[African Diamonds 01.0] The Angolan Clan

by Christopher Lowery

  “As far as the diamonds are concerned, they’re worth an absolute minimum of four hundred dollars per carat in their rough state. That’s eight million dollars. You have to figure a fifty per cent loss on processing, but the value is then several times more when they’re finished. So, I reckon they’re worth between ten and fifteen million dollars.

  “Here’s our proposal. I’ll give you the five hundred grand and the diamonds up front. You get the merchandise out and we make a joint-venture deal to process and market the diamonds together once Manuela and I get out. When we reach Europe, we’ll start the business. Nick and I will handle the processing and you do the marketing and manage the finances.

  “We’ll put the diamonds in at a value of five million and you pay us back half of the cash – quarter of a million dollars. We fund the business together from the cash. Then we split the increase in the value of the diamonds two ways, you and us, when we sell them. We get our cost back first, then we split the profit, fifty-fifty.”

  He took his wife’s hand again. “Manuela and I have built this business up for the last five years. With the cash, the diamonds are all we’ve got. We don’t have properties and bank accounts all over the world. This is our only chance to get out of here with something to show for our life’s work. And it’s also a great business opportunity that can make us all very wealthy people.”

  He lit up another cigarette and added, “Manuela agrees with this one hundred per cent. In fact, she came up with the idea. She’s the smart one in the family.”

  “It’s the only way, Charlie. You and Nick have to help us. What do you think?” Manuela looked pleadingly at the two men. She was at her wit’s end. A broken spirit.

  Charlie’s brain was going at a furious pace, his emotions too. Suddenly, he was faced with the choice of either leaving two friends to an almost certain death, or at least the loss of everything they possessed, or taking a gamble which could result in a successful and profitable outcome, or a catastrophic conclusion, for everyone involved. He came up with and discarded several ideas until he could see a possible solution. Then he started to talk it through logically.

  “OK. Let’s talk about what we actually have to do. First, how many stones are there?”

  “I put aside good sized stones that we can cut large, medium or small. They’re not big enough to cause an investigation and not small enough to be rubbish. They go from two to four carats. In total, about seven thousand stones.”

  “Next. How much do they weigh and how large will the package be?”

  Nick interjected quickly. “You remember the finished stones I showed you in Cascais? They were smaller, sample stones to grade the colour and clarity. These are bigger stones, they’re worth much more than the small stones. The value that Henriques’s talking about is a low estimate.” He was getting keener by the minute. “I reckon the weight would be four to five kilograms, about ten pounds. A pretty small package. Right, Henriques?”

  “Absolutely right. We’re not talking about a massive shipment here. It’s high value, low volume.” He took what looked like a dull, crystal pebble from his pocket. It was smaller than the size of his thumbnail. “This is four point two carats in the rough. You can get more than two clear carats after cutting. The finished stone would take your breath away.”

  “So the package would fit into an ordinary briefcase?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’re valuing the rough stones at eight million dollars for twenty thousand carats?”

  “That’s right, but I’ll put them into the partnership at five million.”

  “And they’ll produce about ten thousand carats of high-grade finished stones?”

  “At least. Probably a little more.”

  “And you’ll split the half a million dollars with us to get them to Europe and then go into a fifty-fifty joint venture with you?”

  “Right.”

  “And the currency is in one thousand dollar notes, so that’ll also go in a briefcase?”

  “Right. And before you say anything, I know those notes haven’t been in circulation since 1969. We’ve had them well hidden ever since my dad died. They’ve always been our last-chance ticket out of here. It’s much easier to carry five hundred notes than five thousand.”

  “Are you certain they’re still legal currency?”

  “I’m absolutely certain. But I’m sure you’ll check it out, so don’t take my word for it.”

  “How about you? How will you get out?”

  “Leave that to us. Penniless ex-capitalists are a dime a dozen in Angola. We’ll get out.”

  Charlie brought up several more detailed points, until he was satisfied that he understood every angle of the proposal. He told the Angolan that he would provide him with a secure phone number in Portugal, so they could talk without fear of interception. It was now up to them. Henriques and Manuela were ready to go, desperate to go.

  Manuela took Charlie and Nick by the hands, “Promise you won’t let us down.”

  “Give us a week. We’ll either say no before that or we’ll plan in that time frame.”

  They were now dead beat and Manuela showed them to quarters behind the offices where they could get some sleep. Charlie dreamed of Ellen and Ronnie. Nick dreamed of diamonds. They had been able to book first class seats for the flight back the next day, but it made almost no difference. After struggling to the departure gate, Nick had to give the ground staff manager a thousand escudos to let them on the plane. He told them it was overbooked three times.

  For the second time that week, Nick gave up his no-booze vow for the duration of the flight back. He and Charlie shared a bottle of champagne, courtesy of TAP’s first class service.

  Charlie was quiet, pensive. He was thinking about Henriques and Manuela, and Álvaro Cunhal. While the Angolan couple were desperately making plans to survive, to try to mitigate the loss of everything they had worked for all their lives, Cunhal was coldly preparing the rape of Angola. He was planning to open up the floodgates of independence to let in armies of Russian and Cuban soldiers to steal away everything from the Angolan people. To take away their country from them again. Just when they believed they were finally getting it back.

  The only sin that Henriques and Manuela had committed was to succeed. To work day and night for years, to take risks, to build a business that they believed in, and to succeed. To give employment and commerce to hundreds of local people and to contribute to the national economy. And now they would see it taken over by a mob of murderous Marxist thugs, dressed in army uniforms and preaching about the joys of equality under communism.

  He poured himself a glass of champagne. “Cheers, Nick. What do you reckon?” He clinked his glass against the other man’s.

  “Cheers.” The South African wasn’t as introspective as Charlie. Spending his life under apartheid had forced him to acquire a fairly thick skin, and leaving Rachel and his homeland had been a hard-learned lesson. He was more excited by the business opportunity than concerned about the potential consequences for Angola and its people. After all the frustration of the last eighteen months, this was his chance of finally getting his project off the ground.

  The only appropriate response he could come out with at that moment was, “Unfuckingbelievable!”

  Henriques was talking to Joachim, the security guard. A man called Gomez from the Portuguese Junta had arrived in an army jeep after they had left that morning. He had asked questions about the mine, the owners and the visitors and had then left and hadn’t returned.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to fuck off, like you always tell me to.” The guard was nervous. Gomez had looked like a man with an agenda and those days in Angola most agendas were not pleasant.

  Henriques felt a shiver of apprehension at the news, but he knew he had to hold things together until they could get out. He calmed the big guard down. “You did great, Joachim. There’s lots of crazy people around these days. It’s probably nothing to w
orry about, but keep your eyes open. Watch out and let me know if he comes back or if anything transpires.”

  He went into the office to talk with his younger brother, Sergio. Putting his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, he said, “Looks like we might get out of here in good shape.”

  Not mentioning the cash or the diamonds, he went on, “You should be ready to leave within a month, with Elvira and the kids. Don’t worry about the problems on the outside. Manuela and I’ve got it sorted with the people from APA. We’ll take care of you and the family when we get out.”

  Sergio was not a planner and had little knowledge or interest in anything outside of his job, his wife and their two children. He managed the technical and production operations of the mining business with the detailed, precise attention of an accountant, which was a prime reason for the commercial success of the business. Despite the danger surrounding them, he was content to get on with his job and leave the strategic thinking to his brother. If Henriques said they would be OK, that was good enough for him. He went back into his office and started on the day’s production numbers.

  When Jorge Gomez got back to Lisbon, he went up to see Major Tavares. “I want a check made on all flights to Angola and Geneva until further notice. When any of the APA people book a ticket, I want to be there before them. This time I’ve got them with their hands in the till.”

  He went on, excitedly, “And I want phone taps on APA in Luanda and a company called Sociedade Mineira de Angola and its owner, Henriques Jesus Melo d’Almeida. They’re north of Luanda, near Ambrizete.”

  Tavares sat for a moment, thinking about the requests. “Right. I’ll authorise the check ups on the flights and have them call you direct at your office. As far as Angola is concerned, there’s no way we can do anything.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Do you think I trailed those bastards half way across Africa and then waited all night in the pissing down rain just to come back and hear that. Do you want to nab these capitalist sons of bitches or not?”

  “What I’m fucking talking about, Gomez, is that first, we have no authority to intervene in Angola without written orders from the Prime Minister, and I’m not about to ask him on your say so. And second, there isn’t a single trained technician left in Angola, there isn’t any tapping equipment and we have no idea where the lines are, or how to tap them, without sending down a team of people we don’t have. So forget it, OK?”

  He then questioned his disgruntled assistant about his information. Why was he so sure there was something going down?

  Despite his bosses’ questions, Gomez refused to explain any further. “I’m going to give the Bettencourt family and their sidekicks to you on a plate,” was all he would say.

  Instructions were given to the TAP and Angolan airline offices in Lisbon and at the airport to watch for and report any bookings in the names of Bettencourt, Martinez and Bishop.

  Then Gomez went back down to his office, locked the door and pulled his secretary down onto the filthy sizal carpet.

  THIRTY-ONE

  June, 1975

  Cascais, Portugal

  On Friday, June 20th, Olivier was sitting on the terrace at Charlie’s house. They had called him over that morning to give him a blow by blow account of their trip.

  When he heard about the half million dollars in cash, he choked on his coffee, spilling it onto his immaculate outfit. “Bloody hell! Where did he get that kind of money?”

  He quickly assessed the benefits of the plan. They could save Henriques and Manuela from total disaster and help to restore their fortunes, as well as everyone else’s. In addition, from a purely selfish point of view, this single deal could provide enough profits to boost the successful launch of the new Bettencourt bank and businesses in Geneva.

  Once again he could prove himself to be the right man. The man who could restore his father’s businesses and reputation. To prove that he hadn’t wasted forty years of his life and to show that the Bettencourt family was still a force to be reckoned with. He owed it to his family and to himself to give it his best shot. He knew he had to do it.

  After asking the same questions as Charlie about the weight and size of the package, he sat back, analysing the possibilities in his head. “There’s probably only one person in the world who can help us to get this merchandise safely out of Angola,” he finally said.

  “I know.” Charlie nodded in agreement.

  Nick looked puzzled, but they didn’t expand on the exchange. Instead, Olivier changed the subject. “You have to understand we can’t bring this deal anywhere near the bank, it’s too risky. It’s risky for the bank and for us, and even more so for Henriques and Manuela. If the Nationalisation Committee caught wind of this we’d all be shoved in prison for the rest of our days and they’d never be heard of again.

  “It has to be quick, slick and totally confidential, or we’ll be in deep shit. We have to make this a private project and run it from your house, Charlie. We’ll agree on a split between us, both the cash and the future profits from the diamonds. I’ll make the arrangements with my family in Geneva afterwards, if it works.”

  “Your deal is mine,” said Nick. “Anything you and Charlie agree on is good with me. I’ll do my part and you can be sure I’ll multiply the value of those stones to a very big number. You just need to give me the chance.” Nick could smell, feel, taste the diamonds. He would be back in the business he’d been trained and hired for.

  The next evening, Saturday, June 21st, Olivier sat in the dining room of the Hotel Ritz with Alberto Pires da Silva, Cunhal’s bodyguard. The hotel had been nationalised, however apparently nobody had told the chef and he still served the best food in Lisbon. They sipped the last of a 1962 Dão Caves Velhas Tinto as they finished their rack of lamb. The Angolan had been pleased to receive Olivier’s call and even more so to join him for dinner at the Ritz. The banker calculated that it would rouse less suspicion to meet him there, where members of the government often dined, than to go to a smaller, more discreet restaurant. He had thanked Alberto once again for his help over the last year and the other man had shrugged it off, but he was looking shrewdly at him, guessing that this was not just a casual supper together.

  They sat back, relaxing with a glass of Adega Velha brandy and Alberto lit up a huge Montecristo Cuban cigar with evident pleasure. “I got the taste for these in Moscow. An expensive habit, but as you’d imagine, we have a special deal with the manufacturers.”

  “Boa saúde, Alberto. Good health.”

  “Para ti também, Olivier. And to you.” He sipped the amber liquid appreciatively.

  “Tell me. How old are you?”

  “I was fifty-five last month,” the Angolan replied.

  “You have just one child, don’t you?”

  “Yes, a son, Raffael. We call him Raffa, he’ll be ten this year.”

  “I suppose he was born in Moscow?”

  “Yes. Inês and I always wanted a family, but at the time we were married we felt that Angola wasn’t a safe place to bring up a child. Then, during the mission in Peniche we didn’t know what was going to happen. So when we got settled in Russia we decided to go ahead with a family. We were late, but lucky. Raffa’s a great kid. Although I suppose I was a bit old to become a father at forty-five.”

  Olivier decided to get to the point. “Are you a wealthy man?”

  Alberto stiffened imperceptibly, carefully weighing his words. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m wealthy. We don’t own our own home but we have some savings. I am well paid for what I do and frankly, these days I don’t do very much. So, all in all, I’m not too badly off.”

  Olivier leaned closer to him, lowering his voice. “How would you like to become wealthy enough to do nothing for the rest of your life? Make sure that Inês and your boy never have to worry, despite what might happen here. I think that both of us know the present situation won’t last forever, Alberto. A good insurance policy is worth its weight in gold.”

  He
sat back, waiting, trying not to show the tension in his body. This could be worth ten million dollars or the rest of my life in prison. His relaxed appearance belied his thoughts.

  A gamet of emotions ran across Alberto’s face. At last he replied, “You know I won’t betray my convictions?” He was ready to make his choice between power and fortune.

  “I would never ask you to do that. We may have different points of view, but I know a man of conviction when I meet one and I respect you for it. This is purely commercial” Olivier let out a sigh of relief and the two men sipped their brandy contentedly.

  “Well done, Olivier. That was a risky move. I’m glad you didn’t tell me what the secret weapon was. I’d have been pissing in my pants in case it backfired.”

  It was Sunday morning and Olivier and Nick were back at Charlie’s house. Olivier’s wife and their two children were already in Geneva and Ellen was at the beach with Maggie and the kids.

  Nick’s compliment was well earned. Alberto had taken the bait, hook line and sinker. He had even advised Olivier that he was scheduled to go down to Luanda on the following Thursday morning, “just to deliver some papers.” His only condition was that he wanted Olivier to go with him to Henriques’s mine and assist in the handover of the merchandise.

  “That was inevitable.” Charlie said. “I already told you he loves you like a brother and he obviously trusts you, which is the clincher. He doesn’t know Henriques so there’s no way that he would go down there without having his insurance policy at his side. Our insurance policy too,” he added, unaware that those words would come back to haunt him, very soon.

  “I’ll call TAP in the morning,” said Olivier. “Alberto’s going on a military flight, so I need to get there ahead of him on Wednesday. Henriques can pick us both up somewhere without us being seen together. Same thing coming back. We can’t take any chances by being sloppy.”