by Duncan James
***
Will Bartlett and Bwonqa Mbele had enjoyed a few good days at the Bartlett homestead in the Western Cape. Will's parents, James and Beatrice, could hardly believe the news that their son had brought with him - indeed they didn't really believe it until they had a call from the local bank manager to say that a large sum had been deposited in the Bartlett account, and would they like any advice on how to invest it. They hastily organised a party to celebrate, with their friends the Parkinsons, in whose bungalow they were staying, and on whose estate they had been working since leaving Zimbabwe.
The Bartletts had settled well to their new life, but were saddened when Bonkers told them that their old farm, which had been in the family for generations, had eventually been torched by the new 'owners', the war veterans, who were growing increasingly agitated about their lot. Beatrice had cried, and James was shocked to think of all the work he and his ancestors had done being so wasted in such a criminal manner. Many of the veterans, and others, had taken to the streets to protest about the government and its corruption, and the fact that, in spite of all the promises, they had no food, no fuel and no money, and were left with a worthless bit of land on which they were capable of growing nothing worth talking about.
The Bartletts, on the other hand, had devoted considerable effort towards making a go of their new life, and had, as the Parkinsons were the first to admit, made a tremendous contribution towards the profitability of the extensive vineyard.
The day after the party, the Parkinsons, who were themselves getting on towards retiring age, gave the Bartletts the opportunity to invest some of their gratuity into the business. They were offered the chance to purchase several hundred of acres of fertile vineyard, together with the freehold of the bungalow and associated outbuildings. It took the Bartletts no time at all to accept the generosity of their old friends, and to strike a deal.
James and Beatrice Bartlett were soon to be in business again on their own account, with their own land to farm and their own house. It was an exciting time for all of them, especially when Will's father asked him to move in with them to help run the estate. Bonkers was also offered the chance to complete his education, at the Bartlett's expense, with a view to taking over as farm manager next year.
"Since we shall soon be on our own again," said James Bartlett, "we have to arrange to run things properly and take responsibility for everything, rather than just help the Parkinsons to run the estate. It means an element of duplication, I suppose, as I shall have to buy my own equipment again, rather than rely on using the Parkinson's, although I shall probably try to get second-hand. They have said that they will act as a co-operative so far as marketing my harvest is concerned, subject to the normal high standard being maintained. But the land and the vines they are selling me are of a high quality anyway, and the crop has never failed to meet the overall standard set by the estate, so I see no problem."
"This will be quite like the old days," said Bonkers to Will, "when my father was farm manager for your father. It's all very thrilling."
"Where will you get the farm equipment serviced?" Will asked his father.
"That's always been a bit of a problem down here, since you mentioned it," replied James Bartlett, "as the nearest decent maintenance depot cum garage is about fifty miles away."
"We could set up our own workshop," suggested Will, "and do work for the Parkinsons as well - at a fee, of course!"
"I don't know about that," said his father, doubtfully.
"You have the space," continued Will. "We could easily convert one of the outbuildings over there into a workshop. It wouldn't need a lot of equipment."
"I'm sure I don't know anyone round here who would want to run it for us, even if we did," said James.
"We could get Kipling Bangura down here," suggested Bonkers. "He's a good mechanic, and I know he's finding life hard at the moment, like everyone else in Zimbabwe."
Will's father thought for a moment.
"Well, I suppose we could ask him," said James Bartlett. "He was certainly a good engineer, and always helpful."
"I'll ask him, if you like," offered Will. "I need to see him anyway, to collect the old Volvo. If I'm going to live down here, I might as well have the old family car to use."
"Let's go and look at the outbuildings," suggested Bonkers. "It might be possible to convert one of them into a garage and a small house for Mr. Bangura at the same time."
"It's the sort of place he lives in now," agreed Will.
There was suddenly so much to do again, what with all the paper work, and the planning necessary for them to set up on their own, that they quite forgot the turmoil 'at home'. So it was a bit of a shock when Will's phone rang one afternoon, and he took a call from one of his contacts in Harare.
Will frowned, as he listened.
"I need to think about this," he said, after a time. "I'll call you back."
"What's up?" asked Bonkers.
"One of our contacts. Things have taken a turn for the worse," replied Will. "There have been large crowds of protesters on the streets for the last few days and nights in Harare and Bulawayo, and other towns like Gweru and Hwange and Mutare, apparently. Mostly peaceful protests, it seems, but the Police and Army don't seem to be doing much about it, and the Government is getting increasingly rattled. There's even talk of the Army staging a coup and holding early elections, and rumours like that are making the crowds even more excited."
"I suppose we'd better get back quickly," said Bonkers. "We've both got a few loose ends to tie up, and we need to see Mr. Bangura."
"You're right," agreed Will. "But there's more to it than that. It seems that the President and other ministers and members of his hierarchy are planning to leave in a hurry if they have to. According to one source in the President's office, they are gathering together their valuables ready to move out, including millions of dollars worth of diamonds. Apparently, the head of state is organising their collection and will arrange for them to be moved out in one shipment, probably here, to South Africa."
"Interesting," commented Bonkers.
"More than that," said Will, thoughtfully. "They were paid for by money which rightly belonged to the people. Just think! Wouldn't it be great if we could intercept that shipment, and put the cash back where it belonged, or even add it to what is already being paid out to white farmers!"
"I don't like the way you said 'we'," said Bonkers. "I wouldn't know where to start organising a thing like that, and it would be very dangerous even to attempt it. I thought my little life had just taken a turn for the better, so don't expect me to get involved in hair-raising schemes like that!"
"I didn't mean us personally," agreed Will. "But there must be a way to hijack those diamonds somehow, with inside help."
"Where would we start?" asked a worried Bonkers.
Will thought for a moment.
"I think I'll ring Robin," he said. "He'll know what to do."
"He'll probably tell you not to be mad, or to ring his friend at the embassy, and he'll tell you not to be mad."
"I'll ring Robin anyway," declared Will, "and then we'd better get back to Zimbabwe smartish."
Robin said they were mad even to think about it.
"But there must be some Special Forces about somewhere in Africa, training or something, who could help," protested Will.
"Ex-special forces might, but not any still serving," Robin thought.
"How would I find out?" pleaded Will.
"Try Bowman, at the Embassy, if you like," said Robin. "But he'll probably tell you you're mad and to forget the idea."
"I'll ask," said Will. "The point is Robin, if we should get hold of them, could you help put the money back into - shall we say - 'good causes'?"
"It's a big 'if', but I suppose I could if you should succeed in some way," replied Robin. "But I've got problems of my own to sort out at the moment without worrying about selling diamonds you'll probably never get hold of. But let me know what happens."<
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"That reminds me," said Will. "Mum and Dad insist that you and Marian come down here for a really long holiday as soon as you can." He told Robin what the family had planned, and how Bonkers was involved.
"That all sounds very exciting, and I'm really pleased for you all," replied Robin. "And please thank your parents for their invitation. We'd love to come as soon as we've got over our current panic. We'll be in touch."
"Bonkers and I are heading north again as soon as we can," said Will. "Things are hotting up a bit back home, and we have a few things to sort out before the country really goes ape."
He rang Group Captain Charles Bowman at the British Embassy in Harare on his secure phone link, and told him what was going on.
"I know about the demonstrations, of course," said Bowman. "I can see them and hear then every evening. But it's very useful to know that the government is preparing to go into exile. Thank you for that."
"I'm frankly not in the least interested in what the government does," said Will. "I want to get my hands on those diamonds if they are moved, and put the money back where it belongs."
"And how do you plan to do that?" asked the attache.
"That's why I'm ringing you," replied Will. "I haven't a clue how to do it on my own, but I wondered if you knew the whereabouts of any special forces - SAS or something - who might help. I suppose they'd need to be retired, and operating as mercenaries," he added helpfully.
"There are certainly some about, and it's possible I might be able to find a couple," replied Bowman, "but it'll be a high risk operation and I can't possibly get involved."
"A contact will do, and leave the rest to me," replied Will Bartlett.
"These chaps come expensive, you know," said Bowman.
"Money's no object, especially if we get the gems," replied Will.
"How will you know when and how they are to be moved," asked the attache.
"Contacts," replied Will. "One in particular in the President's office. He knows what's going on."
There was a moment's silence.
"Are you still in South Africa?" asked Bowman.
"Yes, but we're heading north again as soon as we can."
"Ring me again when you get back here," said Bowman, and hung up.
It wasn't long before the Foreign Office in London knew about Will's phone call, although not the bit about a possible attempt to intercept the diamonds. The Defence Attache kept that to himself. He knew that there was a small detachment of SAS in Kenya, on a training exercise, and he suspected that, if there were any of their ex-colleagues about acting as mercenaries, the CO would know about them and how to get in touch.
He did.
Two days later, Will rang Bowman again, on his way to Chasimu to see Kipling Bangura. It was a brief conversation. Bowman simply gave him a name and a phone number.