The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4)

by Sewell, Ron

  “What did he say?” asked Bear.

  “Goats fart.”

  “I bet they fly first class.”

  They climbed the stairs and strolled into the hold.

  “Where’s the happy cabin crew with big tits and tight arses?” said Bear.

  “When they knew you were a passenger they fucked off. Our two seats are up front,” said Akeem.

  “Never knew goats smelt so bad,” said Bear.

  The pilot came out of the cockpit and in Arabic said, “Fasten your seat belts and keep them secure. We bounce in every direction on this route.”

  Akeem turned to Bear and repeated the instruction.

  “Ask him where the vomit bucket is?”

  The engines increased in power, the whole plane shook.

  “No point. Hold on and say a prayer.”

  After three hours in the air they landed. A manually-wheeled staircase arrived and the door opened. Bear and Akeem peered at the overheated world of livestock herders, subsistence farmers, strange grass and dust.

  “Welcome to Zouar, the arsehole of the world,” said the pilot. “I leave in six hours.”

  “I don’t suppose you can recommend a hotel?” said Akeem.

  “I wouldn’t advise it but if you must, try the two storey place to the right of the satellite tower. There are a couple of date palms outside the main door. It’s habitable, that’s all I’ll say.”

  Both men sweated but with no choice strolled across the sand-covered ground to a concrete blockhouse. A soldier stamped their paperwork and returned to his book.

  Bear scanned the vicinity. “Where the fuck does PK expect me to find a chopper?”

  “We might as well try those two hangers,” said Akeem.

  The first was empty but in the second two men worked on a twin engine Cessna.

  “Let me do the talking,” said Akeem.

  “Fine by me.”

  Akeem approached the men with his hands open wide. Bear followed with their two bags. “My friends, I need information. My partner is a photographer for National Geographic. He is mad but wants to take pictures of the Tibesti mountains at different times of the day, something to do with the shadow effect. In N’Djamena we were told you have a helicopter and pilot for hire.”

  The two men placed their tools on a portable bench and laughed. The older of the two said, “Many donkeys and goats. Few own cars and if they do petrol is a valuable commodity. Whoever mentioned helicopters, lied.”

  Akeem shrugged. “So no transport for hire in Zouar.”

  The older man shook his head for a moment. “How much you pay?”

  “Depends.”

  He beckoned. “Come.”

  In the far corner of the hanger a mass of dirty sacks covered many dirty vehicles. The man lifted a corner and pointed. “Six Range Rovers, and two all-terrain Mercedes trucks but no petrol.”

  “Who do they belong to?”

  “At one time, relatives of Muammar Gaddafi, now they are mine. I fix their plane.”

  “Why don’t you sell them?”

  “In this land a goat is worth more than an expensive car. You can eat a goat and drink the milk. A car drinks money.”

  “You say very little petrol?”

  “I say petrol expensive.”

  Akeem rubbed his chin and spoke to Bear. “Fact, no helicopter. Fact, we’re not going to get one. Fact, transport over there with no petrol.”

  “More important, the land bordering Libya is mined. Here’s your bag. We’re on the plane back to N’djamena. Ask him if we can get a meal.”

  Akeem spoke to the man. “He says, two cheap cafes in the town centre.”

  “That’s the best news today. Let’s go. We have time to kill.”

  Having returned late to their hotel, Bear contacted Petros and told him his idea was a non-starter.

  Chapter Nine

  Petros relaxed in his den and nodded as Bear reiterated his time in Chad. He offered him coffee.”

  “No thanks. Need to cut back on my caffeine intake.”

  “Fancy a holiday in Libya?”

  “Not at the top of my to do list. From what I hear, Libya’s not the safest place to take a weekend break. They shoot people just for fun,” said Bear.

  Petros leaned forward in his chair. “I’m serious.” He handed across a holiday brochure and a map. “Look at this, Waw Names is the place for us. I believe the diamonds are here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “this is Waw Namas, and here’s Waw Kabir, the nearest airstrip. There’s a road of sorts more or less to the front door. What do you think?”

  Bear shrugged. “You never cease to amaze me. It says here, this place is in the centre of the Sahara. Sun, sand and fuck-all.” He dropped the map back on the desk. “Okay, smart arse, when do I leave? I’ll take Akeem as he speaks Arabic. I recommend two vehicles, be tooled-up and a team of four, just in case.”

  “Agreed. It’ll take me and that woman a week, maybe longer, to get jabs and visas. You leave when you have your visas. I’ll book my flights to Benghazi.”

  “I’ll leave with Akeem asap and co-ordinate your flight to Waw Kabir where I’ll be waiting with two vehicles and the necessary equipment. It’ll save time.”

  “Take time out and treat Jocelyn this weekend, there’s no rush. Evil Eva has yet to come up with the money. Mind you, I’m tempted to collect the diamonds and not tell her.”

  Bear grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

  “I said tempted, Bear, and if she tries to do the dirty, I’ll leave her buried up to her neck in the middle of the Sahara for the ants to feast on.”

  “I don’t want that woman with us,” said Bear.

  “You understand the way I work; keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If we can see her, we won’t get into trouble. I hope she can drive.”

  “Don’t tell her anything you don’t have to.”

  “She’ll need to be told we’re off to Libya.”

  “Fairy fluff. Oh shit.” He fumbled in his jacket pocket “Remember Phoebe, the woman I fished out of the Thames in the middle of winter? Here’s your invitation to Andreas and Phoebe’s wedding.” He handed over a crumpled white envelope. “The reception is in the bistro. I gather his parents are coming over from Greece along with his brothers. I understand she has no family but many of the local Greeks have been invited. The girls will love it, buying new dresses and what’s the name of the thing they stick on their heads?”

  “Fascinators. Arm and a leg job for a couple of feathers and a pink bow.”

  “Right, PK. I’ll give you a bell when I’m off to Libya.”

  “Wait until Evil Eva calls. I’d prefer her money paid for this than ours. We’re already a few grand out of pocket.”

  “That reminds me,” said Bear. “Cross Chad off our list for collections, that is unless you want to go on your own.”

  “Done and dusted.”

  Petros strolled with Bear to his car. “Drive carefully. Remember the roads are full of idiots.”

  Petros stood and watched the black Mercedes cruise out of the drive before he strolled to the river’s edge. He boarded Dream Chaser II, sat in the stern, and let his mind wander as his eyes closed.

  “Nice boat.” John Soames stood on the bank with his hands in his pockets

  Petros woke with a start. “Do you always creep up on people like that?”

  “I wasn’t aware you were asleep?”

  “Okay. I’ve no news on Evil Eva. When and if she phones, no doubt you’ll find out the same moment I do.”

  “Have you a plan if she gets the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” Soames waited for a reply.

  “One way or the other, I’ll be travelling to Libya.”

  “Didn’t expect you to tell me. Must go.”

  Petros stood, clambered back to shore, and arrived at the house at the same moment Maria’s BMW six series stopped. He opened the passenger door, removed the four-point seat belt,
and lifted his daughter out. Charlie jumped over the seat to the ground and positioned himself alongside Alysa.

  “Yarlie my dog,” said Alysa.

  Petros bent and stroked Charlie. “No one owns him. He decided to stay with us and take care of you.”

  “No, Yarlie my dog.” She turned the animal’s head towards her. “You my dog.”

  Charlie barked once

  “See,” said Alysa.

  “Time you had a bath, young lady,” said Maria.

  “Yarlie need bath.”

  Charlie’s ears pricked. With a loud bark, he scampered across the lawn to the river’s edge.

  They laughed.

  “You take Alysa for her bath. I’ll empty the car,” said Petros.

  Maria, holding Alysa’s hand, disappeared inside the house. Charlie loped back to the car and on arriving, nuzzled Petros’ hand.

  “You’re not stupid are you, Dog?”

  With everything shoved onto the pushchair, Petros and Charlie entered the house. He placed Maria’s purchases on the kitchen table, strolled to the lounge, slumped into an armchair and pressed the TV remote. The news flashed onto the screen. Groups of hooded men raced towards a line of police and tossed petrol bombs in Berlin. The reporter commented on the German police dealing with similar disturbances in major towns in Germany. The picture switched to the studio where a German historian compared the mayhem with the extreme nationalism of Nazi Germany, claiming unemployment and a weak government the main cause of the current unrest.

  Petros turned it off as Maria, carrying a bathed Alysa, came down the stairs.

  Maria lowered her daughter to the floor. “I’ve a dish of your mother’s moussaka in the fridge. Fancy a large serving with salad for dinner?

  “That, plus a glass of red wine will be perfect.”

  “And you, young lady? Will you eat Ya Ya’s food.”

  “Yarlie want eat.”

  “If it’s on your special plate you eat.”

  Alysa sat on her chair and patted the side. Charlie wandered across and sat next to her while Maria micro-waved a small portion of the food. She tested it and placed it on Alysa’s plate, gave her a fork and began preparing a salad.”

  “Fin,” shouted Alysa.

  Maria turned and noticed Charlie slurping the last drops from the floor.

  Alysa giggled. “Not on plate, on floor. Yarlie eat.”

  “I’ll feed her,” said Petros. “Fish fingers for you madam.”

  Alysa tilted her head and looked at him. “Fings. Fings.”

  “If I make fings will you eat them?” said Petros

  She nodded.

  The microwave pinged again and Petros placed a plate with four fish fingers covered in baked beans in front of her. With a fork she ate and cleared her plate.

  “I sometimes think she could live on that quite happily.”

  Maria handed him the salad. “You could be right.”

  Chapter Ten

  At the breakfast table Petros sat reading The Times while Alysa spooned dollops of porridge from her plate. One into her mouth and the next to the floor for Charlie.

  Petros picked up his mobile as it vibrated on the table. “Good morning, Bear. You’re bright and early.”

  “I wasn’t but Evil Eva was. She rang me at seven this morning. A most unsalubrious hour.”

  “She has the money?”

  “So she says.”

  “I wonder what she’ll say when I demand payment up front.”

  “My guess,” said Bear, “is she’ll want to come with us.”

  “You might be right. I’ll arrange a meet.”

  “And I thought this job was going to be a piece of cake.”

  “It will be for us but for Evil Eva it’ll be a new experience. Give me a bell before you disappear to far flung places.”

  “No probs,” said Bear as he ended the call.

  Petros used his mobile to call Eva.

  She answered on the second ring. “Eva Engel.”

  “Good morning, Eva. I understand you found the money.”

  “Your big black friend told you.”

  “Who else have you told?”

  “Dummkopf, I told no one.”

  “I’ve made certain arrangements which must be paid for up front. I need you to transfer one hundred thousand pounds to my bank account or give me a cheque or cash before we proceed.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool, Mr Kyriades?”

  “Actually I do, but if you want my team to find your diamonds, pay the price.”

  “Go to hell.” The line went dead.

  “I’ll give her ten minutes and she’ll make contact again.”

  “You weren’t very nice to her,” said Maria, as she cleaned Alysa’s face.

  “She’s not a nice person.”

  “So why are you going to work for her?”

  “Because she’s not a nice person. I want her appreciate the game she’s playing. I’ll need to go into town later.”

  “Don’t be late. Your mama and Jack are coming for dinner.”

  “I’ll be here and on time my love.” He kissed Maria and turned to his daughter. “Alysa, you’ve more food on your face than in the bowl. At least Dog cleans up his own mess.”

  His mobile buzzed. He looked at the screen, Evil Eva. “Petros Kyriades.”

  “I decided to reconsider your proposal.”

  “I’m overjoyed.”

  “Cut the crap, Mr Kyriades. I don’t like you but I need your expertise. One condition, I join you on your incursion into Libya.”

  “No can do. Women are a problem I can do without, especially if we find trouble.”

  “Don’t worry yourself over me. I can beat most men in a fair fight.”

  “You got it in one. The tribes in the land of sand aren’t known for fighting according to the Marques of Queensbury Rules. You come at your own risk and if something happens, don’t expect me or any of my team to come back and rescue you. Many of those desert tribesmen believe in having sex in different ways, buggery comes to mind. The blessing is they slit your throat when they finish abusing you.”

  “Sex with an Arab, sounds great. I’ll deposit the money into your bank account today but I join the party.”

  “You’ll do what I say when I say it and no questions?”

  “Naturally, you are the leader. I’m a foot-soldier. Give me your bank details.”

  Petros smiled as he gave the information. “Be warned, Eva, this account has the grand sum of one pound deposited for various reasons. As soon as your deposit clears, it transfers to another account. In other words you can’t retrieve a penny.”

  “When you recover the diamonds, I’ll be closer than your shadow.”

  “How wonderful. That makes everything perfect. We leave in ten to twelve days. Get your jabs up to date, hard wearing clothes and a couple of black headscarves. The Arabs are easily upset with whores wandering the desert. I’ll give you a call the night before we leave.” He turned off his mobile.

  “Maria, I’m going.”

  ***

  Petros alighted from the underground at Chancery Lane and walked the short distance to Hatton Garden, the centre of the diamond trade in Britain. Two minutes later, he stood in Bleeding Heart Yard. He pressed the solitary buzzer alongside a black painted steel door and waited.

  “Can I help you?” said a man, his voice relayed via a speaker.

  “Petros Kyriades to see Mr Henry Goodman.”

  “Face the camera please and do not smile. Thank you.”

  The door lock clicked and Petros pulled it open. It shut behind him. For a while, he waited until the lift doors in the opposite wall opened. He entered and when the doors closed it automatically descended. On stopping, the doors opened and Henry stood there with a security guard.

  “Good to see you again, Petros. I notice the lack of a rucksack so no valuations this time?”

  “The exact opposite, Henry. Can we talk in private?”

  “Certainly, come into my
office. One desk and two chairs filled the space. Behind the desk a dozen safes fitted snugly into the reinforced concrete wall.

  “If it’s possible I need your help and of course I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

  Henry chuckled. “If I can and it’s not against the law. So give me the details.”

  Petros explained he needed to set up a little insurance against what might lay ahead and why.

  Henry’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Ready in a week, maybe less. Give me your number and I’ll have someone call. I warn you they will not fool a merchant for more than ten seconds. Collect and pay at our shop in Hatton Garden,” Henry stood and offered his hand.

  “Thanks, Henry. I’ll wait for the call.”

  They exited the simple room. A security guard escorted Petros along a passage and ascended two flights of stairs to a metal clad door, opened it and motioned he step inside the recess. The inner door closed and locked before the outer door opened onto Leather Lane. With time to spare he made his way to Andreas’ Bistro located on the quay at St Katherine’s Dock.

  ***

  Andreas, a Greek of medium build with black tight curled hair, turned, his eyes bright beneath his dark-rimmed glasses as Petros strolled into his bistro.

  “How are things?” Petros asked.

  “Good. Coffee?”

  Petros nodded.

  “Couldn’t be better with what I make here and factoring yours and Bear’s properties I’m doing okay. And you?” Andreas placed the freshly brewed coffee on the counter.

  “Busy at the moment.” He smiled. “Congratulations. I gather Phoebe will be changing her name to Mrs Agapi.”

  His face lit up. “You’d better believe it. Sadly, her mother died a few months back.”

  “Sorry, no one told us.”

  “Phoebe suffered the same problem. While shopping she bumped into someone who told her.

  “Change of subject, keep the 3rd of November free. It’s going to be a Greek Orthodox wedding at St Sophia’s Cathedral in Bayswater. Then back here for feasting and dancing. By the way, there’s a little problem. Phoebe’s father is long gone and I told her I’d ask you. Will you escort her down the aisle?”

  “My pleasure.” He sipped his coffee. “This is as good as ever. I assume one of your brothers is best man. Have you a wedding list? Maria wants to buy you both something.”