Heat of Passion

by Harold Robbins

  “How so? It’s only been a few months.”

  “You look older, wiser, more serious and introspective. You’ve lost some of your irrelevance.”

  “Sounds serious,” I said. “It must be the water. Or the stuff that swims in it. If the microbes don’t get you, the crocs will. You’ve changed, too. You always were serious, but it was sort of a scholastic gravity, the look of the nearsighted teacher or professor who rarely peeks out of their rabbit hole. Now you’ve got sweat stains instead of academic cobwebs. You look like a veteran of the real world.”

  “Of a war, you mean, one that I lost.” She indicated her baggy army fatigue pants and dusty boots. Her white blouse was smeared with something dark. “Chocolate from a candy bar I gave a child. It’s probably the first time in the child’s life he tasted a piece of candy. And he’ll be dead in a few months from AIDS.” She brushed back her hair. “I look like hell. I need a bath and—” She started laughing, and ended up crying.

  I pulled her into my arms. She tried to push away but I squeezed her tight.

  “Christ, you must go through hell every hour of every day. I don’t know how you keep your sanity dealing with all this human misery.”

  “Do I look like I’ve kept my sanity?” she sobbed.

  “You look like a woman who’s been carrying the world on her shoulders. Has it occurred to you that mere mortals couldn’t do what you do? I probably would’ve dropped the kid and ran like hell if I knew he had AIDS.”

  We sat on a log and I held her hand.

  “Sometimes it just builds up inside me. We heard today that some aid workers were killed down south. They may even be friends.”

  “I’m sorry. You must be in danger yourself, every day.”

  “Being murdered I could handle, at least if it came quickly. But dealing with poor people, starvation, disease, mutilation, add that to the dangers and—and—I’m not a strong person.”

  “Like hell you’re not. I couldn’t do what you’re doing for five minutes. I put on mental blinders whenever I leave the mine, just to keep my sanity. And I don’t leave the mine without an armed guard. I’ve been hiding in my safe hole while you’ve been out on the front lines in hand-to-hand combat.”

  “No, I’m a weak person. I thought I could handle anything, but the misery is getting to me. Everything we do gets undone. We try to help people, and if their leaders aren’t screwing them, they’re screwing themselves because they don’t know any better. But there are aid workers who’ve been doing this for years. They don’t sit around and cry.”

  “Then they’ve hardened to it. I imagine they had some good cries before they got thick calluses on their feelings. This country has to change anyone who comes into contact with it. Hey, look at me, I’m a changed man, I don’t even make jokes anymore about war and famine.”

  She stood up and offered me her hand to shake. “Enough self-pity. I’ve got to get back to work, my foodstuffs are probably going out the back door faster than they’re coming in the front. It’s my job to make sure that they get into the right mouths.”

  I took her hand and pulled her to me.

  “I’m not shaking hands and driving off.”

  “Win—”

  “No, this isn’t Lisbon, you can’t step out of the restaurant and into a taxi. We’re the only two Americans around, I like you, you like me, we both need some TLC. Besides, have you ever seen a diamond mine?”

  “Didn’t I tell you that diamond mining—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, diamond mines are evil. I’ll give you an opportunity to tell that to the miners who work their butts off to support their families and everyone else in the neighborhood. You can also tell those poor bastards who spend their days in rivers trying to muck up enough diamonds to stay alive. In case you haven’t learned this about Angola, diamonds aren’t evil, people are.”

  She looked deeply into my eyes. “I don’t know. What are your intentions, Mr. Liberte?”

  “To make up for lost time.”

  40

  Cross used some profanity I hadn’t heard since I was in high school.

  “I hate your guts. You’re gonna get the velvet rubbed off your dick and I’m still getting calluses from beating my meat.”

  “It’s because I live right—good wholesome food, lots of sleep, avoiding the ruin of alcohol.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Yeah, but I smell sweet.”

  I splashed an extra dose of cologne on my neck and cheeks. I was in Cross’s room, getting cleaned up. I’d turned my room over to Marni so she could freshen up after the trip to the mine. Three days had passed since I bumped into her on the river because she insisted on finishing up an inventory before she would come. I finally picked her up and brought her back to the mine.

  The three days gave me time to send a plane to Luanda for champagne and food that didn’t taste like mine food and to have my room cleaned and painted. Yeah, I was putting on the dog, but what the hell, this was the first available woman in a thousand miles. And as it turned out, it was a woman I genuinely liked.

  “On top of that, you’re sending me to Luanda because you’re afraid she’ll take one look at me and kick your skinny ass out of bed.”

  “I’m also afraid the mine’s going to drown if we don’t get that water pump in Luanda. Make damn sure you’re standing at the cargo door to the airplane when it’s unloaded and you never let it out of your sight until it’s installed in the mine.”

  Cross threw his hands up and appealed to heaven. “Did you hear that, God? This candy-ass bastard who didn’t know shit from shinola until I taught him is now telling me how to run a security operation.”

  I knocked on the door to my room. When Marni opened it, I handed her a hard hat.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Mine regulations. You’re going down below.”

  “Into the mine?”

  “Don’t you want to see how a mine operates? The real action takes place in the hole.”

  “Yes, but . . . are you going to X-ray me when we come out?”

  “We’ll see. Sometimes we do a search instead.”

  I took her through the security gate and across to the mine elevator. She stared at everything with wonderment. And smiled at everyone.

  “Is it dangerous below?” she asked.

  “Compared to what you’ve been dealing with it’s a piece of cake. You do have to watch out for the giant diamond worms. They make holes in the tunnel floor and eat you when you fall through.”

  She asked intelligent questions in the mine, curious to know how everything worked. I was a little condescending at first, smug that I was teaching her something. She watched an explosion to create ore. We followed the debris all the way back to the surface to where it was processed and the diamonds weeded out.

  “These men work so hard,” she said. “It’s too bad their hard work is so used and abused by the government and rebels.”

  When we were topside again, I pointed to a diamond on the belt coming out of the crusher.

  “Aren’t you a little amazed that a diamond in the rough looks so plain?”

  “I am amazed. I thought they came out of the ground shaped like a diamond, you know, like you see in Tiffany’s window.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I thought about her statement as we followed the workings topside to the grease table. “I was being smug and superior down below.”

  “I know, but it’s all right. I think it’s great that you’re finally doing something useful with your life—until I remind myself that you’re raping a Third World country of its precious resources.”

  “Precious resources? Ever try eating a diamond? Don’t blame the Western world or Western entrepreneurs for all the evils of the underdeveloped nations. The evils and oppression were here for thousands of years before we came along.”

  She started lecturing me on Third World economics, a subject I was singularly uninformed abou
t, and I cut her short.

  “You should save that speech for Colonel Jomba,” I said. “I understand he’s got a degree in economics from London—and an advanced one, the Third World kind where you do a body count instead of ledger entries. Isn’t that the kind of economics you find in most of the Third World?”

  “Just when I think it’s safe to like you . . .”

  I stopped and kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t resist. “You’re right, I’m still a swine, but at least now I’m a hardworking one.” I showed her my calluses again.

  When we reached the grease table, I told her to grab a handful of grease.

  “Are you sure I won’t come up with a diamond worm?”

  “Do you have to question everything I ask?”

  “Are you trustworthy?”

  I let that one pass.

  I scooped the grease out of her hand and into my own and poked through it with my finger.

  “What’s this?” I brought out a rough, larger than a pea. “Let’s take it into the sorting room and see what we have.”

  We stood by while a grader cleaned the stone and carefully examined it.

  “It’s a D,” the grader said.

  I carefully examined it with my own loupe and then let Marni look through the loupe.

  “Amazing, I didn’t realize that a diamond had that much fire in it.”

  “You have good taste,” I said. “It’s flawless and of the highest clarity. It’ll be graded a D.”

  “Only a D? Not an A?”

  I laughed. “D is the highest rating for a diamond. This is a perfect diamond, colorless, with a hint of blue. When it’s cut down to more than a carat, it’ll sell for top price. On Fifth Avenue it would cost as much as an economy car. It’s an exceptionally good stone.” I handed it to her. “It’s yours, a gift from the diamond worm.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t take it.”

  “Of course you can. It’s the luck of the draw. You might have walked away with just a handful of mud.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. I had set the whole thing up. I selected the best stone we’d pulled out of the mine for over a week. I switched it for the industrial-grade stone Marni pulled out of the gook.

  “Did that give you a different view of diamond mining?” I asked, when we were walking back toward the security gate.

  “Yes, it’s hard work, and I’m sure the miners earn every dime they get, twice over. But the mine owners are still partners with petro bandits in being the ruin of Angola.”

  “There you go again, tripping over that excessive education of yours. You’ve dropped the blame for the state of the underdeveloped world and the wars on every continent, on oil and diamonds. Don’t you realize that people kill each other not just for greed, but principles? The IRA isn’t killing over diamonds, India and Pakistan aren’t beating each other over the head because of diamonds, the Israelis and—”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I keep telling you. People are evil. Not diamonds, not oil. It’s not America’s fault that people in the Third World are ruled by dictators. Is there a single democracy in the Third World? Can you name one? Is that our fault? We didn’t make this world.”

  She started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you realize we’re arguing economics and politics at a diamond mine in equatorial Africa? When you were a kid, did you have any clue that this was what you would be doing later?”

  “I never thought I’d live this long.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  I shrugged. “My mother died young, my father a few years after she did. I just assumed that I wouldn’t make it to a ripe old age.”

  “How strange, my mother died young, too.”

  Something in her voice told me that now was not the time to ask her for the details.

  We paused at the X-ray machine.

  “You’re going to X-ray me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were joking earlier.”

  “You have your choice—X-ray or a body-cavity strip search.”

  “Who does the search?”

  “It’s a prerogative of the mine owner,” I grinned.

  “I’ll take the X-ray.”

  “Sorry, I just remembered the machine’s broken.”

  41

  We lay in bed the next morning, Marni’s body pressed snugly against mine. I felt warm and comfortable.

  I didn’t have a rating system for all the women I’ve fucked but making love to Marni had been different than the others. It wasn’t that my blood boiled hotter, or even the number of times I got it up and we got it off. It was something else. As I lay in that warm, cozy twilight between sleep and being awake, I tried to understand what it was exactly.

  Then it came to me. Peace. I felt at peace, as if being with Marni satisfied some deeper urge than I’ve ever felt with any other woman.

  She stirred beside me and squeezed my penis. “How’s my diamond worm?”

  I was getting a hard-on. “Getting ready to attack you again.”

  We had breakfast on the patio.

  “That was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had since I arrived in Angola,” she said.

  “You’re letting the place get to you.”

  “I know, my friend, Michele, says that if you open your heart to the horrors, pretty soon they eat your soul. I think what bothers me most is seeing babies dying of disease and hunger while that creepy Colonel Jomba goes around collecting protection money and living like a fat cat.”

  Jomba wasn’t a subject I wanted Marni to explore too deeply. If she found out I was involved in a blood-diamond deal with him, she’d whack off my diamond worm, rather than suck it.

  I was relieved from going deeper into the subject of the colonel when the phone rang. It was Cross calling from Luanda.

  “I hope I’m interrupting something,” he said.

  “Not really, we’ve been discussing the socio-demographics of Third World demand-centered economic foundations and—”

  I removed the phone from my ear as Cross made an obscene sound. I handed the phone to Marni.

  “Say hello to Cross.”

  I didn’t know what he said to her, but when she handed the phone back to me she was blushing and giggling.

  “Listen, bwana,” Cross said, “I got some interesting information for you about that geology bill you found in Eduardo’s papers. The land not only adjoins the Blue Lady,” he said, “but you own it. It’s one of the parcels belonging to the mine, but it’s in the direction opposite from where most of the tunneling has been.”

  “You said something about knowing a guy in South Africa? Can you check out the geologist, see what kind of reputation he has?”

  “I’m in like Flint with the security manager at a De Beers diamond mine. We do Cape Town when I get down there for some R and R. I called him but he’s on vacation. I’ll keep trying.”

  After we hung up, Marni asked, “Trouble?”

  “I’m not sure. The mine manager didn’t handle everything around here kosher. He not only had his hand in the till, he jumped in up to his neck.” I nudged her foot under the table. “What did Cross say to you?”

  “Sorry, he swore me to secrecy. But, he let me know there are bigger fish to fry.”

  “When you’re hanging around the fish market, remember it’s not the size of the fish that counts, it’s the taste.”

  We were back in bed on a fishing trip when Cross called back.

  “My friend knows who the geologist is. He’s a mining engineer with a quirky reputation. He’s developed a system he claims can find blue earth better than anything else out there. Some people say he’s a quack, others think he’s a genius. One thing they all say—he’s eccentric. He’s got a feud going with some of the big mining outfits and won’t let them use his equipment.”

  “Do one more thing,” I said. “Get me the flight schedule to Cape Town.”

  I hung up the phone.

&n
bsp; “Something’s up,” I told Marni. “When I used to race, I always got this feeling when I knew I was about to break out and take the lead. I’m getting that feeling now.”

  “You’re going to Cape Town?”

  “We’re going there.”

  “I can’t go right—”

  “Yes, you can, you told me you had leave coming.”

  She started out of the bed and I pulled her back.

  “You don’t understand, I have a job, a duty—”

  “Didn’t you tell me you’re snapping at everyone around you? When you’re not walking around in a daze. You need to get away for a few days. Shop, dance, eat in a French restaurant, make love on a warm beach.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

  “No, I think you need more convincing. Come under the covers. I have something for you.”

  42

  Cape Town, South Africa

  “Cape Town is one of the most beautiful cities in the world,” Marni told me as the plane made the descent for the capital city near the tip of Africa. She had a guidebook in her lap. “The ocean water is icy cold because it comes from the Antarctic, but the beaches are warm and scenic.”

  I leaned over and took a look down at flat-topped mountains with almost vertical cliffs and beaches and made a polite listening response. My mind had been on other things during the couple-thousand-mile trip from the mine. I had paid Cross’s South African security manager to compile a quick dossier on the engineer I had come to see. I was going through the information for the third time.

  Marni noticed the name of the subject of the report. “Christiaan Kruger, is that the geologist you’re going to see? Sounds like an Afrikaan name.”

  “What’s that?”

  “People who originally had a Dutch background. They fought a war with the British, the Boer War, about a hundred years ago, and the British ended up with all of South Africa. But the Boers, called Afrikaans now, are still the most powerful white political group in the country. They’re known to be tough, carry guns, be very religious, and dislike blacks and other whites. They have their own language, called Afrikaans, and culture. The whole population of whites in South Africa, Afrikaners, British and otherwise, amounts to less than fifteen percent of the country.”