The Diamond Hunters

by Wilbur Smith

  Byl drove down from London to bid her bon voyage, and he spent an hour behind locked doors with Sergio Caporetti before the departure of the vessel.

  Kingfisher made good time southwards on her first leg of the voyage, but the unscheduled delay of ten days at the island of Las

  Palmas infuriated Johnny. His urgently cabled enquiries from Cape Town elicited the reply that there were teething troubles in Kingfisher’s engine room which were being attended to in the Las Palmas dockyards.

  The voyage would be resumed as soon as the repairs had been effected.

  The Japanese gentleman who welcomed Kingfisher to Las Palmas was named Kaminikoto. This was too much for Sergio’s tongue, so he called him

  “Kammy’.

  Sergio’s crew was sent ashore with the excuse that the work on

  Kingfisher was dangerous. They were installed in the best tourist hotel and liberally supplied with intoxicating liquor. Sergio did not see them for the next ten days that he and Kamy were busy on the modifications to Kingfisher’s computer, and recovery equipment.

  During those ten days Sergio and Kammy discovered that despite physical appearances they were brothers.

  Kammy had mysterious packing-cases brought on board and they worked like furies from dawn until after dark each day. Then they relaxed.

  Kammy was half Sergio’s size with a face like a mischievous monkey. At all times he wore a Homburg hat. On the one occasion that

  Sergio saw him in his bath without his head-gear he discovered that Kammy was as bald as St. Peter’s dome. Kammy’s abundant tastes in women were identical to Sergio’s. This made the hiring of partners an easy matter, for what suited the one suited the other. Sergio took south with him fond memories of the little Japanese clad only in his Homburg hat, uttering bird-like cries of encouragement and excitement, while perched like a jockey on top of a percheron mare.

  When at last Sergio shepherded his debauched crew back aboard

  Kingfisher the only obvious sign of their labours was that the inspection hatch on the conveyor tunnel had been moved back twelve feet.

  “It is my best work,” Kammy told Sergio. Already he was sad at the prospect of parting. They were brothers. “I signed my name. You will remember me when you see it.”

  “You good guy, Kammy. The best!”

  Sergio embraced him, lifting him off his feet and kissing him heartily on each cheek while Kammy clutched desperately at his Homburg.

  They left him standing on the wharf, a forlorn and solitary figure, while Kingfisher butted out into the Atlantic and swung away southwards.

  Duefully Johnny Lance glanced over at the mountain of empty champagne bottles beyond the barbecue pits. The bill for this little party would be in the thousands, but it was not an extravagance. The guest list included all Van Der Byl Diamond Company’s major creditors and their wives. Johnny Lance was showing them all what they were getting for their money. To appear prosperous was almost as reassuring to a creditor as being prosperous. He was going to stuff them full of food and champagne, show them over the Kingfisher and fly them back home, hoping sincerely that they would be sufficiently impressed to stop badgering him for a while - and let him get on with the business of taking the Company out into the clear.

  Tracey caught his eye. Her humorous roll of the eyes was a plea for sympathy, for she was surrounded by a pack of middle-aged bankers and financiers whom champagne had made susceptible to her charms.

  Johnny winked at her in reply, then glanced around guiltily to find

  Ruby, and was relieved that she was in deep conversation with Benedict van der Byl in a far corner of the marquee.

  He made his way out of the crowd to the edge of the dune, and lit a cigarette while he looked back across Cartridge Bay.

  The chartered Dakotas that had flown the guests and caterers up from Cape Town were standing on the airstrip beyond the buildings.

  The marquee was situated on the crest of a sand dune overlooking the narrow entrance to the bay. The dune had been bulldozed to accommodate the tent, the laden tables, and the barbecue pits around which whiteclad servants were busy, and the spitted carcasses of three sheep and a young ox were already browning crisply and emitting a cloud of fragrant steam.

  Tracey watched Johnny standing out on the edge of the dune. He looked tired, she thought. The strain of the last few months had worn him down. Looking back on it now she realized that every few days had thrust a crisis upon him. The terrible worry of the court case that had won them Thunderbolt and Suicide had barely ended before Johnny had faced the delays in the construction of Kingfisher, the bullying of creditors, the sniping of Benedict and a hundred other worries and frustrations.

  He was like a prize-fighter coming out to the bell of the last round, she thought tenderly, as she studied the profile of his face now staring out to sea. His stance was still aggressive, the big jaw pushed out and the hand with the missing finger that held the cigarette balled into a fist, but there were blue shadows under his eyes and lines of tension at the corners of his mouth.

  Suddenly, there was an alertness in Johnny’s attitude, he shaded his eyes with a hand before turning back towards the marquee.

  “All right, everyone!” he called, stilling the babble of their voices. “Here she comes.” Immediately the uproar was redoubled and the whole party trooped out into the sunlight, their excitement and the shrillness of their voices enhanced by the Pommery they had been walloping back since midmorning.

  “Look! There she is!”

  “Where? Where?”

  “I can’t see her.”

  “Just to the left of that cloud on the horizon.”

  “Oh yes! Look! Look!” Tracey took a second glass of champagne from one of the waiters, and carried-it across to Johnny.

  “Thanks.” He smiled at her with the ease that now existed between them.

  “It’s taken her long enough to get here.” Tracey picked out the faraway speck on the green ocean that was Kingfisher. “When will she begin working?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “How long will it be before we know - well, if it has come off?”

  “A week.” Johnny turned to her. “A week to be certain, but we’ll know in a day or two how it’s shaping up.” They were silent then, staring out at the gradually approaching speck. The crowd lost interest quickly and drifted back to the liquor, and the fragrant steaming platters of golden-brown meat that were coming from the barbecue pits.

  Tracey broke the long friendly silence at last. She spoke hesitantly, as though reluctant to bring up a painful subject.

  “How long has Ruby been back now - ten days?”

  “About that,” Johnny agreed, glancing at her quickly. “I haven’t seen much of her, he admitted. “But she seems to be a lot more relaxed - and at least she’s kept off my back.”

  “She and Benedict seem to have become very pally.” Tracey glanced across to where the other couple were now included in a boisterous circle of revellers.

  “She bumped into him in London,” Johnny agreed, sounding offhand. “She tells me they had lunch a couple of times.” She waited for him to continue, to express some suspicion or reservation, but he seemed to have no further interest in the subject; instead he began running over the day’s further arrangements with her.

  “I’m relying on you to take charge of the wives when we go aboard.

  Keep an eye on Mrs. Larsen particularly - she’s up to her gills in bubbly.” For the next two hours that it took Kingfisher to make her approach and enter the channel of Cartridge Bay, Johnny hardly took his eyes from her unusual silhouette.

  She was not a pretty vessel but the white lightning insignia of

  Van Der Byl Diamonds on her funnel gave her a special beauty in his eyes. As she passed below them and entered the bay, Larsen proposed a toast to her successful career, then they all descended the dune and climbed into the waiting Land-Rovers and drove round the bay to meet her.

  By the time they arrived Kingfishe
r had made fast alongside the jetty, and Captain Sergio Caporetti was waiting to welcome them aboard.

  He stood at the head of the gangway, and sensible to the importance of the moment he was decked in his finest and best; a double-breasted suit with a cream and lilac pinstripe set off the tomato-red silk tie, but his two-tone black and white crocodile skin shoes drew attention to his large feet and his gait was that of an emperor penguin. A liberal application of a hair pomade with a penetrating smell of violets had flattened his black hair into a shiny slick, bisected by the ruler-straight line of white scalp which was his parting. However, the aroma of the pomade was at odds with the particularly stinky cheroot of a brand which Sergio reserved for weddings, funerals and other special occasions.

  His beautiful gazelle eyes became passionate and dark as they lit on Fifi Larsen. Mrs. Larsen’s tight-fitting slacks moved as though they were full of live rabbits and her pink sweater was straining its seams.

  Her eyes were sparkling with champagne and she giggled without apparent reason, flushing under Sergio’s scrutiny.

  The tour of Kingfisher began, Sergio Caporetti taking up an escort position directly behind Mrs. Larsen. They had hardly descended the first ladder when Mrs. Larsen let out a small squeak and shot about eighteen inches into the air, before coming back to earth with all her plentiful womanhood aquiver.

  “My dear Fifi, whatever is wrong?” Her husband was all solicitude, while behind her Sergio Caporetti wore an expression of cherubic innocence. Johnny felt dizzy with alarm, for he had seen Sergio’s great hairy paw settling comfortably on to those majestic buttocks.

  Mrs. Fifi Larsen had been thoroughly goosed.

  In relieved disbelief Johnny heard her reply, which was preceded by another giggle.

  “I seem to have twisted my ankle. Perhaps there is somewhere I

  could sit down.” Johnny looked around frantically for Tracey to get Mrs. Larsen out of Sergio’s clutching range, but before he could signal her, Fifi was limping away on Sergio Caporetti’s arm, bravely declining all offers of help.

  “Please don’t let me spoil your fun. I’ll just sit in the

  Captain’s cabin for a few minutes.” Quickly Johnny moved up beside the silver-haired Larsen and resolved to stay close beside him. Even if he could not prevent Fifi visiting Sergio’s quarters, he was going to make good and sure that the husband didn’t join the party.

  “This is the explosives locker.” Johnny took Larsen’s arm and led him away. “We keep a store of plastic explosives for underwater blasting-” Larsen’s concern at his wife’s injury dissolved and he became immersed in the tour of Kingfisher. Johnny followed the line of production for him from the moment the gravel was sucked in through the dredge.

  As they left the cyclone room Johnny preceded him, holding the steel door open for Larsen.

  “From the cyclone the concentrates pass through here into-” He stopped with surprise as they entered the narrow compartment beyond the cyclone.

  “What’s wrong, Lance?” Larsen demanded.

  “No. It’s nothing,” Johnny assured him. After the surprise of finding that the inspection plate in the conveyor tunnel had been moved he realized that it was as well from a security angle. Probably the marine architects had ordered the modification. “The concentrates are carried through into the next compartment to the X-ray room. This way, please.” As Johnny led the way to the next door he resolved to check with the architects. Larsen asked a question and he replied and the conveyor tunnel was forgotten. They went through into the X-ray room.

  He noticed it.” Benedict puffed quickly and nervously at the cigarette cupped in his hand. “He doesn’t miss a thing. The bastard.”

  “He noticed it, yes. But he accepted it.” Ruby was definite.

  “I know him. I was watching him. He was disturbed for a second then he rationalized it. I could almost see his mind work. He accepted it.” They stood together on the exposed angle of Kingfisher’s bridge. Suddenly Ruby laughed.

  “Don’t look so worried,” she warned him merrily. “We are being watched by your sister again. She’s down on the foredeck. Come.”

  Still smiling she led him around the angle of the bridge house, and out of sight she was immediately deadly serious again.

  “That sister of yours is getting suspicious. We must keep away from each other until you tell Johnny.” Benedict nodded.

  “When are you going to tell him?” she demanded.

  “Soon.”

  “How soon?” Ruby would not be able to rest until it was out in the open, until Benedict had committed himself, yet she must not push him too hard.

  “As soon as Kingfisher runs the Company under. I will pick the moment that he is beaten financially, then I will tell him. I want it to be the coup de grace.”

  “When will it be, Benedict darling? I am so anxious to be with you - without all this subterfuge.” Benedict opened his mouth to reply and froze like that, his expression changing slowly into that of a man who doubts the evidence of his own eyes. He was staring over Ruby’s shoulder.

  Ruby turned quickly. The curtain across the Captain’s porthole behind her was open a chink. She looked in upon a spectacle of such whole-hearted rubicund magnitude that it should have occurred only to

  Olympus between Jupiter and Juno.

  In the cabin Fifi Larsen was receiving treatment for her sprained ankle.

  Well, you’ve got your toy now. Let’s hope for all our sakes you can do something with it,” Benedict smiled pleasantly as he came across to where Johnny stood with Larsen under the great gallowsshaped gantry on the foredeck of Kingfisher that would raise and lower the dredging head.

  “Toy, Mr. van der Byl?” Larsen’s white eyebrows bristled.

  “Surely you have no doubts? I mean, now that you’ve got this

  Thunderbolt and Suicide concession?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say doubts, Mr. Larsen. Reservations perhaps, but not really doubts. Mr. Lance has been the champion of this venture. His enthusiasm has carried it in the face of all opposition. Even that of my late father.” Benedict turned to Larsen smoothly.

  “Your father opposed the scheme? I didn’t know thad” Larsen was perturbed.

  “Not opposed it, Mr. Larsen.” Benedict smiled reassuringly. “Not really opposed it. But you will notice that he was prepared to risk your money - not his own. That will give you some idea of how he felt.” There was a chilled silence, before Larsen turned to Johnny.

  “Well, Lance, thank you for an interesting day. Very interesting.

  I’ll be watching your progress with attention close attention.“And he turned away and strode to where a subdued and demure Fifi was waiting with a group of the other wives.

  “Thanks.“Johnny gave Benedict a bleak grin.

  “Don’t mention it.” Benedict smiled that charming boyish smile.

  “At the end of this week I’ll take that little speech of yours, roll it into a ball and ram it down your throat,” Johnny promised him softly, and Benedict’s expression changed. His eyes slitted and his grin showed his teeth and tightened the soft line of his jaw.

  “You’re pretty slick with your mouth, Lance.” They glared at each other, the antagonism so apparent, as elemental as a pair of rutting stags, that they were suddenly the centre of all attention. The guests stared curiously, aware of the drama but not understanding it.

  Ruby started forward quickly to intervene, taking Johnny’s elbow, her voice sugary.

  “Oh, Benedict, do you mind if I talk to Johnny a moment?

  I have to know if he’s returning to Cape Town with me this evening She led him away, and the tension dissolved. The disappointed guests began drifting to the gangplank and filing down on to the jetty.

  In the confusion of embarkation aboard the two Dakotas, Johnny managed to exchange a last word with Tracey.

  “You’ll stay here until you know?” she asked. He nodded.

  “Good luck, Johnny. I’ll pray for you,” she whispered, then follo
wed Ruby Lance up into the fuselage of the Dakota.

  Johnny watched the two big aircraft taxi down to the end of the strip, turn in succession and roar away into the purple and red sky of evening.

  After they had gone it was very still, and the silence of the desert was complete. Johnny sat in the open Landrover and smoked a cigarette while the night came down around him.

  He was uneasy, aware of a deep-down tickle of apprehension and foreboding which he could not pin down.

  The last glow of sunset faded from the western sky, and the desert stars were bright and hard and close to the earth, silvering the dome of space with the splendour that the city-dweller would never guess at.

  Still Johnny hunched in the seat of the open Land-Rover trying to explore the source of his uneasiness, but with so little success that at last he must attribute it to the strain and fatigue of the last few months, his involvement with Tracey, his steadily worsening relationship with Ruby - and the latest clash with Benedict.

  He flicked the stub of his cigarette away, watching morosely the explosion of red sparks as it struck the earth, then he started the

  Land-Rover and drove slowly down towards the jetty.

  Kingfisher’s lights were smeared in paths of yellow and silver across the still waters of the bay. Every porthole was lit brightly, giving her the festive air of a cruise ship.

  Johnny left the Land-Rover at the head of the jetty, and walked out to her. The muted throb of her engines cheered him a little, the knowledge that the vessel was preparing for the morrow.

  On deck he paused beside the gigantic compressed air tanks, each the size of a steam locomotive, and checked the pressure gauges. The needles were moving perceptibly around the dials, and his mood lightened a little.

  He went up the ladder to the bridge, and into the chartroom where

  Sergio and Hugo were drinking coffee.

  “Not my fault, Mr. Lance,” Sergio began defensively. “I am a gentleman - I cannot refuse a lady.”

  “You’ll dig your own grave with that spade of yours one day,” Johnny warned him grimly, as he went to the chart table and hung over it.

  “Now let’s get cracking.” Johnny’s sense of dread lifted completely as he looked down at the large-scale Admiralty chart. The twin humps of Thunderbolt and Suicide were clearly marked. “Hugo, have you got the prospecting schedules?”