[African Diamonds 01.0] The Angolan Clan

by Christopher Lowery

  On the outskirts of the city, Portuguese soldiers in rain gear were gathered at every crossroads, rifles and automatic weapons in their hands. They had to show their identity papers several times but were left to continue. The last check point was near Sassalemba, about thirty-five kilometres north of Luanda. They passed intermittent groups of pedestrians, wearily plodding along the side of the road, soaked and miserable under the pouring rain.

  “Displaced families and refugees,” answered Henriques, to Charlie’s question. “There’s more and more coming up from Luanda, looking for safety in the north-west, away from the centre, where most of the shit will hit the fan.”

  As they continued north the state of the coast road became worse and their progress slower. At one point, they saw lights coming towards them, several kilometres off in the pitch black distance. Henriques rightly guessed it was a rebel contingent and drove off the road onto a shallow decline. They waited behind a screen of bushes until the convoy passed them. As the van climbed back onto the road, he lost control of the vehicle and the back wheel slid almost into the ditch. They manhandled the van up onto the tarmac and climbed back in, filthy and soaked with the muddy ditch water.

  About ten kilometres before Ambrizete, Henriques left the road and took a dirt track that led east, towards Bembe. He lit up what must have been his twentieth cigarette. “There’s an MPLA unit on the coast road south of the town and an FNLA unit on the north side, They’re both my business partners. If we all leave each other alone, we should be OK.”

  The track turned north towards Tomboco, then west again to rejoin the coast road north of Ambrizete. After another couple of kilometres, they reached the Mbridge river, driving over an old stone and metal bridge, that even in the dark looked as if it was about to collapse at any moment. Turning east again, another dirt track took them alongside the north bank of the river for about ten kilometres. The river was running high with the torrential rain and the track, flooded by the overflowing river water, became more and more difficult to follow.

  The last ten kilometres took them almost an hour, making the drive almost six nerve-wracking hours instead of the five hours it took under normal conditions. By this time they were exhausted and as completely soaked as if they hadn’t been wearing the oilskins.

  Located between the towns of Ambrizete and Quimencunco, the mine was sited on a junction of the Mbridge River, which flowed down from its source on the Angola-Zaire border and then met a tributary of the Sembo, coming down from the mountainous area to the south-east. It was this confluence which caused a high concentration of alluvial gravels to be deposited in the riverbank at that point. The property was completely surrounded by the river on the south side and a high barbed wire fence on the north, stretching off into the distance.

  They drove alongside the fence for about five hundred meters and pulled up in front of wide metal gates with a blockhouse built next to them. An army jeep was parked alongside. The door of the building opened and a well built, tough looking black man came out into the rain, a submachine gun in his grasp. Henriques spoke to him for a minute then he saluted and opened up the gates so they could drive into the compound.

  “That’s Joaquim. He’s a war orphan. Been with the family for years. He patrols the perimeter every half hour, all night long. Not the best job in town on a night like this.”

  Inside the compound, several concrete constructions surrounded a small office building in the centre. The rain splashed down on the fast-flowing river which ran alongside them in both directions, with a deep, wide bank of gravelly sand running alongside the water. Lamps positioned along the bank illuminated machines, like large vacuum cleaners, with pipes running from them to the waterside and they could discern the steady thumping noise of a generator.

  The diamonds which lay in the gravel beds of Henriques’s mining property had been formed billions of years before, up to a hundred and fifty kilometres underground, by the heat and pressure caused by the constant shifting of the earth’s upper mantle, forcing carbon atoms deep into the planet’s molten core. Over the following millions of years, volcanic magma exploded upwards to form cone-shaped pipes of molten rock and minerals, called kimberlites. These were pushed to the earth’s surface, often finishing in the sea, or in lakes in the craters of volcanoes or other mountainous terrain. The magma in many of these kimberlites contained diamonds and other gemstones mixed with the rock and other mineral material.

  The subsequent erosion of the kimberlites over the course of thousands of years released the rocks and diamonds, in the form of gravels, into rivers and lakes, to be washed along in river currents and deposited in the banks alongside bends and intersections of the river. This was how the alluvial, or ‘placer’ diamonds, had been transported, wrapped in a blanket of rocks and gravel, all the way from southern Zaire to Henriques’s kilometre-long stretch of the Mbridge River in north-western Angola.

  The Angolan gestured in both directions along the property. “Seven years ago, my dad spent the little bit of family money we had on a fifty year concession on this property. He borrowed every penny he could, to build the compound and the security fence and blast away the banks to expose the terrace gravels. Two years later he went and dropped down dead, God rest his soul. Since then I’ve managed to pay off the loans and started to make a small profit.

  “All this equipment was designed and built by my brother, Sergio. It’s way ahead of anything being done elsewhere. He’s a genius. A bloody boring nerd, but a genius. The gravel is blasted by high-pressure hoses and the larger debris is channelled into those machines you can see.” He pointed to the pipes running from the machines. “There’s a kind of X-ray screening process inside and then the debris that might contain placer diamonds is filtered out onto belts that run inside to the grease table and sorting enclosure.”

  “Once inside, the material runs across the grease table and the key workers pick out the rough diamonds by hand. The stones go to the graders and so on and so forth, until we’ve got batches of priceable merchandise. Then Sergio and I do the pricing and production inventories and prepare the shipments and documentation for ANDEC. We don’t have big losses through thieving because Sergio’s processing system quickly moves the diamond carrying gravel inside, where it’s easy to control. Our security is tighter than a tree frog’s ass! I don’t mind if the workers grab the occasional small gems from the river. It keeps them keen and working hard.

  “So,” he finished, “We’ve got a good work force, a great process producing good diamonds and we’ve got a thousand meters of gravels to work on, which I reckon is twenty to thirty years of production, and that’s our entire lives work. And now we’ve got to run away like fugitives and leave it all behind. It’s fucking heartbreaking.” He spat into the river with frustration. The others said nothing.

  They went into the building, glad to get out of the rain. Manuela, Henriques’s Portuguese wife, welcomed them, kissing them on both cheeks and taking their oilskins and jackets. She appeared tired, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her young, pretty face looked lined and weary. She gave them dry towels, made them some hot coffee and put out sandwiches. It was almost three o’clock in the morning when they sat with the snack in Henriques’s office, drying off.

  “So, what’s up, Henriques? Why are we here?” It was Nick who broke the silence.

  “Right.” The Angolan lit up another cigarette. “Well, first off, thanks for coming down here. It’s not the best time to fly out of Lisbon or to fly into Luanda and we really appreciate it. We needed to have this talk with you before it’s too late. The fact is that we were praying that things would get better, but they’re not. There’s no hope left for this country, or for us.”

  The other men exchanged glances. Henriques was never like this, he was the original happy, smiling African giant. He must have a good reason for asking them to risk coming down to see him, they just had to wait for him to get to it.

  “We’re listening.” Charlie sat back. They had all
night to hear what he had to say.

  “This granting of independence to the colonies is going very fast.” Henriques ticked off on his fingers, “Timor went last December. Mozambique and Guiné-Bissau have already started their own civil wars with Russian arms. Cabo Verde and São Tomé e Principe went this week. The only place left is the jewel in the crown. My country, Angola. But not for long.

  “The transitional government is supposed to hand over power in November to a tri-partite government, formed by UNITA, FNLA and MPLA. But now it’s clear what the Portuguese game is. Those Marxist bastards in Lisbon are pulling their troops out and leaving the MPLA in charge everywhere, so the transitional government won’t last another month. They’ll piss off and leave us to sort out independence for ourselves. The problem is that here in the Portuguese colonies we don’t know how to be independent. We’ve been virtual slaves for so long we’re just like a bunch of naïve virgins waiting to be raped.”

  Unknowingly, he paraphrased the very words that Alberto had used when speaking to Olivier, a year before.

  “Look what happened in Timor. Just nine days after getting rid of the Portuguese, the bloody Indonesians marched in. Some change there! Same shit, different flies. Mozambique is going to be even worse, that communist bastard Machel is already slaughtering his own people. And here in Angola we have three independence movements who will never, ever agree. Either with each other, or with anyone else. The Russians are pouring money and arms in and it’s easy to see what’s going to happen, there will be a civil war. It’s unavoidable. Right, Manuela?”

  His wife nodded her agreement.

  “You know that Cunhal has been here every month since he came back to Lisbon?”

  “He was on our flight today” confirmed Charlie.

  “Do you know who he meets when he comes down?” He took another deep drag of his cigarette. “Agostinho Neto, the boss of the MPLA, the rebel group that’s funded by the Russians. Those guys are thicker than an elephant stew. On the other side you’ve got the moderates, Savimbi’s UNITA and Roberto Holden’s FNLA, but they can’t agree on anything except killing each other. We’re in a classic fight between democracy and communism, and the communists have got the most money and they’ve been around the longest.

  “And what do you think the Americans are going to do about it?” He asked with a laugh.

  “Not a lot, after the Vietnam fiasco,” replied Charlie.

  “Dead right. They’re so traumatised after Vietnam they’ll do bugger all. Roberto Holden’s in bed with the CIA and we heard that Kissinger convinced Ford to send funds to the FNLA, but all they sent was three hundred grand. It’s like pissing in the wind. Without funding and arms from the US, the FNLA is dead. I thought they’d link up with UNITA and with the Americans behind them, they might have been able to create a democratic system. But I was wrong. Three hundred grand. Big deal! The Russians are pouring money and troops into the country and they want the MPLA to take over. So that’s what will happen. And Cunhal licking Neto’s balls is proof positive of what Portugal wants, so it’s a fait accompli.

  “Ask yourself why the communists have taken over Portugal? It’s so bloody obvious. Because it’s the key to the door to Africa, especially Angola, that’s why. The MPLA is going to open the door, then the Russians and Cubans are going to march in and rape and pillage like Attila the Hun and his merry men. It’s already happening, for Christ’s sake.”

  The other two men said nothing, but they both knew that Henriques had finally reached the same conclusion as them. The Angolan was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “And how do you think they’re going to fund their bloody war?” he continued. They’re going to steal my mine and everybody else’s and they’re going to hack out diamonds with their fucking machetes and sell them at rock bottom prices to pay their soldiers, to buy their weapons and to send dividends back to their masters in Cuba and Russia. As soon as the FNLA gets pushed back from this territory and the MPLA has a free hand, we’re all dead.”

  He flopped back in his chair. Manuela took his hand. They were facing ruin. Not just financial ruin, but the ruin of their lives in their birthplace, the only country they had ever known.

  After a moment, Charlie asked, “So, what can we do to help you?”

  “Well.” For the first time, Henriques’s mood seemed to lift, becoming more positive. “Apart from convincing Kissinger to get off the pot and shit on the Russians, I think there is something you could do, and I may have a plan. For the last few years I’ve been holding back our best stones from ANDEC. At first I put them aside as an insurance policy, just in case the problem with the insurgents got out of hand. Then when we signed the joint-venture I was going to use them to launch our new business in a blaze of glory. Since that project is totally fucked, I’ve got another proposition for you and that’s why I asked you to come down.”

  Henriques lit up another cigarette. “Right now I’ve got about twenty thousand carats of rough stones of outstanding quality and size hidden away. I know these diamonds, even before they’re processed. They’ll be graded either flawless or VVS, and finest white or fine white in colour. They’re washed, but uncut, un-booked and unseen and they’re in a safe place known to no one else but Manuela and me.” His wife again nodded her agreement.

  “We don’t have kids or parents to worry about, just us and my brother and his family. We can get out and start again. And if we can get these diamonds out we can set up a new business in a safe place with the best merchandise in the world. The problem is how do we get them out? And the other problem is what do we do next, even if we do get them out?”

  “So you want us to get them out for you?” Nick leaned forward excitedly. His project could be back on track. There was fabulous business to be done. For the Angolans and for themselves.

  “Look. The truth is, we’ve.. I’ve waited too long. It’s too late for us to make a run for it with these stones. We stand absolutely no chance of getting them out of Angola, let alone into Portugal or anywhere else. The minute we leave this property we’ll be hunted prey and we can’t risk being caught with anything at all or we’ll be dead.

  “And it’ll be even worse on the outside. We’re Angolans, we don’t know how to survive in your business world, London, Johannesburg, New York. We wouldn’t last a minute if we tried to set up a business. But you know all this shit, you do it every day. If we do something together we can combine our forces and all make a fortune. It stands to reason, nobody has diamonds like these and there’ll be no more for a long time. Anyway, Manuela and I think you are the best, probably the only option available. What do you say?”

  “Well, Henriques.” Charlie hesitated for a moment before replying. “On the one hand, we would love to do it if we’re able. It’s unthinkable that you and Manuela will lose everything that you’ve worked for all your lives. And on top of that it also seems like a very profitable opportunity for everybody concerned.

  “But on the other hand, it’s a bloody risky business. Every time we come down here it gets worse and it’s going to get worse still. This place is now a definite war zone, and in wars, people get killed. Getting killed is not high on my agenda of things I want to risk.

  “The other thing is that if we get caught with that kind of merchandise, we’ll get shoved in some stinking jail and we’ll never see daylight again. This needs some thinking about.”

  Henriques looked at Manuela. She nodded her assent. “OK, I never expected you to agree today, but I’ll make you a specific proposition so you can come to a definite decision. In addition to the diamonds...” He took another drag on his cigarette. “We have half a million US dollars in cash. We’ll split it with you if you’ll do it.”

  THIRTY

  June, 1975

  Ambrizete, Angola

  Jorge Gomez sat in the jeep with the army corporal, looking at the lights of the mine, just one hundred metres along the track. The rain had lessened and they could make out the shape of th
e blockhouse and the jeep standing outside. He reasoned that there were probably guards in the blockhouse, armed guards, and neither he nor the driver was equipped for a battle. After thinking for a few minutes, he told the corporal to drive back to the coast road, where they would wait until the morning. Depending on what transpired, he would decide on their next action when daylight came.

  Charlie and Nick sat in a state of shock for several moments.

  “Run that by us again, Henriques?”

  “Right, listen. I told you that my dad put everything he had into the mine. It wasn’t strictly true. A few months before he passed away he told me about a debt that he had from a guy in Nueva Lisboa, a Portuguese. The guy had been the Governor of Zaire province, that’s this area, where we are now. It was him who arranged for my father to buy the fifty year concession on the mine property at a really good rent and helped him to raise some financing. When he decided to go off to make his fortune in Nueva Lisboa my dad loaned him a batch of diamonds as security to help him to finance a real estate development, when the town was starting to grow fast. Cut a long story short, he made millions.

  “We went to see him and believe it or not he was an honest man. Except he didn’t have the diamonds any more. We worked out that they would be worth about five hundred thousand dollars, so he took us to his safety deposit box and counted out a bundle of thousand dollar notes and gave them to us. I almost shit myself. Half a million dollars in cash! If I’d been smart I should have pissed off from Angola there and then with the money, but my dad was sick, the mine was producing and Manuela and I had just met. Anyway, that’s why we’ve got that cash.

  “Now we’re screwed, because I can’t show the money. We’d lose every penny and be shoved in jail into the bargain. I’ve been really stupid not to get it sorted before, but it’s too late to cry about it now. If you can help us to save the situation, that’s all that matters.