancy organised now, at the double!" he ordered John. "Then meet me at the vehicle maintenance hut. Do you still have that revolver?” “Yes I do," John replied in a daze. “Good, bring it. I have to find Matt now – he’ll be in trouble too." Alex left. For a few moments neither of them moved. They were too confused by the rapid change of events. "Come on then!" Shaking himself into action, John coaxed Nancy, smiling encouragement to her. "We’ll finish the dream later!" he winked. John left Nancy frantically looking for her clothes, as he ducked across to his own tent to collect the pistol. He was just leaving the tent when a man appeared, pushing the orderly in front of him. “Back inside," the man ordered. John, taken by surprise, complied without question. The man still holding the orderly pushed inside, then two other men appeared and joined them in the crowded tent. “So you’re John, the man who knows all about the diamonds?" the taller man started. John did not reply. “I see, the silent type, eh?" He addressed the shorter man: "Go and fetch the girl." The man left. “Now let’s start again, shall we." John looked accusingly at the squirming orderly, then at the man holding him. He decided to remain silent. The tall man looked calmly at John. "Perhaps we wait a few minutes until your little friend arrives. I think then you’ll feel more inclined to help us with our problem!" He smiled thinly. John became aware of the noise and shouting of the men fighting the fire, yet time seemed to be moving in slow 241

motion. He tried to think of something to do, but his mind was numb. The short man reappeared moments later, followed by the other enforcer holding Nancy firmly by the arm, pushing her in front of him. She was objecting noisily, trying to free herself from his iron grip. A momentary silence settled within the tent. The only sound was the hubbub of those still dousing water on the fire. “Our little diversion should give us sufficient time to learn all we need to know – then we can get out of your way, all right?" the tall one started conversationally. "So let’s start again. No more heroics." He turned to the orderly. "Tried to put us off the scent, didn’t you?" he smiled icily. “This time, no nonsense! Understood?" the shorter man added, glaring directly Nancy. “Exactly what do you want?" Nancy demanded. “That’s very simple," the taller one replied. "We want our diamonds back." Nancy proudly attempted to challenge them: "Even if there were any diamonds, who’s to say they’re yours?” The tall man nodded to the enforcer holding the orderly. There was a sound like a sharp cough. The orderly arched his back, the front of his white housecoat blossomed red; his dead face held a startled expression. The hollow-point slug tore into his spine. The shock wave paralysed his nervous system, destroying his heart and tearing his lungs apart in the same moment. The disintegrated missile exploded from his chest leaving a wound the size of a tennis ball, blasting blood and gore against the white canvas tent wall. Instinctively Nancy’s hands swept defensively to her face. A hysterical scream poured from her mouth. She felt the nausea flushing through her body. Her legs would no longer support her. She would have slipped to the ground, had she not been held so tightly by the enforcer. 242

The tall man spoke quite calmly. "So ... have you anything to add?" he looked at John. "She’ll be next if you try to be clever.” John was numb. The surge of adrenaline in his body stimulated his nervous system to the point where it was almost impossible for him to speak. His tongue seemed to be swollen and dry. He tried to speak, but emitted only strange guttural sounds. “You’re not trying to be clever?" the tall man questioned. The enforcer moved towards John, his silenced pistol pointing at Nancy. John, his mind clearing, waved his hands frantically. He desperately tried to move his tongue around his teeth and cheeks, urgently seeking any drop of saliva to moisten his arid mouth. “Wait, wait!" he barely managed to mumble, "I’ll tell you.” The gun remained pointed at Nancy, who had recovered enough to understand what was happening. “We won’t wait much longer!" the tall man threatened. John looked at Nancy then back at his tormentors. "We split them into two lots. I gave mine to Mike for safekeeping. I don’t know what she did!" He looked desperately back at Nancy. “Who’s Mike?" the shorter man asked. “Perhaps more importantly, where is Mike?" the tall man interjected. “Mike was nearly killed by one of your goons the other day. He’s in hospital somewhere!" John responded defiantly. “And what did you do with your half?" the tall man demanded looking directly at Nancy. Nancy took a deep breath. "All right then, I gave mine for safe-keeping to Sam. He was the guy who saved our lives when we were trapped under the hotel. He was injured and went to hospital. I don’t know where he is either." She sighed 243

in a resigned sort of way. "We don’t expect to see them ever again. That’s why we hung on around here. In case the rest of them are found." The two men looked at each other for a moment, then the tall one said to his colleague, "A quick chat." He gestured to go outside, then: "Tie them up!" he ordered the enforcers as they left. Outside they moved a few meters away from the tent. The tall one spoke. "We don’t have much time before the fire’s under control. It looks to me as though only one of the bodies and waistcoats has been found. I think we have to find somewhere secure for these two at least for the moment." He raised one eyebrow. He had realised they would need them both to identify Mike and Sam. "Then once we find out where those others are being held we can dispose of them." “The surgeon said something about the survivors being sent by helicopter to a hospital in Naousa once he’d patched them up here," the shorter man offered. “You're right – he did. We must split up then. You go to this hospital and sort it out. Actually the best thing to do with these two will be to take them with you so they can identify the others. So you’ll need two of the men. I’ll stay here with Carl and try to find the other waistcoat! They better be telling us the truth!" He shook his head angrily. They were getting desperate now. Their deadline was just three days away. After Alex left John, he went straight to the canteen. It was empty; everyone in camp was helping fight the fire or watching. As he turned to leave, the steward greeted him. "Well, look who’s here!" he called out cheerfully as he walked in carrying an empty fire extinguisher. "Not much better than pissing on it," he added, scornfully shaking the empty cylinder. “They'd need something more effective than a couple of those to quench that fire!" Alex agreed, adding more 244

seriously, "Have you seen the sergeant or Matt? I must find them urgently." “The sergeant‘s with the other men over by the fire. I expect Matt’s still shovelling away in the hotel ruins. Supposed to be a secret, but I know he’s still looking for buried treasure – as he confided in me when he was pissed out of his mind the other night!" The steward shook his head in mild rebuke. Alex thanked him. Leaving the canteen, he jogged up the now reasonably cleared road towards the ruined hotel. He could just see the top of a JCB peeping above a mountain of debris. There was no sound from the bright yellow monster. He scrambled past the silent machine to find Matt kneeling in the hole he’d just opened up. As Alex moved to his side, Matt looked around nervously. "Alex!" he exclaimed, "Thank God it’s you. Just look at this!” There in the cement dust was the face of a woman, her silver hair spread about her face like a halo. She looked angelic, lying peacefully in her shroud of white sheets. “This is the last thing I expected." He looked up at Alex sadly. “Well I don’t know what you were expecting Matt, but we’re too late for this one," Alex replied. "Will I fetch the paramedics to get her out?" “She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she?" Matt said sadly. "I’m sure we can just wrap some of those sheets around her and lift her out, can’t we?" It only took a couple of minutes to lift the body clear. They carried her out of the trench and laid her reverently at the edge of the rubble. “I’ll get on the radio and call for an ambulance." Matt almost whispered, as he moved away. As he turned, his foot caught in the sheet and he tripped, pulling the sheet away from the corpse. The woman’s housecoat fell open, and light 245

from the dying sun reflected like a multiple flash camera from something resting on her chest. Matt turned back, stunned. Alex had also seen the startling reflection. Once focused, Matt’s reaction was electrifying. He pounced on the object responsible for breaking his funereal mood. Slowly he stood up from the body, in his hand a cut diamond the size of a man’s thumbnail. Alex knelt down by the statue-like body, pulled the housecoat aside and revealed the suede waistcoat. "I’ll warrant the rest are in here," he said dispassionately to the speechless Matt. Totally mesmerised by the discovery, Matt could hardly move. It was everything he had dreamed of in the last few desperate days, yet now his mind refused to believe that the dream had come true. Alex was talking. "Wake up Matt! Save the drama for later. There’s double trouble waiting for you now!" Matt, momentarily shaken from his trance, closed his hand on the diamond. He gazed wide-eyed at the waistcoat and the other diamonds as Alex pulled them of the pockets. “You seem to have found the second waistcoat all right, but now we have to get away from here. If I’m right there will be another Syndicate hit-squad here any minute!" Alex urged. Matt didn’t hear, just continued to stand and gaze while Alex removed the remaining packets of diamonds from the waistcoat’s Velcro-sealed pouches, and pushed them into his own pocket. “Come on man, hurry! We have to meet with John and Nancy and get out of here!" Alex pulled Matt firmly by the arm Matt stumbled along in a dream. They were at the entrance to the canteen when the flushed-faced steward rushed out, stopping them urgently. 246

“Thank God I’ve found you. Please don’t think I’m bonkers, but I think John and Nancy are being kidnapped!" He turned and headed back towards the tent compound. "Come quickly! Look," he hissed, pointing at the parked Toyota. The driver was closing his door. The engine started almost immediately. The vehicle reversed out of its parked position, then moved unhurriedly away. Just for a fleeting second as the vehicle pulled away, Alex clearly saw Nancy’s pleading face through the rear window before someone aggressively pulled her back out of sight. “We’re too damned late, Matt! You and your bloody diamonds!" Alex cursed. The man standing behind Matt turned sharply. Alex felt the hard shape of a pistol jabbed painfully into his kidney. "Just walk away quietly. We need to talk." The command was a harsh whisper, the message nonetheless quite clear. Alex was prodded in the direction of one of the empty Portakabins. He half turned and saw that Matt and the steward were being herded in the same direction. Within a few seconds they were all assembled inside the Portakabin. Alex, Matt and the panic-stricken steward stood against one wall; two men with silenced revolvers faced them. The taller man addressed them. "So – it seems that you know about our property." He looked from face to face questioningly. Alex stood with his right side masked by the quaking steward. He carefully withdrew the snub-nosed .32 pistol. Not much of a man-stopper, but accurate and effective enough at close range. He was amazed that Syndicate professionals could be so careless as to not search their prisoners. He raised his free hand, pointing aggressively and wagging his finger at their captors. "I don’t know who you think you are, but I for one am not going to stand here and be treated like some school kid for your amusement!” 247

The tall man smiled. "It’s always the same story." He half turned to the enforcer. "There’s always a clever one." The enforcer’s eyes met those of the tall man for a brief second. It was long enough: Alex’s right hand moved gracefully from behind the steward’s back. There were two deafening explosions as the weapon swept into view. With a puzzled look and a neat hole in his forehead, the enforcer slid to the floor. The tall man’s reaction had been very fast, but not fast enough. The second copper-covered slug smashed into his shoulder; his paralysed hand could not raise his own weapon. He tried desperately to change the gun to his other hand. Almost in one smooth movement Alex took a pace forward, raised his pistol and fired again. This time the tall man was dead before he hit the floor. There was total confusion. The steward stood frozen and white-faced, his mouth moving although no sound issued from it. Matt leapt forward and grabbed the fallen weapons. He stood there holding one in each hand, not quite sure what to do next. The ear-splitting explosions in such close confines had left them all mildly stunned, with a high-pitched scream in their ears. The door of the Portakabin opened and the captain stood there, his service revolver in his hand. "Just what the fuck is going on in here?" he demanded angrily, looking in astonishment at the carnage. Alex moved to the door. "Sorry, Captain – more of the same trouble I’m afraid. We'd better talk.” The steward staggered out into the fresh air followed by Matt still holding the pistols. "I’ll take those!" the captain said with authority. Matt willingly released his grip on the weapons, looking down at them as if he had not realised they were there.

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“Matt, take our friend to the canteen and give yourselves a mug of tea or something. I’ll be with you in a few minutes." Alex moved away with the captain. “Alex, I know all about your authority from the Home Office, but every time you appear you leave a trail of dead bodies. Do you realise that I’ve been in the army for 15 years and never even pointed my gun at a man!" The captain slumped into his chair. "So what’s the story this time?” Alex smiled with understanding. "It’s the same story really. The Syndicate is still looking for the diamonds. Unfortunately our earthquake survivors found some of them. Now, believe it or not, Matt the volunteer JCB driver has just found the rest of them." “Christ!" the captain exclaimed. "Pretty soon we’ll have armed gangs battling for the booty!” Alex suddenly remembered the diamonds. Matt had only seen the one cut stone – the others from the torn waistcoat were still in his own pocket. He discreetly patted his jacket for reassurance. They were all still there. “Not if we keep things under our hats, Captain. I'm pretty sure that those two in the Portakabin are all that were left here. The others took off with John and Nancy as hostages. I think they must be heading for the hospital where Mike and Sam are being looked after." Alex paused. "What I need now – and urgently as usual – is a helicopter to take me to that hospital. I must be there before those Syndicate killers." Alex looked at the captain in anticipation. “How many more Syndicate men are there?" the captain asked. “Three, I understand," Alex confirmed. “Let me organise the transport first, okay?" The captain moved to his telephone. "Flight operations please," he requested. A few minutes later everything had been organised. "I’m afraid the nearest helicopter is about one hour away. 249

Even so, we should easily beat the others to the hospital at Naousa." The captain sounded confident. "Now, you’re going to need some support," he reasoned, "so how about if I travel with you – accompanied by one of my men?" He smiled, patting his holstered side-arm. "Always wanted to use this in anger," he grinned. “I appreciate the gesture, Captain, and I could certainly use the help, but just remember these are serious players – as you've seen. So it won’t be an exercise. You do understand?" Alex challenged. “I understand. I’ve seen exactly what you mean." He nodded in the direction of the Portakabin. “Another thing, Captain, with due respect. If he’ll come, I‘d rather have Matt along with us as the extra man. Is that a problem?" The captain shook his head. "You're probably right. With the best will in the world, my men are still either medics, engineers or clerics – certainly nothing like front-line troops." He paused briefly. "You’re happy if I come, I take it?" he asked anxiously. Alex thumped the captain on the shoulder. "The question doesn’t arise, my friend," he responded confidently. The helicopter with Alex, the captain, and the eager Matt was in the air heading for Naousa about two hours later. The pilot shouted into his headset from the cockpit. "Sorry I’m a bit late. Had to take on extra fuel." “We still have time," the captain reassured Alex. The road from here to Naousa is a nightmare. They sat in silence, each tussling with their own thoughts. The time passed quickly. “Ten minutes to landing," the young co-pilot announced into the headset, bringing them back to reality. "The hospital’s helipad is on the car park of the Accident and Emergency entrance, at the back of the building," the pilot commented. 250

They landed in a flurry of dust and leaves liberally mixed with bits of paper and other garbage littering the car park. "I hope it’s tidier inside," Alex said under his breath as the rotors came to a halt and the debris slowly settled. They walked unchallenged into the hospital via the double swing-door marked "Accident & Emergency Entrance". "Seems to be the same words in any language," Matt pondered as they passed through. The arrival of the noisy helicopter seemed to have been taken for granted, and raised little interest. A man in jeans and tee-shirt sitting behind a desk looked up without interest. Alex nodded but received no acknowledgement. They had deliberately not advised the hospital of their impending arrival. “... just in case the bastards get there before we do," Alex had cautioned. In the main lobby they asked at reception where they might find their friends. The lady spoke a little English. "We have no names." She gestured. "Hospital full, many broken people in earthquake. Don’t have all names." “Thank you! We go look for our friends," Matt replied in broken English, believing it would be easier for her to understand. “Yes, yes you go look," she encouraged them, pleased to have solved the problem. “There’s one little problem: we know what Mike looks like," Matt looked at the little group, "but we don’t know Sam!" “So let’s find Mike first. I’m sure he’ll know where Sam’s hiding. I suggest we start on Surgical," Alex reasoned. They took a lift to the top of the six-storey building. "It'll be easier walking down, eh?" the captain smiled weakly; he was beginning to feel tense. 251

Luckily Mike was in the first ward they searched. It was packed with 20 or more other patients swathed in bandages, some of them attached to a variety of devices that held up a leg or an arm. There was even one unfortunate patient suspended face-down in a special harness. Mike was sitting up in his bed reading a magazine; a couple of tubes attached to plastic bags of clear liquid snaked their way mysteriously into his bed. There did not appear to be any uniformed staff about. Most of the other patients were being attended by what Alex assumed to be visiting relatives or friends. Consequently the tiny ward was bulging with people. The smell wasn’t too good either. “My God! What’s that smell?" Matt said, grimacing. “I don’t think hygiene here is quite the same as you find at home." The captain wrinkled his nose in sympathy. The surprised Mike greeted them with genuine joy. "I can’t tell you how good it is to see a familiar face. It’s a bit of a free-for-all here." He waved his hand around. "Not too many nurses here – they expect your family or neighbours to look after you!" “Listen Mike, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve had more serious trouble with The Syndicate. Where is Sam? We need to locate him as well," Alex interjected. “Those buggers!" Mike exclaimed. "I’ve a considerable score to settle with them as soon as I’m mobile again." Then he added with a complete change of tone: "Anyway, Sam’s over there," he pointed, "being fussed over by two local girls. Trust him, eh?" Sam lay with both legs in traction and one arm in a cast. The other hand signed and waved as he teased the giggling girls. The odd gurgling noise – his answer to a laugh – was the only sound he uttered. Alex smiled briefly. "Let’s hope we can resolve the problem without moving you both." 252

“Well, I think you’d better tell me what’s happening," Mike sighed. Alex outlined the situation to date. "So I’m afraid we’re about to have another visit from The Syndicate!” Anchored to his bed by the medical equipment as he was, Mike’s brief burst of bravado suddenly evaporated, and he felt hopelessly vulnerable. A wave of anxiety, close to panic, flooded through his damaged body, Alex noticed Mike’s change of mood and colour. "Don’t be too alarmed. We’re going to move you both out of this hospital to a location which is not only very secure but where you will receive first-class medical attention. In the meantime we are going to have to deal with this current threat to your lives," Alex grinned encouragement. “I expect they will want to find a safe place to hold John and Nancy before they come looking for you. So we should still have a little time to get organised," he concluded. “One of the problems is that there are so many people moving about here that it's almost impossible to tell who's who." Alex rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "There are two main entrances, so we can’t effectively cover those with only three of us – and protect you guys in here at the same time." He sat on the edge of Mike’s bed. “What about the helicopter crew?" the captain offered. "The pilot looked like a pretty tough character! I’m not so sure about the co-pilot." “There, you see – you’ve earned your keep on this mission already! Why didn’t I think of them?" Alex smiled at the captain. “We have to ask them first," Matt added cautiously. The captain turned and walked from the ward. "Leave that to me," he called back, tapping his nose with his index finger to hint at his secret powers of persuasion. “If the pilot will help, that means we can cover each entrance and still have two up here on the ward. Fortunately 253

the captain has provided us with some VHF radios. The two covering the entrances will each have one. We'll keep the other one up here." Alex stood up looking serious. "Ideally we need to try and stop them downstairs; if they get up here and shooting starts, a lot of innocent people are going to be hurt. Our main problem, though, is how to identify them with all these other civilians milling about!" Alex waved a hand in the direction of the family of helpers. “Won’t they ask at the desk, just like we did?" Matt suggested simply. “Well, they may – we're not sure just how much information they have," Alex replied. "But you’re dead right, that’s exactly what they’ll do." Alex had made up his mind. "Right, so Matt – you stay here at the entrance to the ward with your weapon and this radio. Keep the gun concealed a much as possible; we don’t want to panic these people." He passed the small VHF set over. "We’ll check in from time to time, okay?” Matt smiled down at Mike. "Diamonds – best friend or foe, eh Mike?" “I just pray they don’t cost any more lives," Mike replied sadly. Alex hurried down to the reception area but couldn’t see anyone conspicuous there. He moved to the main entrance and scanned the car park; there was no sign of the Toyota Land Cruiser. He walked briskly back through the scruffy corridors to the Accident and Emergency entrance at the rear and there, parked quite close to the helicopter, was the Toyota. His pulse quickened slightly as he anticipated the inevitable confrontation. He could see that there were people in the rear of the vehicle, but could not make out who they were. He had to assume that it was John and Nancy, which meant that their kidnappers were confident that they had not been followed – and had not bothered looking for somewhere secure to hold them. 254

Alex tried to weigh up the situation. His team clearly still had the benefit of the element of surprise. The Syndicate hit-men were already in the building, but must have divided their resources by leaving at least one man guarding John and Nancy. He hurried back to the reception area. He was horrified when he nearly bumped into the captain and the pilot walking ashen-faced towards him; another man followed close behind them. Alex stopped and bent casually to fiddle with his shoelace. The captain looked straight ahead but the pilot looked appealingly at Alex, who stood up as they came alongside, took one swift dive and shoulder-charged the man herding them. The man was taken by surprise. Alex rolled on top of him, pushed his snub-nosed revolver into his chest and fired in one deft movement. The noise of the shot was almost perfectly silenced by the close proximity of the weapon. People close to the incident stood back, unsure what was happening. The captain reacted instantly. "Okay folks, make room," he soothed, speaking calmly in English. "Come on, make room – this fellow has had a heart attack. Stretcher or trolley, quickly," he instructed the curious onlookers with practised authority, making the appropriate pushing and carrying signs at the same time. Out of nowhere a trolley appeared, pushed by a civilian. "Emergency?" he said in English, smiling and pointing to the Emergency ward. “Thank you," was all the captain said, as he and Alex lifted the dead man onto the trolley, then pushed him at the run down the corridor and into the Emergency ward. Alex wheeled the trolley into an empty cubical, closing the curtain behind him, then casually sauntered away, looking artificially confident. No-one had paid very much attention. 255

Alex rejoined the captain and pilot. "I think you'd better tell me what happened," he asked them quietly The captain explained how he’d found the pilot having a cup of coffee in the canteen, having left the co-pilot to guard the helicopter. He had just finished apprising the pilot of the situation when two men approached them. One asked if they were the helicopter crew, explaining that they had to collecting two patients who needed specialist treatment at another hospital. Could they assist by flying them to the nearest civilian airfield? The captain apologised, stating that the helicopter was a military air ambulance and was not available for private charter. “Perhaps this will make a difference," the shorter man offered, pushing his hand inside his jacket. The captain genuinely expected that the man was about to produce a wad of cash or something with which to bribe the crew. They were both shocked back to reality when the hand reappeared clutching a silenced Browning semi-automatic. They were being herded to the helicopter when they bumped into Alex. “So where’s the other man?" Alex demanded. “He told that one" – the pilot spoke for the first time, nodding his head towards the Emergency ward – "to take us to the helicopter, and that he was going to find the others.” Alex took his VHF from his pocket. "Matt, this is Alex, do you read?" he called urgently. After a couple of seconds Matt replied: "Receiving you just fine. Everything okay with you?” “Listen carefully, Matt! They’re in the building and I think one is on his way to you; keep a sharp lookout – I’m on my way up." Alex pocketed the radio. “Nancy and John are being held in the Land Cruiser parked near the helicopter. I want you two to keep an eye on them. Don’t do anything unless absolutely necessary, okay?" Alex started towards the elevator. "If we miss the bugger upstairs, he’ll obviously try to get back to the vehicle. Then 256

you’ll certainly have something to do!" Alex vanished into the lift. He tried calling Matt from inside the lift without success – the signal blocked, he assumed by the lift shaft. He burst from the lift cage as the doors opened. "Matt, it's Alex," he shouted into the radio, "Keep sharp! I think there’s one on your floor. I’m on the way. Over." There was no reply. Alex raced down the corridor and into the ward. Unlike before, it was almost empty now. Matt was sitting on Mike’s bed. He assumed that they were chatting. "Matt, you’re supposed to be guarding the door. Didn’t you receive my message?" Alex shook his handset at him. Matt looked up, a pained expression on his face, and then with a slight nod of his head, his eyes indicated someone standing a little to his left. Alex followed the gaze. The man sitting on the other bed had a towel lying casually over his hand; the shape of a gun muzzle was unmistakable. “You had better calm down, whoever you are. I have some business to conduct with this man." He indicated Mike. "Now, I assume that you are armed?" He waved the towel. The gesture was clear. "Carefully please, put it under the sheet with the other one.” Alex leaned over the bed and discreetly removed his pistol, then slipped it under the sheet. A distinctive clink was heard as it made contact with Matt’s gun. Alex stood up and smiled at the gunman. "So what now? We are employed to guard and protect that man over there." Alex pointed vaguely to the other side of the ward. "We are not able to assist you as well." He tapped his mouth thoughtfully then smiled. "Not, that is, without first agreeing terms – and of course our fee – right Matt? "Alex looked at Matt still seated on the bed. “I don’t see why not," Matt reasoned, responding to the act. The gunman was unsure of himself. 257

Alex turned to go. "Oh well, it looks as though he thinks he can manage. Personally I think he's a bit outnumbered." Alex had taken a couple of paces when the gunman stood up, hissing: "Stay where you are!” In that brief moment, as the gunman’s attention was firmly fixed on Alex, Matt deftly slipped his hand under the sheet and grabbed his pistol without having been seen. He stood up slowly, the gun concealed by his side. Mike, having seen the move from his position in bed, called out anxiously: "Hey, you’re not going to leave me here with him, are you?" The gunman turned to face Mike. "You’ll get your chance to talk in a minute." He smiled back confidently. At almost the same moment, he felt the unmistakable cold touch of a gun barrel in the nape of his neck. The realisation of his fatal carelessness sent a numbing wave of nausea throughout his body. “You’re beginning to get the hang of this game," Alex complimented Matt with a cheerful grin. "Hold him there for a moment." Alex moved to a wall cabinet, returning with a roll of bandage. He firmly bound the gunman’s elbows behind his back. "That should hold him for the moment. But keep the gun on him." “Now we have to get everyone out of here, and quickly, before his mates catch on! Incidentally, you do have the diamonds, don’t you?" Alex asked, taking Mike by surprise. Mike thought for a moment, then said: "Now that’s another long story. So let’s get out of here, then I’ll tell you." It was Mike’s turn to smile. On the ground floor, the captain and pilot had taken up position at one of the windows overlooking the car park. They were less than 100 metres from the Toyota, but the slightly tinted glass made it difficult to positively identify the occupants. 258

“I wish we could be sure that they're okay in there," the captain said tensely. “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t check out the helicopter. After all Larry’s still out there – or should be – and we are, or at least I am, part of the crew," the pilot replied positively. So they moved casually across to the parked aircraft. The co-pilot emerged sheepishly from the rear of the aircraft. He had fallen asleep across the passenger seats and been blissfully unaware of everything. The pilot climbed up into the cockpit while the captain walked boldly up to the Toyota and spoke to the man sitting at the wheel. “Your buddies have chartered us to take you and your patients to a civil airfield about 200 miles from here," the captain said conversationally. "The flight lieutenant is just doing his pre-flight checks, so you can come on board now and be ready for them. Apparently you’re in a bit of a hurry," he added smiling confidently. He courteously opened the door, inviting the driver to descend. The man was cautious, but persuaded by the logic, and got out of the car at the captain's request. "The two in the back will be going with us," he said abruptly. "I don’t know what you’ve been told, but they’ve been a bit difficult and had to be restrained." He opened the door to reveal his troublesome passengers. John and Nancy sat gagged and taped together by their adjacent left and right arms. The captain looked in. "We’re being paid handsomely for this charter, so we don’t really care what you’re up to – just as long as we can get underway as soon as possible," the captain shrugged, ignoring the startled passengers. "We’ll save quite a lot of time if we load these two now, before the others arrive." Then he looked at the passenger pod of the helicopter and pushed his cap back on his head. "It’s going to be a bit crowded in there," he added, turning his back on the man. 259

“Okay – out, you two!" the man ordered. John and Nancy struggled out of the vehicle and across to the waiting helicopter. The co-pilot’s head appeared from the cockpit window; he thrust out his arm with the "all clear" thumbs up sign. The captain returned the signal. "Okay, all clear! Up you go." He helped Nancy first, John scrambling after her. "Is this the rest of our party?" the captain asked cheerfully. The man turned to check. The pilot's hand appeared in the doorway gripping a heavy wrench, which he swung down with excessive nervous force on the unprotected head. The unrelenting oily steel sank into the relatively fragile skull; there was a spongy slap, then the man’s nervous system lurched into uncontrolled turmoil before shutting down completely. The dead body lay on the ground twitching. For a few moments no-one spoke. The captain reacted first. "Well, I did say 'Tap him on the head with something' ... I just hadn’t thought of going that far." He looked resigned, but continued with a weak smile. "Mind you, I’m not complaining! I’m quite sure that’s what Alex would have done." The pilot just stared at the twitching body, not quite able to comprehend the result of his attack. Visibly shaken, he turned and climbed into the pilot's seat. "Christ, Larry! I just killed that man! And there’s another dead one inside the hospital! Shit. I thought this was supposed to be a hospital run, not a bloody massacre!" He pulled on his helmet and switched on the intercom. "As soon as they're all on board you take her, Larry. I can’t stop shaking for the minute." "Leave it to me, sir!" the co-pilot replied in a military fashion, and started his final checks – pleased to have the responsibility. The captain reached over to John and Nancy. "Here, let me get you out of this." With the aid of his penknife he released the couple. "There you are, that’s better, I’ll bet!" he declared with satisfaction. "Perhaps you can help with the 260

garbage now?" He smiled at John, who was massaging the circulation back into his arms. “I can’t tell you how glad we are to see you lot. How the hell did you find us?" John replied, obviously relieved. “I’ll fill you in later – we’re collecting Mike and Sam as well," the captain smiled triumphantly. The limp carcass of the dead bodyguard was lifted and bundled into the back of the Toyota. As the tailgate was being closed the captain’s VHF buzzed. "Alex here! Do you read? Over." “Loud and clear," the captain replied. “We’re going to need a little assistance here. We have one prisoner and our two patients. We’ll meet you at the A and E entrance, okay? Over," Alex continued. “Affirmative," the captain replied simply. "We’ll leave Nancy here with you while you get ready for an immediate take-off," he instructed the co-pilot. “Roger that," came the co- pilot’s reply. The captain and John jogged across the car park to the entrance as Alex appeared, leading a man with his hands tied behind his back. Matt and two of the hospital staff were pushing the mobile stretchers bearing Mike and the heavily bandaged Sam. Alex spotted John and greeted him with genuine pleasure. "Well! Am I glad to see you! I guess your being here means there's another story to tell, eh?” “The problem Alex, is that every time you appear, trouble isn’t far behind," John grinned. "Nancy and I were kidnapped by your Syndicate friends, but happily liberated by the captain here. God knows how many dead bodies are lying around! And no bottle of champagne to defend myself with!" He scowled at the captive Syndicate executive as he shook hands vigorously with Alex. "But it’s still bloody good to see you.” 261

“By the way, what did happen to that fateful bottle of champagne?" Alex asked. “It’s under my bed back at the camp, waiting for the next attack!" John laughed. "So where are we going now?" he asked curiously as they headed towards the helicopter. “Well, the doctor at this hospital has arranged for Mike and Sam to go to Athens for further specialist medical assessment before any long-term decisions can be made. This one goes to jail for a very long time." Alex looked indifferently at the bound man. "So first we're going to fly to a civil airfield about 50 miles from here, then we go by air ambulance to Athens." He looked again at the tethered man with distaste. "As for this piece of shit, I hope to hand him over at the same time, assuming my boss has managed to make the right arrangements to meet us." He smiled confidently. They crossed the car park to the waiting helicopter, and between them they loaded the patients. The others squeezed in, closing the door. Alex gave the co-pilot a thumbs up, and the double lock was engaged. “So what do you folks plan on doing now? Isn’t it time you headed home?" Alex asked John and Nancy as they waited for take-off. “Can we talk to you privately some time?" Nancy whispered in Alex’s ear. “Of course – any time," he whispered back, just as the helicopter's engine roared and gathered speed. The passenger cabin vibrated violently for a few moments before the machine gently lifted several metres into the air, then, dipping its head like a charging bull, it sped away, and was soon out of sight of the curious onlookers.

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Chapter Ten When Alex had made his initial telephone report, the Boss had been adamant. "I want to interview this so-called Syndicate executive personally. So do not hand him over to anyone but me! Understood? l plan to meet you at Athens airport and I'll take him off your hands myself. I’ll be there this time tomorrow. Okay?" "On ice until tomorrow," Alex confirmed. You did not argue with the Boss. The captain organised the delivery of Mike and Sam to their new hospital, then returned with the others to the camp. As they all had to go back to the camp, their prisoner was obliged to travel with them. "When the Boss says don’t let him out of your sight, that’s exactly what he means," Alex told the captain, who had wanted the man to be locked up by the local police. When they arrived back at the rescue camp, John and Matt enthusiastically agreed to assist in guarding their former captor. “We keep him tied up. He does not eat, drink, or piss, clear?" Alex said to his volunteer guards. “Isn’t that a bit cruel?" Nancy interjected. Alex rounded on her, uncharacteristically angry. “Nancy, this man is already responsible for killing the medical orderly here, and probably the surgeon too – and no doubt many others. He would have killed or maimed you just for letting his coffee go cold, so you don’t need to have any sympathy for this creature whatsoever!" The prisoner was gagged and tied to a bed. They took it in turns to watch him. During one of Matt’s duty periods, John and Nancy sat with Alex in the deserted canteen. “Alex, we need your advice," Nancy blurted out. 263

“How can I help?" he replied gently. “Well, we have a big problem: just what should we do with the diamonds? They've caused so much death and pain. We can’t help thinking that there ought to be something good that can be achieved with them," Nancy said despairingly. “I’ve thought about this problem as well," Alex replied. "It’s not easy for you, I know. But I think the only way may be for you to do something quite radical." They nodded in mutual agreement. “And don’t forget Matt is involved now, especially having found the second batch of stones. Which incidentally, I still have in my care." Alex sipped at his coffee. It was already cold. "I have a suggestion." He got up from the table. "Let's double-wrap that moron – then we can all discuss the situation together, and hopefully agree on the best solution. Yes?" They agreed, following Alex to the hospital tent where Matt was guarding their prisoner. Alex checked the bindings and nodded with satisfaction. "I don’t think he’s going anywhere, do you?" he addressed the others. "Come on then, let’s get some fresh coffee.” Seated back in the canteen Alex outlined his idea. "Let me start by telling you the approximate value of the diamonds. This is Otto’s informed estimate, not mine." Alex pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Based on the assumption that the diamonds Matt found on the woman – who incidentally, we now know to have been a room maid at the hotel – were of a similar grade to the ones that you two have, we are talking of $40+ million, wholesale value! "He looked at his silenced audience. "Is it any wonder that The Syndicate continue to make strenuous efforts to recover them?” The listeners remained silent, waiting for the proposal. “There are a few essential actions you will have to take," Alex continued. "First you agree on whether or not you have the right to any of these precious stones, which, as you 264

are well aware, have already cost numerous lives." He paused for effect. "I reckon we have the right to part of them, though, don’t you?" Matt addressed John and Nancy. "After all, they would have been lost in the rubble if we hadn’t saved them!" he argued boldly. “Surely someone would have found them eventually. And what would they have done with them? However we did find them, so I think you’re probably right, and we must be entitled to at least a part of them," Nancy reasoned. “The question is, what part are we entitled to?" John chipped in. After about ten minutes of argument back and forth, Alex interrupted. "I’m sorry, but I think that you’ve arrived at the stage where you're simply repeating the same points. Do you mind if I make another suggestion?" They agreed. “Now you understand why we asked for your help," Nancy said meekly. Alex smiled at her and continued, "Now look at it this way: if you had recovered these diamonds for a legitimate operator, the question of a reward would be on the table, not who owns them – am I right?" No-one spoke. “The reward would probably be 10% of their commercial value." Alex continued. "That equates to about $4 million. Now if we stretch the rules a bit, let’s say the reward is to be $1 million each, making a total of $5 million. Would a sum of money like that give each of you a new start in life?" Nancy grabbed John’s hand. "Oh John, that makes a lot of sense to me! Does it to you?" She gazed at him. “It certainly does," he replied, squeezing her hand gently. “How about you?" Alex asked Matt, who had been quite argumentative, but now sat quietly at the end of the table. "You know, I never thought of it that way. I suppose it 265

is the legitimate way. And I will agree a million bucks would set us up in our own business – that’s me and my old mate the sergeant, you understand! So what‘s to happen to the balance?" he enquired. “Yes, the balance," Alex mused. "Now this is where I’m suggesting something a bit radical, which is that the balance could be put into a Trust specifically to fund the rebuilding of the municipal facilities of this sad little town. The people here are likely to wait for years for adequate funding of their own. It would be a way of helping to repay fate." He looked at each of the intent faces. "How does that address your individual consciences?” "That sounds exactly like the right solution. These poor souls will really need some help to get their homes and lives back together," Nancy enthused. “Absolutely," John agreed. Nancy sat up and asked: “What about Mike and Sam – shouldn’t we be asking them?" “I think they would be delighted with the reward proposal. He and Sam often spoke of setting up their own hotel and restaurant in the Greek Islands. $1 million each would be a fantastic start for them!" John looked at the others. "I also bet they’d be more than happy with the proposal for the Trust Fund," he concluded. “But how can we be sure it'll be used correctly? You know what happens to most of these charity funds!" Matt added cynically. “That’s a very important matter to resolve." Alex replied. "I have already spoken to some people in London. They advise me that it is possible to establish a Trust Fund with specific objectives, and to appoint honorary trustees to observe and ensure that the funds are only used for their specific purpose."

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Nancy nodded agreement. "That sounds fine by me." She looked at the others. "But what about your share?" she added, looking back at Alex. “I don’t need to share in the spoils," Alex explained. "My role is to see that The Syndicate is deprived of the diamonds, and that as many of them as possible are removed from the game. That is my reward, but thank you for thinking about me! I appreciate it.” “Can we agree then," Alex continued, "that you accept a $5 million reward for the recovery of the diamonds?" Alex waited for confirmation. "I am assuming that you agree that this will be in the best interests of Mike and Sam?" “Yes. Well, I for one agree." Matt spoke first. “We agree, don't we?" Nancy said, looking into John’s eyes. “Yes, we agree," he confirmed with a smile, squeezing her hand gently at the same time. “Okay! At last we’ve started to get somewhere," Alex sighed. "Now in order to obtain this theoretical reward, first you have to dispose of the stones." The listeners looked on, blank and silent. “Remember, these stones are Conflict Diamonds – technically they are banned!" Alex paused. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked his silent audience. "Okay then: first we have to transport the stones to Antwerp. There I will be able to make an arrangement with a trusted diamond trader. My contact realises that it is better he purchases them legitimately rather than let them be sold on the black market by The Syndicate.” “Finally," Alex said, "and probably most importantly, we still have to find a way to convince The Syndicate that the stones are lost for ever – and that there is no mileage in pursuing you lot."

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“That’s certainly the most important bit!" John agreed. "There isn’t much point in living a life of continuous persecution, is there?" “Well, normally The Syndicate give up when their target is dead or of no more commercial value. They rarely waste resources on vendettas." He looked at John and Nancy. "I think you two are going to have to disappear for a little while. Just to play safe." He looked towards Matt. "You haven’t really come to their full attention, so I think you'll be all right – but you must terminate your presence here immediately! Mike and Sam will have to temporarily assume new identities, just like you two. My department will organise all that for you, if you agree. Now we must plan on leaving here. I suggest early this afternoon, with the helicopter. I have to hand our prisoner over in Athens at approximately 1800 hours. Then it’s Destination Antwerp!" Alex laughed lightly. "Those diamonds will never be safe until we place them in the hands of the trader." He looked more serious now. "So back to reality, everyone. You lot check on the prisoner, please. I have to start making our travel arrangements with the captain." They all agreed, leaving the canteen in good spirits to resume their vigil with the prisoner. But their easy mood evaporated in one instant: the prisoner had vanished, his ties cut and left dangling from the bed-frame. "Oh no!" cried Matt, the first to enter the empty prison. "What the fuck’s happened here?” The others pushed in behind him. "How could he have escaped? He was tied up like a mummy!" John added, examining the severed bindings. "These have been cut with a knife," he declared. “Does that mean someone in the field hospital must have cut him free?" Nancy queried nervously. “It looks that way," John concluded. “Why do you find that so amazing?" a familiar voice at the entrance said. 268

They turned to face two men: the liberated Syndicate man and the sergeant. Smiling menacingly, the Syndicate man held an automatic pistol in his hand. "Where is the clever one?" he demanded. In a low voice he said to the sergeant: "We need to neutralise him. He’s the dangerous one." “Right here, Mister," Alex replied. The man turned, surprised by the voice behind him. But even as he turned, Alex struck him in the temple with a vicious jab delivered with the heel of his hand. Stunned, the man’s knees buckled. His finger flexed minutely on the trigger; the gun jumped in his hand as it fired. With an expression of shocked disbelief the sergeant looked down at his stomach. The pain was already spreading through his abdomen. He looked at the others. "I think he’s killed me," he whispered in amazement, and sank to the floor, doubled up in searing pain from the fatal wound. Matt squatted on the floor, trying to help his friend. "We’re getting help! It’ll be okay!" The sergeant lay curled up in agony on the floor, his hands clasping his bleeding stomach. Near-black blood was also pumping from a wound in his back. The captain and an orderly came rushing in. "I thought we’d finished with all that?" the captain hissed angrily. “I know what you mean! We’ll be out of your hair this afternoon; that’s a promise." Alex sighed as he completed rebinding the still unconscious Syndicate man. “Why did you let him go?" Matt asked. “Greed, my old friend – simply greed. I was tempted in a weak moment. I thought of you, and all those diamonds, and me completing my time in the army as a simple sergeant; suddenly I was envious and wanted them for myself." He was very pale and weak now. "I’m so sorry, Matt." Nancy slumped exhausted in a chair, her head in her hands. "I can’t take much more of this," she cried softly. She could not see the blood pumping from the sergeant’s fatally 269

damaged body. She’d heard his exchange with Matt. She leaned forward and angrily shouted: "Dammit, he was your friend! He was going to share his reward money with you, and you nearly got us all killed!" she sobbed. "You stupid bastard!" she screamed at him. “Steady Nancy, he’s just about finished." John placed a gentle arm around her. She looked back at the sergeant and noticed the blood for the first time. She turned tearfully to John, a hand over her mouth. "Oh God, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?" She fell into his arms and began to cry. "Oh darling, get us out of here, please!" She sobbed uncontrollably. John held her tight. He knew then that he wanted to protect her and share the rest of his life with her. The sergeant died quietly without saying another word. They left the shattered town within the hour. The captain was there to see them off. "Don’t get me wrong if I say please don’t come back!" He smiled at Alex. "Actually, this last week has been the most remarkable, and may I say, exciting of my career – but I wouldn’t want to repeat it too often." He smiled. “Understood! And thanks for your support," was all Alex said as he shook the outstretched hand warmly. Nancy slipped an envelope onto the captain's hand as she said goodbye. "Just a little thank-you note. I wasn’t sure if we’d see you before we left." She hugged the bulky captain, then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for our lives," she whispered in his ear, then scurried across to the waiting helicopter. The ponderous machine lifted noisily into the air, gathered forward speed and soon disappeared over the low hills at the edge of the sad little town. The captain wandered thoughtfully into his office. He sat at his desk and opened the note. Dear Friend, 270

The events of the last two weeks have changed our lives forever. Without the help of you and your organisation, we would not have survived, either from the ruins of the hotel or at the hands of those Syndicate murderers. You made it possible for us to enjoy the rest of our lives, or at least have the opportunity to make something of them. Thank you most sincerely! John & Nancy P.S. The attached is by way of a little thank-you. Remember diamonds really are a girl's best friend. It’s only our greed that turns them into a foe. Taped to the corner of the letter was a pale blue cut diamond, almost one centimetre in diameter. The afternoon light flashed in the multitude of facets as he held it up nervously between his fingers. "There's only one place for you," he said out loud, "and that’s on my lady’s hand." He grasped the stone. "Thank you!" he called out. "Thank you very much!" The helicopter landed at the Hellenikon Airport in Athens. The Boss, in an inconspicuous courtesy minibus, met them on the tarmac. Their still tightly-bound Syndicate prisoner was spirited away in another vehicle, accompanied by three tough-looking agents. “Glad to see the back of that one!" Alex confessed as he greeted the Boss. "He’d have a pair of concrete boots, if I had my way!" The Boss smiled. "Don’t worry, we’ll look after him. Everything has been arranged for your intrepid band of heroes – exactly as agreed." He smiled. “Thank you," Alex replied sincerely, shaking his hand firmly. “See you in Antwerp in the next couple of days then." The Boss turned and climbed back into the vehicle. Matt and Alex quietly slipped through the departure gate and boarded a scheduled flight to Antwerp. 271

John and Nancy were given a very public send-off for their return to England. The international press was there for the occasion. Newspaper headlines read: "Miracle Survivors Returned to the Bosom of their Families". They waved happily in the classic pose from the top of the boarding gantry of the aircraft. Then they were flown to Rome, to connect with a military charter for the final homeward leg. There was even more media attention in Rome before they eventually lifted off, the military aircraft climbing on a westerly heading into the setting sun. The aircraft was tragically reported missing just 15 minutes after take-off. Apparently it had cleared Italian airspace and reported reaching its allocated cruising altitude. Soon afterwards, it just disappeared from the radar screen over the Mediterranean. No message or Mayday call was received. “Miracle Earthquake Survivors in Final Tragedy" the newspaper headlines blared. ***** Alex and Matt travelled to Belgium without incident, and were soon comfortably installed at the Antwerp Hilton, a significant change from the facilities of the rescue camp. Matt wasted no time taking advantage of his sudden and agreeable change in fortune, by wallowing in his Jacuzzi until his body looked something like a white prune. Reluctantly he pulled himself from the hot bubbling tub. The heat and vigour of the Jacuzzi's action had completely relaxed him. Steeling himself, he stepped purposefully into the power shower and turned the cold jets on to full pressure; after the languor of the hot-tub the icy jets of water thrashed his fragile skin like hailstones. He shuddered at the icy attack but stood firm, determined to kick-start his wrinkled, tired body. "Fifteen seconds," he said to himself. "One, 272

two, three ..." The seconds passed like minutes; finally ... 15. He slammed the lever tap to off, stepped out of the cubicle, and grabbed the huge fluffy towel and rubbed his freezing body aggressively. After a few minutes, he was dry and tingling. Then he moved over to the king-size bed, pulled back the duvet and fell on to the smooth silk sheets. He relaxed, closed his eyes and fell almost instantly into a light dreamy sleep. He awoke with a start when about 20 minutes later the telephone rang. "Mr Gregory, Matt Gregory?" an accented voice asked. Without thinking he replied sleepily, "Yes of course, who wants to know?" The line went dead. He sat bolt upright in the bed. "Christ! How did they know my name?" he said aloud. He had registered as Mark Grey, sticking to his initials for the sake of simplicity. He called Alex immediately but there was no reply from his room. Matt dressed quickly and tried the phone again: still no reply. He was replacing the receiver when there was a gentle knock on the door. “Matt, are you there? It’s Alex" the voice called quietly. Matt opened the door. "Thank …" The words died in his mouth as two large men barged into the room, grabbing Matt and restraining him. Matt was strong and fit, but he was held like a baby in the grip of two Neanderthal enforcers. A tall, slim, grey-haired man with sharp, steel-blue eyes entered the room. "You have our diamonds. We would like them back," he said simply. "Now for the avoidance of doubt, you will have just one opportunity to tell us where they are. Is that quite clear?" he stated emphatically. He didn’t wait for a reply. "So, where are they?" he asked formally, raising one eyebrow. Matt was still confused by the sudden attack and the unfamiliar feeling of being held in such a powerful grip, barely 273

able to move. He replied without thought or hesitation: "Go fuck yourself! I’m not talking to anyone while I’m being held by these apes!” The grey-haired man nodded to one of the enforcers who drew a short wooden truncheon from his pocket and smashed it down rapidly on each of Matt’s knees. The sound of the bone splintering was quite clear moments before the bull-like roar that issued from Matt’s throat. A third blow to the back of the neck, and Matt collapsed in the arms of his tormentors. “Keep him on the floor," the grey-haired man ordered. They dropped Matt’s limp body to the ground. He groaned but did not move. “Search the room," the grey-haired man ordered. Matt was left unguarded; he would not be able to move very far with two broken kneecaps. “Here!" called out one of the men, the merest sign of emotion in his voice. "I’ve found one.” It was the single stone Matt had found when he’d pulled the body of the housekeeper from the ruined hotel. “Good, now bring him around. He must know where the rest are." Matt was semi-conscious, yet the pain in his legs was screaming at him, pulsing like electric shocks up into his thighs and numbing his mind. His head felt as though it was on someone else’s body. A disfigured face filled his watery vision. The face was speaking but the words drifted back and forth without meaning. “We’ve found one stone, so we know that you have the others. Tell us where they are and we’ll get you a doctor, and the pain will go away. Do you understand me?" the greyhaired man tried to plead logically, holding Matt’s head to face him. 274

Matt groaned. Saliva dribbled from his slack mouth. The man withdrew his hand in disgust. Matt’s head fell back to the floor with a dull thud. The grey-haired man looked up, shaking his head angrily at the expressionless minder. "If you’ve hit him too hard I’ll make you regret it, you…" He didn’t finish. Everyone froze in their tracks as the telephone rang. "Don’t pick it up!" the grey-haired man ordered sharply. The persistent penetrating sound tensed their nerves. It continued for at least eight or nine rings, then stopped. “Quickly now! Search for those diamonds – we have very little time!” ***** Alex met with the Boss as arranged and completed all the necessary arrangements for John and Nancy to start their new lives together in their chosen land of Australia. All that remained outstanding was the handing over of the diamonds. John and Nancy arrived at the quiet suburban hotel on the outskirts of Antwerp. They were holding hands and clutching the well-travelled bottle of champagne. “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging onto that old bottle?" Alex greeted them cheerfully. “We plan to deal with it now!" John confirmed, looking at Nancy and giving her a playful hug. They moved into a small room set up with a boardroom table and ten delegate chairs. Each position was equipped with notepads, pencils and the usual water glasses. "Take a pew, folks." Alex gestured to the chairs. "I understand the Boss has briefed you with your new identities and the various ramifications of your future lives?" Alex started conversationally. "So, as far as I know, all that remains now is for you to hand over the diamonds – then I can arrange for the agreed funds to be credited to your new 275

accounts, wherever they are." Alex smiled. Then holding up his hand said quite seriously. "No, don’t tell even me." John appeared about to confirm the account location. "The Boss and one other are the only ones who know your secret and I’m not that other person." John closed his mouth and Nancy replied. "Well then, you’d better have the diamonds, then we can get started on our next adventure!" She smiled coyly, looking in adoration at John. “So where are they?" Alex asked, curious. John was busying himself with the wire on the champagne cork. It snapped easily. "First a drink!" he proposed, and extracted the cork. There was no characteristic pop. Alex’s heart sank. He felt embarrassment for John, who had nursed his bottle halfway around the world, waiting for this special moment – but John didn’t appear moved at all as he pulled one of the fluted water glasses over, and poured from the bottle. Alex looked on in amazement. Nothing flowed at first. Unperturbed, John elevated the bottle a little higher, then shook it gently. A single diamond clinked into view, followed noisily by others rapidly cascading into the waiting glass. John looked up in triumph. "The diamonds delivered as promised." He grinned as the water glasses in front of him gradually filled with the glittering gems. "Oh – and these wouldn’t go into the bottle." He turned to Nancy. She smiled, removing the broad belt she had customarily worn. She turned it inside out and removed eight huge stones hidden in the lining. John looked at her approvingly. "With your approval," – he held a soft pale blue stone in his hand – "we’d like to make this one into our engagement ring.” Alex smiled. "I didn’t see anything, did you?" he asked innocently. With the transaction complete, awkward goodbyes were said. John and Nancy were whisked away in an incon276

spicuous car to start the journey to their new life. Finally left alone, Alex gathered up the stones and poured them into the velvet bag Hans had provided. He balanced the bag in his hand: $20 million, he thought, as he tested the weight. And how many gallons of blood? He called the Boss, still waiting discreetly in the next room. "Nancy left this for you," the Boss said as he stepped into the room. He handed Alex a white envelope. He opened it and extracted a short letter. Alex, The recent traumatic disruption to our lives left us in a state of abject confusion. We have to thank you for your guidance and support, above all for your friendship. Without that we would never have been able to retain our sanity. We know that you will refuse any sort of token of our gratitude because of your rare but refreshing code of ethics. So the attached is specifically not for you, but for the beautiful young Oriental Cocktail, Rosie, about whom you talk so often and with such obvious affection. Good luck! Maybe one day we’ll meet again? John & Nancy Attached to the corner of the letter with a strip of Sellotape was a soft rose-pink-coloured cut diamond. Alex handed the letter to the Boss, who said: "They’re absolutely right: this will make a perfectly lovely ring for Rosie." “Yes, I suppose it would." For a moment Alex pictured his beautiful Rosie. "And I do agree that it’s time to finish this business and go home." He suddenly realised just how much he’d missed her. “So let’s get on with it, eh?" Alex picked up the telephone and dialled Matt’s hotel. The call was put through to his room. It rang several times but there was no reply. "Strange," he mumbled to himself. “What’s that?" the Boss said. 277

“I don’t like it. Matt knew I would call as soon as I arranged his meeting with you. He wouldn’t go out before he knew the time and place." A twitchy spasm suddenly flexed his stomach muscles. "I'd better get over there just in case." Alex moved to the door. “Wait, I’m coming too. It may save time in the long run," the Boss reasoned as he caught up with him. It was only a short drive to the hotel. On the way the Boss said casually, "You never know, but you may just find this useful." He handed Alex a Beretta .32 semi-automatic pistol. "It’s loaded, cocked and on safe. Here are two spare clips." Alex smiled and accepted the offered handgun. "You were always a good mind-reader!" he replied, pocketing the weapon and ammunition. They pulled into the hotel car park. Leaving the car, they walked casually up to reception. "One-oh-eight please," Alex asked the receptionist, noticing that Matt’s key was not in its pigeonhole. They took the stairs to the first floor. Alex and Matt had adjoining rooms. Alex carefully opened the door to his own room and quietly entered, pushing the cocked gun out in front of him. The Boss followed close behind. “I want you to try the phone again. I’ll listen at the door!" Alex whispered. The Boss nodded agreement. Alex wedged his door open with the vanity stool and moved silently to Matt’s door. The Boss dialled direct to the room. The muffled sound of movement inside the room stopped as soon as the phone started to ring. The Boss let the telephone ring nine or ten times, then returned it to its cradle. The faint sound of movement resumed. Alex retreated silently back to his room, closing the door carefully behind him. "There’s definitely someone in there – and they don’t fancy answering the phone," Alex said 278

in a low tone. "That has to mean that Matt has visitors, and you know who I think they are." “But how the hell did they find us here?" the Boss replied, exasperated. “All that matters at this moment is that they are here and Matt’s in there with them," Alex hissed. "It’ll have to be the ‘low door’ attack. That should draw them. Okay?" “Okay by me. I‘ll do the wounded soldier bit." The Boss hadn’t been in the field for the last three years and he felt that old adrenalin rush. He’d almost forgotten what it was really like. “Keep your head down then," Alex warned, anxious for his safety. The Boss grinned. "Bet your life," he whispered as he moved towards Matt’s bedroom door. He quietly got down on his knees, then lay flat on the floor against the bedroom wall. He raised his hand as high as possible and tapped the door. "Matt – are you there?" he called, casually tapping the door again. The response, although anticipated, was deafening, and the Boss curled up on the floor covering his ears against the terrifying blast as the heavy calibre handgun slugs burst through the door and the adjacent studwork walls at normal chest height. The gunmen had naturally anticipated that their target would be standing upright. The Boss let out an agonising groan and banged the wall to mimic the sound of falling to the ground. After a few moments the door was cautiously opened. A semi-automatic in a huge hand appeared, followed by a head which darted out looking left and right before withdrawing as quickly as it had appeared. “Seems to be clear," a gruff voice declared. The head and gun reappeared, looking anxiously up and down the corridor again, then finally at the writhing and groaning body on the floor. 279

The man stepped cautiously out of the room with his back to the empty corridor. "Clear!" he called back into the room, as he looked down at the apparently mortally-wounded man on the floor. Another large figure, crouching low, stepped out of the door and bent over the groaning figure. Alex stepped lightly from his doorway, firing at the closest upright target in the same smooth movement. The man grunted and looked down in amazement at his chest. The other figure looked up in surprise. The silent flash from the Boss’s gun was the last thing he was ever aware of. Alex took three strides to the bedroom door and peered inside. Matt was lying on the floor. He appeared to be unconscious and drenched in water. "What have they done to you?" he called angrily and stepped into the room. Alex sensed rather than saw the man leap out from behind the door. Cursing his own amateurish carelessness, he half turned, parrying the threatening gun hand with a vicious chop. The gun fired harmlessly into the wall as it flew from the man's hand. His own gun exploded a few centimetres from the assailant’s ribs. The twin explosions in the confined room hammered painfully into their eardrums and invaded their brains. The grey-haired man winced and started to fall, his other hand clutching a lethal stiletto knife. Even as his knees buckled, he instinctively swung at Alex’s unprotected stomach. The serrated razor-sharp blade sank easily into Alex’s abdomen, cutting tissue and gut without compassion. Alex grabbed at his lower body, the instant pain firing like an electric shock into his nervous system. Unseen under his clothing the blood was already oozing from the wound. The inner muscle lining of his abdomen had been pierced, his intestines on the point of bursting out of his body.

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Another shot came from the corridor. Alex shook himself from his temporarily shocked state. Looking up he saw the Boss standing, gun in hand, over the first enforcer. “That big bastard needed another to keep him down," he said with an adrenaline-induced tremor. Exhaling air and gathering himself together, he called across anxiously, "You all right, Alex?" “The bastard managed to stick his toothpick into me," Alex tried to make light of the wound. "What about Matt?" he added. “Looks pretty bad to me! I’ll call the ambulance." The Boss was already dialling a special number. "They’ll be here in a few minutes." Then he dialled again. "Let me speak to the duty manager." He spoke quickly into the phone, then replaced the receiver. Alex sank gratefully into a chair. Blood was already dripping from the jagged wound onto the deep-pile carpet. The sound of people shouting and calling was heard as guests and staff appeared, aroused by the shots. “Okay folks, there's been a bit of an accident, but it’s all over now. So please make way for the paramedics!" The soothing practised voice of the duty manager was heard quickly and calmly calming the ruckus. “Here, let me look at that." The Boss bent down to Alex sitting quietly in the armchair, blood dribbling through his fingers onto the floor. The Boss stuffed a hand towel into his trousers. "Now keep that pressed tight on the wound. They won’t be long." The pain was numbing Alex’s mind. It felt as if his intestines were falling out of his body. The paramedics arrived, efficiently gathering up both living and dead. They were on their way within minutes. Alex gratefully succumbed to a pain-killing injection. When he awoke several hours later, he had already undergone special emergency surgery at the hospital and been spirited 281

away to a secret address in Antwerp’s sprawling suburbs. It was a place designed to provide private recuperation facilities for agents recovering from the occasional battle wounds inevitably suffered by SONIC operatives. Here there were no prying bureaucrats asking awkward questions about reportable wounds – or the occasional corpse. The Boss was dozing in the bedside chair when Alex regained consciousness. "Ah! So you're still alive then?" he grinned cheerfully. Alex looked around. "What about Matt?" he asked, slightly subdued. “Sorry Alex, I’m afraid he didn’t make it." He bowed his head. "I was with him at the end." “What did they do to him?" Alex asked angrily. “They’d cracked his skull and damaged the spinal connections, causing internal bleeding. Our people couldn’t control it in time. Apparently those animals kept slapping him, then dousing him with cold water to keep him conscious. Of course – they wanted to know where the rest of the diamonds were!" The Boss was silent then continued. "He asked me to let his little sister have his reward money. I’ll sort that out." The Boss continued quietly, "I found this on the guy who stabbed you." Between his thumb and forefinger he held Matt’s diamond. "His last words were: 'Please do not let her have any diamonds, they’re nobody’s best friend' ..." “Poor old Matt, he may be right," Alex added, tenderly exploring the taped wound in his abdomen. The Boss slipped the stone into his pocket. "I’ll find a good home for it and add the proceeds to his little sister's fund." He paused. "Incidentally, I'm certain they were Syndicate. But what I can’t understand is how they found us!" He leaned forward in his chair. “Not a good move on their part though, as it turned out," Alex interrupted with a grin. 282

The Boss shook his head. "True, but that still doesn’t tell us how they could have known that you and Matt would be at that hotel.” “I agree, it doesn’t make sense. I was confident that our trail was covered from the time we left Athens," Alex insisted. The Boss shook his head in disbelief. "I’m afraid I’m back on that old notion of mine: we must have an inside dealer." ***** Alex was confined in the clinic for next 48 hours. The buxom but angel-faced matron smiled. "Don’t worry, it’s no more than a biggish hernia!" she comforted him. "So out of that bed now, and let’s see you take some gentle exercise.” Alex obeyed, eager to be out of the place, and eased himself out of the bed. Taking a first tentative step, a sudden sharp pain stabbed into him. It felt even worse than when the wound had been originally inflicted. He winced, looking down instinctively. The difference now, he was pleased to note, was that his intestines seemed to remain inside his body. He took another step. Not so bad this time. He shuffled over to the window and grabbed the sill for support. “There you are, easy isn’t it?" the cheerful nurse called from the door. "And you’ve got a visitor," she added suspiciously. Alex turned in surprise. This was supposed to be a 100% secure unit. He was about to protest when Hans de Wolf stepped into the room. “Surprise! Don’t panic, the Boss told me to call. And in case you wonder how I knew where you were, I had the pleasure of a few days here with Kurt after my most recent bombing experience." He beamed, holding out his hand. "My 283

nurse was a bit slimmer than that one," he nodded back to the closed door with a frown. “How are you Hans, you old fraud?" Alex welcomed him. “I’m still having to keep a low profile," Hans explained. "But more to the point, how are you?" he asked seriously. "Just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?" He patted his old friend fondly on the shoulder. "Didn’t duck quickly enough that time! Must be getting rusty, eh?" Hans continued with a knowing smile. "Or perhaps that young lady's too much for you! Worn you out, eh?" He frowned. Alex looked at Hans, his face deadly serious. "At least I don’t go around blowing up my own office!" he fought back happily. "Too bloody lazy to carry your own bags!" He looked away in mock disgust. Hans smiled. "That’s true – but not too bloody lazy to carry this!” He produced a carrier bag from behind his back and pulled out a stone bottle of Alex’s favourite: Bocma, a powerful Dutch gin. "Maybe this will improve your humour," he smiled. "Oh, by the way – this one’s on me. In other words: a free drink from me!" Alex finally dropped his guard. "It can’t be free! There must be a catch." He pointed to the chair. "You sit there, I’ll get the glasses." He shuffled to the bathroom and returned with two plastic beakers. “These may be a bit on the big size for Dutch gin but I suppose it’s the one way I can be sure of a decent measure," Alex smiled warmly. Hans poured a generous measure of the clear, oily liquid into each of the beakers. "To you, my dear friend." Hans swallowed the contents in one practised gulp. Alex raised his beaker in salute. "And to you, you old scoundrel!" He swallowed the fiery liquid in the same fashion. 284

“The Boss told me the story. He seems to be all steamed up about a possible insider. What do you think?" Hans asked seriously, the traditional mock-abusive banter over. Alex, still savouring the alcohol as it spread its warmth throughout his body, looked into his friend’s face. "The Boss has a thing about insiders. I suppose that’s because The Syndicate do have such an amazing ability to influence people.” "Well anyway, you found an absolute fortune in diamonds and rubbed out a few of our Syndicate friends at the same time," Hans started a different line of conversation. "You certainly managed to spread yourself about, eh?" He paused thoughtfully. "How the devil did those lucky souls manage to find those diamonds and survive in that collapsed hotel’s cellar? Amazing." Hans shook his head in disbelief. “It was," Alex agreed, reflecting on the whole remarkable series of events. “So what was the final situation out in Angola? What happened to the mining team and their advanced technology detection system?" Hans asked conversationally. Alex was about to reply when the telephone at the bedside buzzed angrily. Alex lifted the receiver. "Room service. How can I help?" he announced with a smile and a wink. The voice of the bossy nurse replied. "You’ve another visitor arriving shortly. The Boss’s authority. I thought you were supposed to be a state secret!" “Do you know who it is?" Alex asked quietly. "I’m waiting for the security code to come through with the name. I’ll call you back." The line clicked. Alex replaced the instrument. "I’m suddenly popular. I obviously didn’t get all those Syndicate thugs." He laughed. Hans stood up. "Oh well, I’ll give you some space. I’m officially still out of circulation, so can’t risk meeting the 285

wrong people! I’m not sure what the future holds for the moment, but when I decide you’ll be the first to know, I promise. Give me a call when you can: my coded mobile is still secure. Best use the office phone though – it’s cheaper." He grinned and gripped Alex’s hand firmly. “Seriously, for a moment please." Hans was still holding his friend's hand firmly. "Just so you know: I’ve organised the sale of all the diamonds the Boss brought to me. The cash has been transferred to the special accounts he set up. He told me how you persuaded those survivors to use the stones for the good of the community, and only to accept the reward money. In this modern world of greed, that doesn’t happen often any more. I just wish that others could fight greed so easily. Bravo, my friend." He nodded his head knowingly and sighed gently. Reluctantly he let the hand go, and walked towards the door, his prosthetic leg squeaking faintly as he moved. He turned at the door. "Oh, and I’ve also arranged, through a major international corporation, for the legitimate purchase of limited quantities of diamonds on a regular basis from your intrepid settlers in Angola." He raised his hand in a final salute. "Just promise me that you’ll take good care of yourself, my dear friend!" He turned and left without looking back. The telephone buzzed again. "Now look here, I could be a married man for all you know!" he barked into the receiver. “Now that would make you really interesting," the bossy nurse replied. "Your next visitor does not have a name apparently, just a nickname: 'the carbon tester’ – does that mean anything?" she asked hopefully. “It certainly does," Alex replied, mildly surprised. "Send him up when he arrives, please.” A few moments later there was a rapid tap on the door. "It’s okay, come in – I’m off the bedpan now!" Alex 286

encouraged. The door opened. The bossy nurse stood there looking serious. “Is this who you think it is?" she huffed, pointing with her thumb at the man standing just behind her. Alex looked in disbelief at the man he had assumed to be Otto the diamond specialist. The man standing there with a grin like a Cheshire cat looked nothing like the Otto he had known in Greece and Angola. The man squeezed past the nurse. Taking a step towards Alex he raised his hand. “Perhaps you know this chap a little better." He removed the cap, taking away the wig and flowing ponytail with it. His other hand plucked away the glasses and false nose. Alex laughed aloud. "Why you cunning old fox!" He shook hands and patted Otto on the back. "What the devil are you doing here?” The door closed softly as the nurse retired discreetly from the room. “The Boss’s idea of security!" Otto smiled. "He asked me to come to Antwerp to advise some Euro-government bureaucrats on diamonds, and to verify the origin of some special stones he’d obtained. But look," he blurted out nervously, "You ought to know that I saw a man down the street – I’m not sure whether he’d followed me or whether he was watching the building, but I’m pretty sure he’s one of The Syndicate's enforcers I saw on duty at an exchange meeting a couple of years ago." He looked at Alex tensely, wondering what to do next. Alex struggled up from his chair to peer out of the window, but could not see anyone in the street. He grabbed the phone, punching the special numbers for the Boss's emergency connection. "What is his name?" he asked. “I don’t know! Nobody has names in that organisation." Otto shrugged his shoulders. "What does he look like then?" Alex asked impatiently. 287

Before Otto could answer, the Boss’s voice-mail responded. Alex punched the extra numbers into the instrument. He looked up at Otto and nodded. "Just a minute, please." The Boss answered. "Alex?" “Otto’s here. He claims to have seen a Syndicate enforcer outside my so-called safe house!" Alex was calm on the outside but seething on the inside. Safe houses were supposed to be completely undetectable. “Does he have a name or description?" the Boss asked briskly. “Apparently not," he said into the instrument. "Is there any way of identifying him?" Alex looked up, addressing the anxiously pacing Otto. “Not much, really." He scratched his jaw. "He’s tall and slim; that’s about it." Otto rubbed his chin. "None of them smile very much." “Better play safe and get yourself ready to move on my command. I’ll call back shortly." The Boss replaced the receiver. The Boss was about to pick up his telephone to organise transport for an emergency evacuation when his secretary burst into the room. "You'd better read this, Boss!" She handed him a copy of a text message. Urgent: The Boss Alex’s safe house compromised. Hans. The Boss, still holding the note in one hand, grabbed his phone and ordered the transport. "At the double!" he barked. Slamming down the receiver he reached across the desk and picked up his direct-line phone. He punched in a 3number code and waited, absently drummed his fingers on the desk. “Alex?" 288

“Yes," Alex confirmed. “Is Otto still with you?" “Yes, he is," Alex replied. “Okay – then I want you both, and the staff nurse, out of there immediately. I believe that somehow you’ve been compromised. I’ll have transport with you in the next few minutes, understand?" “Affirmative, I’ll call as soon as we're secure." Alex replaced his phone and called urgently: "Nurse!" The door opened immediately. "Start packing your bags! Orders from the Boss – emergency evacuation please. We have three minutes, max." The nurse didn’t question the order. She knew the routine and smiled back confidently. "I’m ready now.” “Otto, my friend, it seems your observation was right and we have a Syndicate hit-squad on our tail!" Alex managed to smile at the anxious Otto. "By the way, how did you get here?" he asked the astonished Otto. “By bus to the junction, then I walked. Why?" Otto replied vaguely. “Just wondered how they knew you were coming here. Anyway, our transport will be here in a few minutes – so stay calm, okay?" Alex encouraged him. “I knew I should never have come back to Europe!" was all Otto could say. The nurse appeared with Alex’s clothes on a hanger. He had no other possessions at the clinic. He started to dress. Her own few belongings were almost all pre-packed, ready for such an emergency. Once Alex was dressed and ready to leave he took a last look around. His eyes settled on the stone bottle of Dutch gin. "We're definitely not leaving this to the cleaners!" He picked up the bottle, securing the cork with a tap from the heel of his hand. He knew that it was time to get home to his 289

lovely Rosie. He’d had enough of The Syndicate and their ruthless regime for the moment. “Don’t think I’ve given up on you greedy bastards!" He shook his fist in the air. "I’ll be back. I’ll be back soon!" he repeated. The car’s horn sounded outside the building as arranged. The door was flung open as the nurse and Otto raced down the path to the waiting car. Clutching his old friend’s bottle of gin, Alex followed, limping painfully to the waiting car. The nurse slipped in beside the burly driver. Otto held the passenger door open for Alex. As he bent to enter the vehicle, they heard the distinct double cough of a powerful silenced handgun. Just a few metres away and almost simultaneously, there came the sound of air being driven from someone’s lungs with a low drawn-out sigh, and the body of a man rolled heavily onto the path from the cover of the bushes. Alex dived into the car, reflexively reaching for his own weapon. Otto threw himself in after Alex, landing in a heap on top of him. Alex struggled to extricate himself. "Where’s my gun?" he roared angrily. “No time for heroics sir," the driver shouted over his shoulder. Alex tried to look back through the rear window, but fell back to the seat as the pain from his reopened wound overwhelmed him. “Okay driver," he hissed, fighting the agonising pain, "Let’s get the hell out of here!" The driver floored the pedal and pulled away from the scene in a cloud of smoke from the burning rubber. Otto sat up and looked back. An old tramp in a scruffy coat with a hat pulled down over his long, shaggy hair moved slowly across the road, waving his stick irritably at the cloud of smoke from the burning tyres. 290

There was nothing else to be seen. ***** Just before he crossed the street, as Hans left Alex’s safe house, he spotted Otto. He had not recognised him immediately – it was the slightly hunched shoulders and that sailors' roll way of walking that were unmistakable. The disguise was good though, he admitted to himself. Then his blood froze as he recognised the face of the man following some 50 metres behind. It was the so-called security guard conveniently taken ill on the night Hans’s office was destroyed. In a flash he recalled the whole incident, and realised the man he was looking at must be a Syndicate enforcer, which also explained how the bomb had got into his office that night. The question now was: "Who was he after, Otto or Alex?" He didn’t know for sure whose side Otto was on. It didn’t really matter – either way he was sure that Alex was in deadly danger. Hans had asked the taxi he’d taken to the safe house to wait. It was still parked around the corner. He hurried back to the waiting vehicle. The driver started the car as Hans approached. “Just hang on a little longer if you will, please!" he told the driver as he entered the cab. The driver, watching his passenger in the driving mirror, was amazed to see Hans take from the duffle bag sitting on the back seat an untidy, long-haired grey wig. He fitted it expertly on his head, then pulled a scruffy old hat over it and left the cab again. "Won’t be long!" he advised the startled driver casually. He carried a walking stick and a dirty old raincoat, which he put on as he walked back to the junction of the road. He turned the corner just in time to see the enforcer furtively taking up position behind the bushes at the side of the house. 291

Hans shuffled forward slowly, aided by the worn old walking stick. Stopping at the corner, he poked at an abandoned rubbish bag, then moved cautiously across the road and squatted casually against the wall, where he was obscured from the enforcer by the branches of an overgrown bush. He carefully took out his mobile phone and texted an urgent message to the Boss. Satisfied, he put the phone away and produced a cigarette stub from his pocket, but did not light it. He appeared to be settling down for a snooze. After he'd been waiting like a cat ready to pounce for about five minutes, a Mercedes estate car pulled up outside the house and announced its arrival with a sound of the horn. Almost instantly the door of the house opened and the nurse, followed by Otto, emerged. Alex hobbled painfully in the rear. Hans noted with a faint smile that he was carrying the stone bottle of Bocma. From his position behind the bush Hans would be able to see the enforcer as soon as he leaned out of the alleyway. Hans nervously held his silenced .45 magnum balanced, ready to fire. "Just like a competition rapid-fire target," he kept convincing himself. "Steady aim squeeze". An accomplished marksman, Hans had never fired at a live target before! As Alex bent to enter the car the enforcer took a step forward, his raised hand holding a semi-automatic with a short bulbous silencer. The range was six metres. He could not miss. He took deliberate aim. Suddenly his expression changed, as he realised in that millisecond before death that he had made a catastrophic mistake. The soft-nosed shells from the silenced .45 exploded into his chest, and his gun slipped unfired from the enforcer's fingers and clattered to the concrete paving slabs. He was dead as he hit the ground. A few seconds later the car screamed away in a cloud of blue smoke, and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. Hans move forward and rolled the body into the overgrown flowerbed. He stood up, looked around, and limped 292

slowly back across the road, cursing the driver of the departing car for polluting the atmosphere. He climbed into the rear seat of the cab and sat, exhaling slowly. He was trembling, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. As he sat back, the wig moved forward onto his face. "I think we should go now, please, driver," he managed to say calmly. He looked out of the window as the cab gathered speed and stared at the buildings without actually seeing them. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still racing. He’d just killed his first man. Although he knew he’d saved a life, he was fighting the guilt of the killing. Exhausted, he leaned back in the seat, his mind crystal clear. "Well, you’ve taken the first step, Hans," he said to himself, feeling a new surge of courage. "You better watch out Syndicate, I think I actually enjoyed that!" ***** After the emergency evacuation of Alex’s not-so-safe house – as he now referred to it – Alex left Otto with another agent to escort him safely back to the airport, and onto his special transport from Antwerp back to Zaire. “Reckon you should stay on your new home ground for a while, Otto my friend," Alex advised him as he said his goodbyes. "You tend to attract as much attention from the bad guys as I do!” “Don’t worry! I can assure you I’m quite happy to stay out there and out of the firing line!" He smiled and left. Alex’s wound had reopened, so it was three more frustrating days before he was allowed to fly back to London. The Boss wanted them to meet urgently, so he went straight to the "usual place" – this time, the George and Vulture in the City. They squeezed into a corner of the ancient inn; it was packed 293

with neatly-dressed lunchtime customers fighting to order their pints and sandwiches. “I realise now that I made a bit of a mistake bringing Otto back so soon." It was unusual for the Boss to be so humble. "We had intercepted a few other diamonds and needed to find out for sure where they were coming from. Otto was the only trustworthy person with the skill to assess them – that I knew of.” The Boss toyed with his Gordon’s and Schweppes. "Seems they’d spotted Otto by chance before we gave him his disguise. Apparently he was recognised by a Syndicate informer outside Hatton Garden when we met with the diamond dealer." He sighed. "I still don’t know for sure how they found Matt at that hotel in Antwerp though. That still worries me.” “Which brings me to the letter I received from Hans yesterday. I wonder what you think?" The Boss passed the typed pages to Alex. Hi Boss, Finally I think by chance I’ve found my destiny. Following the bomb attack in Antwerp, I realise now that being officially dead gives me a unique opportunity to fulfil my ambition to develop my own specialised security service. You will remember of course that Kurt Jardine was theoretically killed with me. He has no family to speak of and wants to join with me to set the business up. We intend to be able to offer the most unique and unusual stateof-the-art security monitoring and detection facilities. Kurt has developed some really amazing microchips that can make most things sing or dance for us. I reckon it’s a good thing he’s on our side and not with the bad guys! The reason I’m telling you all this is that we want to offer our services to you. I know that SONIC have their own dedicated security but it seems to have weaknesses. I’m suggesting that we could be your invisible backup. 294

The cost inevitably is quite high so you’ll have to work out how you deal with that. But for sure you’ll always know that we're on your side. We thought that you’d appreciate a little example of what our abilities are. Yesterday we followed you to your office. Yes, we know where you hide! We scanned the whole building. There are three different listening and recording devices operating in your office alone. One we know is CIA. The other is MI5; seems as though noone trusts anyone amongst our Allies! Those two you may have known about, but the third one is the most sophisticated and it is using your building to tap the flow of information from the CIA and MI5 as well as monitoring SONIC's activities. This extremely advanced system is very new and effective. We have linked into it without them knowing. Fortunately it has only been operational since you installed your new direct internet line. When you were advised by your own security people to install direct lines for your internet links some kind of chip was added at that time. We cannot say for sure who did this, but someone needs to take a close look at your current contractor! They have definitely been infiltrated and my first guess would be those Syndicate bastards. This we give you for free. To check, I suggest that you call the bluff of the CIA and MI5 – but do it face to face. Do not use the phone system until we have purged it for you. If it turns out to be The Syndicate you could, if you thought appropriate, turn it against them. It would give you a bit of an advantage, for the first time! We look forward to doing business if you can. Regards Hans Alex smiled, thinking of the "old fox, Hans" as he was often referred to aboard ship. He was supposed to be a liaison officer, but did the job more like a private detective, always 295

trying to find out everything he could about the various players, in order to know how best to negotiate. “I think it's a perfect opportunity to have belt-andbraces security cover! After all, we’ve known Hans and Kurt for a long time. It makes sense. Can you fiddle the refunding?” The Boss took a large swig from his glass. "I’m glad you agree; as for the refunding, just leave that to me. But first I better pull the 'old fox' in for a bit of face to face negotiating." He gave a rare smile in anticipation of the meeting. Serious again, he placed the almost empty glass on the table. "If it is The Syndicate, I suppose it explains how they found Matt. Perhaps I’ll get Hans to find out. It can be another little efficiency test, can’t it!" The Boss looked pleased with his reasoning and drained the balance of his drink. They discussed a few other less vital matters, then left the still-crowded bar. Shaking hands, the Boss told Alex: "Best get back home and make sure that wound heals properly. We’ll be in touch. Take good care of yourself and give my regards to that young lady of yours." They stepped into the street. The Boss hailed a passing cab and was on his way, without saying another word or even looking back. Alex strolled down the road towards the tube station, happy to have a little gentle exercise. His gut was still very painful on occasion. But now, the very next thing he was going to do – he had quite definitely made up his mind – was to take Rosie for a little holiday, a cruise, he thought, would be the perfect idea. I’m sure they can’t get at me there! THE END

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Somewhere after the heat of a bloody skirmish, a young soldier nervously asked: "Just what is good and what is evil? ‘That’s easy,’ came a confident reply. ‘To kill a good man is evil; to kill an evil man is good. Okay!’ After a pause, ‘Does that mean it’s okay to kill if our consciences can excuse us?’ ‘I suppose so,’ came the easy reply. ‘Is that right?’ another voice chipped in, curious. ‘I think it’s only okay for Mother Nature to kill; she works on the basis of kill and be killed as part of nature's food chain,’ came the pious reply. ‘So does that mean killing’s okay just so long as you don’t enjoy it?’ ‘Yes I guess so!’ they replied in unison. ‘Confusing isn’t it?’ the young soldier sighed glumly, and returned to meticulously cleaning his automatic rifle.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Albert Able lives and works his “improvise and adapt lifestyle” on the island of Jersey and on the surrounding seas. Founder of a boat building company when in his early twenties, he still delivers and skippers boats to European and Mediterranean destinations. Following this with a brief period in the London Stock Exchange and consequently Hotel Development on His native jersey. “Throughout my life I have experienced the thrill of the peaks of success and misery of the troughs of financial famine and disaster then back to prosperity and the benefits it can offer only to tumble back into famine again” He counts Ian Fleming and Jack Higgins as his biggest influences .

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OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR:-

THE DEAL TO DIE FOR?

GOLD SHARKS

GOLD FEVER

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