The Victoria Stone

by Bob Finley

  "And you do?"

  "Oh, yes. Power, properly used, creates more power which, properly used...you get the idea."

  "I think I do. You want God's job."

  Jambou threw back his head and laughed. "I wouldn't turn it down," he said.

  "Where does yours come from?" Marc didn't join in the laughter.

  "My what?"

  "Money. Power."

  "Ah. To the point, as usual. Very well. My power comes from the same source as yours. Money. As to my money...it is, in a manner of speaking, an ancestral inheritance."

  Justin looked around the room pointedly. "Rich ancestors," he observed.

  Jambou folded his hands in his lap. The smile was gone. "They would have been," he responded.

  "Would have been?" Marc drew him out.

  Jambou lowered his eyes, then slowly raised his head to stare at Justin. He decided.

  "I will tell you a story, Mr. Justin," he said in a strangely quiet voice, free of bluster. "You will be the first person to whom I have ever told it. I will tell you so that you will understand. You will understand the depth of my conviction, the reason why I will succeed."

  There was a flash of passion deep in the dark eyes, like distant lightning from a summer squall far out at sea. When he continued, it was more to himself than to an audience.

  "My great grandfather and his brother were Bantu Swazis. They herded cattle in southwestern Mbabane. Huge herds. It was an honorable profession that brought them wealth and respect. But a drought began in the summer of 1862. It dried up the lakes and the rivers. There was no water for the animals and they began dying. And then it dried up the grass that fed the animals, until nothing was left in the dry wind and dust but the Karroo bushes, not even a garden to feed their families. Finally, they traded away the last of their herds to keep them alive. When the drought finally broke, and the rains came, it was too late. They had lost everything they had. Even some of the children. Everything. In 1870 they began hearing stories about men getting rich overnight down along the Orange and Vaal Rivers, in the land of the Zulus. The stories said the rivers were full of diamonds, and the banks lined with them so that a man could pick them up between his toes as he walked, and buyers begging to pay a man a fortune for what he'd found."

  "So, in late spring...November of 1870, it was...they said good-bye to their families and set out for the diamond fields to recoup their lost fortunes and restore their family pride. They walked until they came to the Orange River, where they made a canoe and took to the river. It took them 42 days to cover the 350 miles, living off the occasional fish they caught, and fruit they found. And when they arrived in the mining towns of Pniel and Klipdrift, near Kimberly, they discovered that rumors are one part truth and ninety-nine parts wishful dreaming."

  "There were men from tribes all over South Africa...Griquas, Basutos, Sothos, Tsongas, Pedis. There were Xhosas, Bechuanas, and Zulus. They came dressed in leopard skins, jackal skins, antelope skins, and loin cloths. They wore feathers, and black crane plumes, and white oxtails, and around their necks they wore the intestines of sheep. And they spoke in languages and dialects of glottal stops and tongue clicks. Even the white miners wore pith helmets, felt hats with ostrich feathers, white turbans, colored veils, and red sashes, along with their corduroy trousers and wide belts. There were bars and camp whores, horse races and boxing matches, and gambling at the game of Fly Loo. But there were also open ditches for latrines, dogs that ate corpses, dead animal carcasses, flies, dysentery, typhus, and malaria."

  "There were crooked cops and beatings. It was freezing at night and a hundred degrees during the day. A constant diet of meat and eggs brought on scurvy. A doctor was a four-day ride, one way."

  "As for the rivers full of diamonds...like everything else they'd heard, this too was greatly exaggerated. A claim was thirty-by-thirty feet, leased or bought from the owner, plus twenty-five percent of the find. My great-grandfather and his brother were eventually able to peg out a claim each. They dug basketsful of the yellow dirt, made sludge of it with water, and shook it out through cradles, to separate the rocks by their size. Then they sifted the rubble onto a grease board. The rocks fell away...the diamonds stuck to the grease, like magic. Boiling water removed the grease from the diamonds and they were hidden away for safekeeping. They slept on the ground, wrapped in dirty sheep skins. It was a hard life."

  "And then, one day, they got lucky. My great-uncle found a huge stone...610 carats! They hid it from the others because there were many thieves around. They took it down to a white kopje walloper in one of the corrugated iron shacks that lined the town's street to have it appraised. It created such chaos that they finally found themselves and their diamond surrounded by buyers, all trying to get their hands on it. Many of them were IDB's...Illicit Diamond Buyers...a practice that could get a man beaten, jailed, or even killed. But which could be very profitable if they got away with it. Today their diamond would have been worth a million dollars, cut. Then it was worth three hundred thousand dollars. The walloper who bought it paid a tenth of what it was worth. But these naive Kaffirs from nowhere had never seen thirty thousand dollars before, and they grabbed it before it disappeared. Their futures, and their families' futures were assured. Am I boring you?"

  Justin was startled by the sudden disruption. "No, not at all. Actually, it's rather interesting, if true. I don't know much about diamond mining. I suppose there is a point?"

  In the room's ambient lighting, Jambou's eyes slitted and his expression froze.

  "Oh, yes, Captain, there is a point. And I will get to it."

  "Then please continue."

  Jambou rearranged himself in his chair. After a moment he continued in a subdued voice.

  "They decided to sell their claims to neighboring miners and leave for home the next day. But during the night, thugs came and beat them. They were told that unless they sold their claim to the walloper they would be killed and their claim taken from them. So the next day they went back to the buyer. He pretended he knew nothing about any beating. He accused them of stealing the diamond from someone else's claim, and said their claim was worthless. He angered the crowd against them. Then he agreed to give them an escort out of town to protect them, if they would sign their worthless claim over to the company he represented. They had no choice. If they stayed they would be beaten, or maybe even killed by their own fellow miners, or the constables. So they signed. After all, they had the money they'd come for." Jambou paused as if his spring had run down. When he continued it was in a voice so soft Marc had to concentrate to understand him.

  "The armed escort took them out of town a short distance. And delivered them to a group of bandits. They took all the money. And they beat them savagely with knobkerries. They killed my great-uncle and would have killed my great-grandfather. But the long months of hard labor had toughened him and he was faster than they were, and he escaped. But he returned home in disgrace with nothing to show for all he'd endured but the pitiful rags on his back." He paused. Then he slowly raised his head and looked directly at Justin. "He recognized the men who had beaten him and killed his brother and stolen their hard-earned fortune. They were the same ones who had beaten them the night before to make them sell. They worked for the greedy buyer, a front man for a rival mine that was just a mile away, who's owner wanted it all...land, diamonds, power. He would stop at nothing to have it. My great-grandfather got in the way. Thieves and murderers!" Jambou struggled visibly to regain control of himself. "Perhaps you know the rest of the story? No? Well, the company bought up claims and property until they owned it all. Certainly all that was worth owning. Then they raped the land and gouged huge holes in the ground, a quarter-mile wide and half-a-mile deep. And they honeycombed the land with shafts and tunnels. And they crushed the blue ground from the diamond pipes to get the diamonds out. And they crushed the men who had been miners but who were now semi-slaves, living in compounds, cut off from their families and the outside world, subject to strip searches
, no longer working for themselves, but working for almost nothing compared to the white man's wages. But they had no choice because poverty drove them to it. And pity the man who was caught stealing even one stone! Eventually two or three companies dominated and formed a monopoly on the diamond market. For a hundred years they've completely controlled supply to create and maintain demand. Ninety-seven percent of all diamonds, and half the world's gold, come from Africa. And it's all controlled by these people. Now they're major players in the diamond fields that have been discovered in Russia and Alaska. And they spend hundreds of millions on advertising to ensure that diamonds are the most sought-after status symbol in the world. Is it any wonder, then, that diamonds are an international medium of exchange, along with gold? And diamonds, most diamonds, can't even be traced."

  "Which brings us to you," Justin interrupted. "I understand you especially like them."

  Jambou smiled. "Actually, what I like about diamonds, Captain Justin, is the wealth they represent and the power that wealth will buy."

  "That's right, power is the alter you worship at, isn't it?"

  "Crudely put, Captain, but...not totally inaccurate."

  "So, if diamonds are your power base, I assume you have some?"

  Jambou laughed. "Subtlety is not one of your strong points, Captain. But, you're right. I do have...‘some’. Would you like to see them?"

  "Sure, why not? I have a very full schedule, but I can spare you a few minutes."

  With a button on the arm of his chair Jambou killed all the lights in the room. The only illumination remaining emanated from the panoramic blue of the surrounding sea/walls, filling every aspect of the room. For a long moment after he turned off the lights, Jambou regarded Marcus Justin somberly.

  "Mr. Justin," he said quietly, "you will be the first person besides myself to see this. I hope you appreciate that." Justin watched his adversary closely but made no reply. Finally, Jambou reached languidly and tapped a ten digit number into the keypad on the chair arm. Justin waited, not knowing what to expect.

  With an almost inaudible hiss, a section of floor smoothly detached itself and a ten-foot diameter glass cylinder rose majestically before Marc's startled eyes until it stood taller than himself. Brilliant light from within the cylinder caused him to involuntarily turn his head to one side until his eyes could adjust to the contrast. Then he realized what was inside the cylinder and he stood up in awe. He approached the cylinder and walked slowly around it, bedazzled first by the brilliance and then by the implications of its contents. Diamonds. Thousands of cut diamonds. Yellow. Blue. Brown. Colorless. From what looked like one carat to five. Separated in bins with glass dividers by color and size. He walked all the way around the kiosk without a word. Then he looked at Jambou, who smiled.

  "Beautiful, yes?"

  Justin nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "But whose are they?"

  Jambou looked surprised. "Why, mine of course! Whose would they be?"

  "And how did they come to be yours? Did you buy them?"

  Jambou inclined his head and pursed his lips. "In a manner of speaking."

  "Meaning...exactly what?"

  "Money is not the only currency by which things may be bought."

  Justin regarded him coolly. "How else?"

  The smile went away and the eyes narrowed. "With blood. And disgrace. And humiliation. And death."

  "You stole them."

  Jambou looked away. Then, with a sad, slight smile, his eyes turned back to Justin.

  “‘Reclaimed’ is a better word," he said softly.

  "Why? Revenge? Retribution? Or just greed?"

  Jambou gave a little shrug and his smile widened. "Any of those will do. I'm a practical man. And a realistic one."

  Marc turned back to look at the fabulous collection. He couldn't even guess at their worth.

  "Seven hundred and fifty million," Jambou said.

  Justin turned back to him. "What?" he said.

  "Seven hundred and fifty million. Three-fourths of a billion. That's what they're worth. That is what you were wondering, isn't it?" His smile had broadened again. He was enjoying this.

  Justin looked again at the diamonds, then back at Jambou. "Seven hundred and fifty..." His mouth fell open as he made the connection. He stared at Jambou, who was obviously waiting.

  "The De Vries diamond robbery of oh-nine...a billion dollars’ worth of diamonds stolen at one time from three armored trucks in a convoy...that was you!"

  Jambou shrugged in a self-effacing gesture and smiled shyly. "They lied about the value."

  "You killed twenty-three men! To get a bunch of...rocks!" he accused.

  Jambou spread his hands. "It was unfortunate but necessary," he said. "Witnesses can be very troublesome. And, after all, they did work for De Vries."

  "'Troublesome?! ' What about the biological agent you used to kill them with? What about the women and children in the village downwind who died because of what you used on the guards? What about them?"

  Jambou shrugged again. "That, too, was...unfortunate. An oversight. It wasn't supposed to happen."

  "But it did happen! Don't you care?!"

  "In war, Captain, it is inevitable that some civilians will die. They always do."

  "War?! What war? This was a robbery! An armed robbery! How can you compare it to a war?"

  "But it is a war, Captain. And it isn't over, oh no. The De Vries mine killed my great-uncle and ruined my great-grandfather. And my grandfather. And my father. The diamond that filthy walloper stole from my kin showed up later in Europe. It was bought by a wealthy Indian prince and given to Queen Victoria in exchange for favors when she was declared Empress of India in 1877. It became known as the Victoria Stone. But it disappeared eight years later during the Third Burmese War and was never seen again. They stole my family's future. And my inheritance. Through their treachery, they declared war on my family. And they thought they'd won. But they didn't win the war, only a battle. It took a long time for me to realize how I could hurt them and regain our family's honor. Their greed had to be punished. And the way to punish greed is to cut off its lifeblood...to take away the thing it values most...in this case, its money. Poor management in the De Vries dynasty had weakened it. And now, loss of three-fourths of a billion dollars has drawn blood. They're hurting. And they're going to keep hurting! I promise you! And today, in just a few hours, I will expose their sins to the world, and they'll know why they're hurting. And they'll know that their wealth, their greed, has been turned against them and there's nothing they can do about it! And they will die! And my family's honor will be restored, and my ancestors can rest in peace." He was breathing heavily and leaning forward in his chair, the veins at his throat and temples pronounced and throbbing. Slowly the light in his eyes receded and he sat back. He held Justin's gaze defiantly. Then, hoarsely, he concluded, "You were wrong, Captain. It is a war. And the De Vries don't know it yet, but they have lost...they have lost."

  "That was a century-and-a-half ago," Justin argued. "And you've decided, after all this time, that it's up to you to get even?"

  "No, Captain. It was yesterday. There is no statute of limitations on family honor."

  They sat quietly for half a minute. Jambou took a long, quavering breath and slowly exhaled. Finally, he looked over at his captive.

  "But I promised you a tour," he said conversationally. There was a hiss and the glowing, glittering kiosk sank back into its vault flush with the carpeted floor. The lights came back up and Jambou stood. "Shall we?"

  They left the fortified penthouse and crossed the cavern on the suspended catwalk. In the computer room, Marc recognized the system as a five-year-old hybrid that had probably been intended as a military export to a NATO installation but had somehow ended up in Bereel Jambou's pocket. It was fast and smart, but already technologically outdated. Still, it probably met Jambou's needs. One cave further along the corridor, Marc was simultaneously impressed and galled to see one of his own company's water desalinization
units efficiently pumping out all the fresh water the madman could use. And he was especially disturbed to discover one of his industrial MARC 2000 air converters hard at work producing breathable atmosphere for the man he'd come to consider a very dangerous enemy. " One thing was certain," he thought to himself, "at least the equipment in here was top of the line...maybe they'd stay alive long enough to find a way to escape." But he intended to make sure he didn't get any repeat business from him.

  Finally they arrived at a cave entrance that was barred and gated. A security camera watched the entrance like a silent Cyclops and a heavy chain and electronic padlock denied access. Blocking Marc's line of sight with his body, Jambou tapped in a code. The chain rattled noisily as it was removed and they entered. Down a narrow lava tube and a hard right, and they entered a small chamber. It was indirectly lit but a floodlight in the middle of the ceiling harshly drew attention to a heavy-duty stainless steel table with wheels. On the table was a metal container that looked like a large ice chest. A short, thick cable led from one end of the chest to a keyboard the size of a desk calculator. Again blocking Marc's view, Jambou entered what was obviously a code and something beeped. The lid on the chest popped open a half-inch and in one swift motion Jambou raised and locked it open. Turning, he gestured to Justin like a maître d' and stepped aside.

  Marc reluctantly stepped up to the chest as he would have approached a coffin. Not a bad comparison, now that he thought about it. He looked inside. There was a device in the bottom of the chest that would have fit into a professional photographer's equipment case. It had covered switches, dials, and red, amber and green lights. It had a digital numeric display, he assumed for a countdown sequence. A green light glowed under which was the word ‘Enabled’. He scanned it for any kind of identifying marks but didn't see any. Other than that, he wouldn't know a nuclear device..."Why do people call them ‘devices’ instead of ‘bomb’?", he wondered...until it bit him. By then it would be too late. He noticed heavy cables running from somewhere under the table to a secured power source. "What happens if we blow a fuse?", he wondered.