“We do not have a security problem, your diamond is safe here in Antwerp,” he said.
“I don’t care about security problems. I want the transportation of it dramatic enough so it makes the evening news and tomorrow’s papers. You don’t have to point your guns at the news people, just make sure they know you’re ready to start spraying lead.”
When we were secure in the limo and on our way to the hotel, Franck told me about the arrangements he’d made at the Antwerp bourse. A bourse was the French term for a diamond exchange.
“Your fire diamond is the talk of the bourse. I deliberately limited the invitations to the reception where the diamond will be on display. People are scrambling for invitations like it was a royal wedding. It will shoot up your asking price.”
“I’m not ready to sell the diamond.”
Franck raised his eyebrows. “Really? Then why all the promotion and showmanship? I heard you had an offer from that American computer tycoon, the one that people claim is the richest man in the world.”
“Yeah, if it’s not for sale, why all the hoopla?” Cross asked.
“I’m thinking about going into the diamond business. The Heart of the World would be the centerpiece of the business.” I hadn’t told Cross about what I wanted to do.
“But you’ve been in the diamond business all your life,” Franck said. “You were born into it.”
“It’s been in my blood, but not my mind. I’m considering reviving House of Liberté, perhaps even extending it into retail.”
Franck looked at me as if I’d just told him I wanted to start a snake farm.
“Retail? That is a whole different world than anything your father or myself were ever involved in. Cartier, Tiffany, Winston, Bvlgari, they are years—centuries—ahead of the competition. I can understand it if you want to become a sight holder—”
“I’m not going to become a sight holder, I don’t like the restrictions.” I didn’t tell him, but it was too much like being in business. Diamonds can be exciting, but negotiating, wheeling and dealing, really wasn’t for me. What I wanted to do was build something, as I had done with the mine. Being like Leo, spending my day with a phone glued to my ear buying and selling had less appeal to me than running that snake farm.
“You may not like the restrictions of being a De Beers sight holder, but it would be a route for you to get into the diamond trade in a big way. As the owner of a diamond mine and someone who possesses one of the great diamonds in the world, you would have no problem getting an invitation to join.”
I knew the sight-holder routine. Sight holders were the only people permitted to attend the ten sights—sales—of diamonds held by De Beers. A large percentage of the world’s diamonds passed through those ten sales De Beers held in London yearly. From there, most of them came to Antwerp to be cut, although Israel and New York did some cutting. India cut more diamonds than anyone, up to 80 or 90 percent, but most of their output was smalls and sand.
There were only a limited number of sight holders, around a hundred and forty or fifty. With thousands of diamond merchants in the world, to be one of the few who were privileged to buy from De Beers was prestigious. And profitable. Leo would have given his left nut to be a sight holder. But it wasn’t for me. It was too much the same-old, same-old every day. And there were rules you had to follow. Like joining the army, it was regimented—and I wasn’t good at saluting. Besides, I had my father’s maverick attitude about De Beers and its stranglehold on the world diamond trade. I wanted to carve out my own empire and not be under the thumb of Big Brother.
“I’m not going to be a sight holder and I’m not going to buy exclusively from De Beers’ people. I want to take on De Beers.”
“Jesus,” Cross whistled, “you’re fuckin’ nuts.”
Franck turned coronary purple. “You are talking about a company that owns or controls most of the diamonds in the world. Taking them on, as you put it, would be equivalent to a bicycle rider racing a Ferrari.”
“You see them as king of the road, I see them as fat and vulnerable. They can’t even do business in America because they’re a monopoly.”
“They still control most of America’s diamond trade. They may not sell any diamonds inside the country, but the diamonds that are brought in and sold are mostly from De Beers controlled stock.”
“How you plan to do this?” Cross asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I know that if you’re going to grab a big piece of the diamond business, you don’t go after little guys—and you don’t fall into line and take orders from De Beers. De Beers has the business—billions of it. I want a chunk of it.”
“How is De Beers able to control the world diamond industry?” Cross asked Franck. “There are other outfits mining out there.”
“Bottom line, they control the world price by controlling production and distribution.”
“They don’t control Win’s mine. We sell those diamonds without getting De Beers’ permission.”
“True,” Franck said, “you can buy and sell diamonds everywhere in the world without De Beers’ permission, but you are literally doing so on their terms.”
“Come again?” Cross said.
“Diamonds are a commodity, particularly on the wholesale level. Like corn or wheat or petrol, wholesalers pay essentially the same price for the same quantity and quality of diamonds. They are mined and graded and valued the same everywhere in the world. Every hundred years someone may come up with a unique diamond, a huge stone or the rare ruby diamond that Win possesses, but otherwise rough diamonds of the same quality are indistinguishable from each other, like ears of corn or stalks of wheat. They may be a fashion item once they are cut and placed in unique settings, but unlike the clothes a woman wears, the reasonable price of a diamond is not based upon who is selling it or how fancy the setting is but on the diamond’s size and quality.
“At the wholesale level, since they are indistinguishable, a diamond of the same size and clarity sells for the same price as millions of other diamonds of the same quality. Diamonds from Africa sell for exactly the same price as those mined in Russia, Canada, or on the moon. Because diamonds are a commodity, like pork bellies and cotton, the prices for them are very much subject to the vagaries of supply and demand. When there is a bumper crop, literally all diamonds of the same size and quality go down in value. When supply is low, they all rise in value. You cannot avoid the whims of the marketplace because your diamonds are better than someone else’s.”
“And that’s how De Beers controls the market,” I said. “They can manipulate the supply and demand.” My comment was directed to Cross.
“Exactly,” Franck said. “Let’s assume that House of Liberté wanted to compete with them. De Beers has vast resources, it is a multibillion-dollar company. It can reduce the supply of diamonds on the market, increasing the price per carat that House of Liberté has to pay for its diamonds.”
“And,” I said, “once I pay top price, they can flood the market with stones, bringing the price per carat crashing down, leaving me holding the bag—literally.”
Cross shook his head. “They have that much control?”
Franck said, “They have that much control. Not that they use it in that manner. We are talking about a hypothetical situation. Let’s say House of Liberté challenges them for control of part of the world’s wholesale diamond market. Manipulating supply and demand would be a powerful weapon in their arsenal during the battle.”
Cross nudged me. “Maybe you’d be better off cornering the market in pork bellies, bubba. You can at least eat ’em if you’re stuck with ’em.”
I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll go to Russia. They have diamond mines there that aren’t controlled by De Beers.”
Franck shook his head. “My friend, if you thought it was dangerous in Angola, you would find it even more so in Russia. Angola is a young country, populated by unsophisticated people who do not know how to handle the natural resources and governmenta
l responsibilities thrust upon them suddenly. Russia is an old country that, over the centuries, has perfected greed and murder into a fine art.”
60
The next day I walked with Franck down Hoveniersstraat in central Antwerp. Like the exchange in New York, the Antwerp bourse was nondescript. Falling between three or four narrow streets, there was no glamour, no glitter, nothing really to distinguish the area from other downtown areas.
“It’s difficult to conceive that most of the diamonds in the world, perhaps as many as nine out of ten, have passed through Antwerp,” I said.
“Yes, but we have been cutting diamonds for over five hundred years, before America was discovered—and plundered. New York, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand, the Ramat Gen outside Tel Aviv, the vast output of Mumbai and Surat in India have all nibbled at the pie, but Antwerp is still queen of the diamond ladies.”
We were on our way to a meeting with the broker who had a buyer for the Blue Lady. I had assumed the broker would be an Orthodox Jew like Franck, since they controlled the Antwerp industry. But that wasn’t the case.
“You are going to meet the Prince of the Sinjorens,” Franck said. “Sinjoren is an expression dating back to the time when Antwerp was part of the far-flung Spanish empire. The aristocracy in the city came to be called Sinjorens, a word derived from the Spanish word señores. The men of the old families of the city with money are still called Sinjorens today. Maurice Verhaeven has the oldest blood and thickest wallet. Surprisingly, he has made much of his money himself, having inherited little beyond his lineage and patrician nose.”
“You said you couldn’t use a Jew to broker the mine. I assume that means the buyer is Arab.”
“Yes, yes, you assume correctly.” He glanced sideways at me. “An astute observation. I spread the word in the exchange that you were interested in selling, but there were no takers because of the situation in Angola. I also let Verhaeven know because he has contacts in Eastern Europe, Russia, and the Middle East. I do not know who the buyer is, but I suspect that he is either a Russian or an Arab. Those are the only two nationalities with the kind of money it takes to buy a diamond mine. Verhaeven has brokered many diamond deals between Arab and Jew, so it would not surprise me if he turns out to be an Arab.”
The meeting took place in an office in the Beus voor Diamanthandel, the diamond club called “the casino.”
Franck paused as we entered the building. “I have to give you a word of advice about Verhaeven. Be cautious. I recall an expression in your country about dealing with a sharp negotiator, something about counting your fingers after shaking hands with the person. The same is true about Verhaeven. But in Antwerp you would count your hands.”
He chuckled and explained as we walked. “Antwerp has a legendary giant named Antigon. Antigon guarded our Scheldt River in the days of old and demanded a toll from all boats that went up or down it. If the captain failed to pay the fee, Antigon chopped one of the captain’s hands off. That is how the city came to be called ‘Antwerp’. It means something like a taking or throwing of a hand.”
It occurred to me Antigon the giant would have done even better it he’d packed his bags and moved to Angola or Sierra Leone. Savimbi and his ilk could have taught him a few things about collecting tolls.
Verhaeven did have a patrician nose. And he looked down its slope to the rest of the world. He carried off the role as Prince of Sinjorens with real flair. He wore a gray silk suit, light blue shirt with a white collar, yellow tie, and dark brown wing-tip brogues. He looked like he’d stepped off the set of a 1940s movie. His handshake was warm, his eyes piercing, his French perfect.
I liked him immediately. But I could see why Franck warned me. There were two ways of selling in this world: the soft sell and the hard sell. Verhaeven was definitely from the soft-sale school. I got his measure immediately because my own father was from that same school.
“I have a buyer,” he said. “At a price which Franck indicated you would accept.”
“I told Franck to consider it a fire sale. I need money for something else. What are the terms?” I asked.
“Cash.”
I grinned. “That’s a term I never argue with. Who’s the buyer?”
He coughed gently into his handkerchief.
“Naturally, the terms will include your commission and Franck’s,” I said.
“Thank you. The buyer is Arab, Saudi. Have you heard of the bin Laden family?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“A very prominent family in Saudi Arabia, which means they have ties to the royal family, as most prominent families are related to the royal family. I believe the moneymaker was an illiterate camel merchant who built a difficult road for a prior king and went on to become the major building contractor of the oil-rich kingdom. One of his many sons, Osama, is the purchaser. He knows what he is getting into, everyone knows the situation in Angola and he would be especially sensitive to the chaos. I understand he spent some time in Afghanistan fighting the Russians.”
I didn’t know why a rich Arab would want a diamond mine in a war zone and didn’t really care.
“How fast can we wrap up the deal?”
“Very fast. Arrangements are already in progress for transfer of the purchase money. So is the legal documentation. There might be one problem. If the Angolan government has to approve the sale—”
I shook my head. “Not a problem, everything in Angola has a price and can be obtained quickly if the payment is kicked up a couple notches. I thought of that before I left Luanda. I have the permit for selling the mine back at the hotel. I’ll send it over. We just need to fill in the buyer’s name.”
“I’m certain there’ll be a corporate entity taking ownership,” Verhaeven said. “I’ll find out and give you the information.”
We went over other details, the most important one being the transfer of money. Things were going amazingly well considering that I was selling a problem in a war zone.
Verhaeven sipped wine and wiped his mouth delicately with his napkin. “In regard to your ruby diamond—”
“It’s not for sale.”
“I could get you a very substantial price.”
“I’ve decided to keep it. I’ll see you at the reception.”
On the way back to the hotel, I said to Franck, “I understand there’s some painter that Antwerp’s particularly famous for, a guy named Rubens.”
He smiled. “Yes, there was a Flemish ‘guy’ named Rubens who painted.”
“Buy me one of his paintings.”
He stopped and stared at me. “Just like that, buy you a painting? Did you have a particular one in mind? A particular stage of his art—”
“Just get me a painting with Rubens’s name on it.”
“I see. Something with Rubens’s name on it,” he muttered. “Do you know what it would cost to have something with Rubens’s name on it?”
“I don’t care what it costs. It’s business. I’m going back to America with a world-class diamond. A world-class painting would look good beside it. Americans are snobs, especially for old European stuff.”
We parted at the hotel, with Franck still muttering to himself.
61
The driveway outside the hotel where the reception for the fire diamond took place looked like the lineup for Cannes or the Academy Awards. Limos pulled up and deposited well-dressed bodies, some of them women with almost more jewelry than clothing. A crowd had gathered, cameras were rolling.
Inside, Franck looked high enough to have been sampling some of the Ecstasy neighboring Amsterdam was famous for producing.
“It’s the social event of the year,” he said, rubbing his hands. “The social event of the century.”
He introduced me to a young Flemish artist, a friend of his daughter’s who had planned the reception and had salted it with European film personalities. “Hugo’s worked on Dutch and German films as an art director,” Franck said. “He’s also an interior designer. Does sensational work
. You said you wanted a Hollywood flair, Hugo is the closest we get to Tinsel Town in Antwerp.”
Franck almost giggled as he made the introduction. “Mr. Liberte told me today to buy him a Rubens. As if he were asking to purchase the newest brand of car.”
I stood with Hugo in front of the centerpiece he had designed to house the fire diamond when it arrived. It was a crystal bowl full of what appeared to be “diamond ice,” pieces of clear crystal that glittered.
“I had not seen the diamond except for a picture you sent Asher, so I designed a centerpiece which I thought would best display its features.”
“I like your design.”
“When the red diamond is placed in the bowl,” he said, “it will stand out very strikingly. Underneath,” he pointed at the bottom of the bowl, “hidden in the podium, is a powerful beam of light that I’ll turn on after the diamond is set in the bowl. That will send the light from the crystals and the red diamond up to the revolving ball, which in turn will spray it around the room.”
The Heart of the World was a small object, about the size of a walnut. It was hard to appreciate something that small, even if it was a diamond. I liked Hugo’s design of spreading the diamond’s red glitter all around the room, giving the stone a powerful impact on the assembly.
“Watch yourself,” Hugo whispered, “the two women heading this way are both aspiring actresses. They read in the tabloids you’re the former boyfriend of Katarina Benes.”
Cross came over and grinned salaciously at the women surrounding me. “Owning a diamond mine is guaranteed to turn up the lust in the coldest women on earth.”
I heard my name and turned around to a surprise.
Leo—prick, dick, shithead, evil stepbrother Leo—grinned at me. He gave me a big hug.
“Win, I can’t tell you how thrilled the family is about your success.”
He patted me on the shoulder.
Heat of Passion Page 29