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

by Sewell, Ron

  Using channel sixteen he spoke, “Grand Harbour, this is Libyan fishing vessel on passage to the port facilities for dry docking and hull preservation.”

  “Channel twelve, Valletta Port Control.”

  Petros switched channels. “Port Control this is Libyan fishing vessel at fifteen miles from entrance.”

  “Fishing vessel, confirm when at one mile. Out.”

  “Talkative lot,” said Bear.

  “Cut our friends free. We need the extra hands when we go alongside.”

  Bear stood at his full height and stared at the two men. “One wrong move and you swim.” He cut the bonds. “You smell awful. One at a time, go and change your clothes. Understand?”

  The uninjured man rubbed his wrists and gave a wan smile. “I understand English. I will tell my partner. There will be no problem.”

  Petros eyed him coldly. “The big man means what he says.”

  “One wrong move and you’ll learn to fly and land on water,” said Bear.

  The man with dried blood on his face and shirt, grimaced as he walked past Bear but remained silent. Fifteen minutes elapsed before he returned washed and wearing clean blue overalls.

  Bear nodded to the other who departed with haste.

  Petros called port control at one mile to request permission to enter.

  A female voice replied, "Libyan fishing boat, we have no record of your docking. Please will you confirm arrangements.”

  Petros cleared his throat. “Unable to confirm but request permission to enter and berth.” His fingers scratched the stubble on his chin.

  The female voice answered. “Permission approved. Leave St Elmo’s lighthouse to starboard and Fort Riscasoli to port. Round Fort St Angelo and enter the channel marked with small red and green buoys. Your berth until approved is the starboard side of pontoon Alpha. You and your crew are to remain on board until harbour officials have visited.”

  “Thank you, Port Control. Is it possible for a member of the German embassy to meet us?”

  “Will pass on your request. Out.”

  Petros reduced the power and switched off the auto-pilot and stood his feet apart behind the wheel. “Bear take our friends and get ready to come alongside. Any problems hit them with a big stick.”

  At a reduced speed, he followed the instructions and in moments identified the lighthouse and fort. Ahead he determined must be Fort St Angelo. The calm water of Grand Harbour made navigating the marked channel easy. Yachts, large, small and expensive, tugged on their lines as wires slapped aluminium masts in a musical manner.

  The marina was well marked and Petros noted pontoon Alpha at two hundred metres. With reduced speed and his eyes on the flat water, he swung the wheel to port and aimed at the pontoon nearest the concrete jetty. Fifty metres remaining, he again turned the wheel to port and reversed the engine. The old vessel shuddered, groaned and the engine stopped. The bow crashed into the dock wall. Petros gazed as the rust-streaked metal folded in on itself. Stationary, the craft nestled against the pontoon supports.

  Both the crew leapt ashore and raced at full tilt towards the gated entrance. At the gate, two uniformed men apprehended them.

  With the minimum of effort, Bear wrapped a rope around a support, secured and strolled aft to repeat the procedure.

  Petros wandered out to the port bridge wing, smiled and spread his arms.

  Bear shrugged. “That will be expensive. Thank Christ it’s not our problem.”

  Chapter Twenty - Three

  Petros and Bear waited on the fish deck while two men clambered over the side. One in uniform and another, wearing an expensive black suit, white shirt and tie strolled towards them.

  The taller of the two produced a port authority identity card and gestured to the other. “Martin Backer an Assistant to the German Ambassador.”

  “Petros Kyriades.” He turned. “My partner, William Morris.” He held out his hand to Martin who shook it.

  “You are British but you ask for someone from the German embassy. Please explain?”

  “Do you need your bodyguard?” said Petros.

  Martin turned to the port official. “Would you mind?”

  The man nodded, jumped to the jetty, and strode away, whistling.

  “Please,” said Petros, “follow me to the bridge and I’ll tell you.”

  Martin gave him an enquiring look but tagged along as they climbed a metal ladder. Bear looked around for a few minutes before he followed.

  They stood on the starboard bridge wing, the light breeze ruffling their hair. The sun reflected off the flat water.

  Petros handed Martin a transcript of Eva Engel’s grandfather’s notebook. “You don’t have to read it but suffice to say, my friend and I travelled to Libya and recovered the diamonds mentioned. Take them but I need a receipt as by German law I am entitled to a substantial reward.”

  Martin’s expression was one of amazement and confusion. He smiled indulgently. “Can I see them?”

  Petros disappeared to return a few minutes later with two holdalls. He opened one.

  Martin stared dumbfounded at the rough diamonds.

  “There’s more in the other bag.”

  “I can’t take these back in my car.”

  “Why not? Who’s to know?”

  Martin appeared anxious, unsure, traumatised as the colour drained from his face. “I’m an assistant secretary not a courier. What if I’m attacked and robbed?”

  Petros exhaled. “I can’t help you. My friend and I need to clear customs and immigration.”

  “I can take care of the red tape.” He removed his mobile and spoke in German.

  “How long will they be?”

  Shocked, Martin asked, “You understand German?”

  “I can speak, read and write the language. How long?”

  “I need to examine your passports.”

  From behind Bear handed over both. “Genuine and up to date. We took passage on this wreck so we could give you the diamonds. The two men the dockyard police arrested thought differently but that’s of no longer of any importance.”

  Martin checked the passports as if he were from immigration. Finished, he slipped them into his jacket pocket. “The boat’s owner will be billed for the damage to the harbour wall. You have approval to come with me as guests of the embassy. That is, when the official car arrives.”

  “The crew. What’s going to happen to them?”

  “Their boat will be impounded until the damage and the harbour fees paid.”

  “Why do I have a strange feeling those two reprobates are going to be here for a long time?”

  Martin’s mobile chimed.

  “Fifteen minutes,” said Petros to Bear.

  Get your bags together,” said Martin.

  “Everything we need is here, wallets and a change of clothes.”

  “It’s here,” said Martin, as the oversized black Mercedes entered the marina. “Wait until I give you the nod. Then as fast as you can, jump into the back of the car. No one can touch you once you’re inside an embassy vehicle.”

  “Bit cloak and dagger,” said Bear.

  “I know,” said Martin, “but the Maltese have a habit of holding up proceedings. It’s quicker for the embassy to check you out. Any problems, we wash our hands and give you to the police. Anyway the accommodation and food are better where we’re going.”

  “Food,” said Bear. “We haven’t eaten a decent meal in two days. You couldn’t rustle up a plate or two of sandwiches. Could you?”

  “Bear, get in the car and for once change the record.”

  In a few steps, both men left the vessel and entered the rear of the car.

  Martin shut the door and nodded to the driver.

  As it accelerated away, Petros heard the electronic door locks activate.

  Bear shrugged. “You can’t blame them. I bet there’s armour plating on this.”

  ***.

  Bear finished the last sandwich from a large platter when Martin and a shor
t, bald, fat man entered the room. He had the notebook in one hand and a recorder in the other.

  Martin pointed. “Petros Kyriades is the blond and William Morris has a dirty bandage round his head. Gentlemen, Helmut Smitt, the embassy’s intelligence and security officer. He will ask you a few questions.”

  “Fill your boots,” said Bear.

  Helmut pulled a chair out from under the table and positioned his chubby body on the leather-covered seat. He started the recorder. “Mr Kyriades, do you know the value of the diamonds?”

  “No.”

  Helmut grinned. “In a few minutes an expert on diamonds will arrive at the embassy. I can’t tell a piece of glass from the real thing. Help yourself to coffee?”

  A young woman entered to inform Helmut his man had arrived.

  “Bring him straight here.” The young woman nodded.

  Several minutes later a tall, well dressed and unsmiling man entered, holding a large black briefcase in his right hand. Hazel eyes blinked behind frameless glasses.

  Helmut stood and extended his hand. “Mr Sephton. Thank you for coming at short notice. I appreciate it’s inconvenient for you and your family. What I’m going to show you, will, as an expert on diamonds, astound you.”

  Sephton nodded as Helmut deposited one holdall on the table.

  “I need to know if these are genuine and if so, the value per carat.”

  Sephton shrugged as he opened the bag and taken aback said, “Where did you get these?” He removed his glasses and polished them.

  “Are they real?” asked Helmut again.

  Sephton removed a selection of small, medium, and two large stones. From his briefcase, he removed a black box. “An electronic tester.” He picked a small stone and inserted it into an opening, waited for a few seconds, then nodded. “Wonderful.” On each stone, he repeated the test. “These are, in my opinion, gem quality rough diamonds. It will take me four to five days to determine each stone’s value based on its cut, colour, clarity, and carat size.”

  Helmut sat back in his chair and spoke slowly, “In your expert opinion what is your best estimate as to their value?”

  “Sir,” said Sephton. “I know diamonds but you are asking the impossible. Those I inspected are of high quality but I cannot assume the rest are the same.”

  “What if I told you they are,” said Helmut. “These stones came from a mine in Luderitz in 1941 by order of Adolf Hitler. Of course this can be authenticated.”

  Sephton shrugged. “A very rough guess.”

  “It would be good to know,” said Petros.

  Sephton checked the contents of the bag. “One hundred million pounds sterling. To be precise I need to take these to London or Amsterdam.”

  Bear whistled. “Not bad for a few weeks’ work.”

  Helmut raised his eyebrows. “Top or bottom estimate?”

  “Bottom,” said Sephton, “But until every diamond is categorised I cannot be sure.”

  Thank you,” said Helmut. “I understand you and your family rent an apartment at the Hilton.”

  “How did you know I was in Malta,” asked Sephton.

  Helmut grinned. “We asked the diamond jewellers in Valletta.”

  “I see,” said Sephton. “That’ll teach me to combine business with pleasure. I assume my business is done.”

  “Thank you and please send your invoice marked for my attention.”

  Sephton glanced at his watch. “No charge, I enjoyed the experience. Time I left or my wife will think I have another woman.”

  “Helmut pulled a small stone from the holdall. “Give her this and tell her diamonds are forever.”

  He smiled broadly. “The stone, she will love.”

  Helmut waited until the door shut. “You believe the German Government will give you a reward.”

  Petros stared straight into his eyes. “As a precaution, before I started searching, I checked on your government’s policy. Can you be sure who owns the diamonds?”

  After a pause, Helmut said. “The German Government.”

  “The Government dominated by Hitler and his officers needed diamonds. They organised a supply route from Luderitz in Namibia. That regime no longer exists. For that reason, the discoverer owns half. The other half by the owner of the property in which the treasure remained hidden. Your pilot concealed them in a cave in Libya. Now you can give back whatever you wish, so long as I get my half share. Under the circumstances, I believe we both do well.”

  A smile filled Helmut’s face as he pressed a finger to his lips. “It will make you rich.”

  “He is rich,” said Bear, “And as his partner so am I. But we owe money to others for expenses.”

  “Read the notebook and when I’ve had a hot shower, I’ll happily tell you the full story,” said Petros.”

  “A good meal and a shower,” said Bear.

  Helmut rose and leaned across the table. “Extraordinary finance is a sensitive issue. A member of staff will escort you to your room and measure you for suits and accessories. You cannot be seen dining with senior embassy staff as you are. We will, of course, deduct the cost from any monies that may be agreed. Mr Morris, I will arrange for the embassy nurse to change that disgusting bandage” He closed the door as he left.

  “Tight-arsed bastard,” said Bear.

  With a smile on his face Petros leant back in his chair. “If our share is fifty million, a few hundred pounds makes no difference. We can make it tax deductable if that makes you happy.”

  The door opened and a tall, well built man, his dark blond hair cut short as a serving soldier, entered. His face strong and intimidating as he spoke in heavily accented English.

  “My name is Hans and I will be looking after you during your stay. Please follow me.”

  Petros spoke in German. “Hans, you’re built like a brick shit house. Security, bodyguard or both but you’re not house staff.”

  Hans laughed. “I work out.” He stopped. “Your room, two beds and one bathroom. I will measure you. Do not leave this room.”

  “I think with my sun tan and size I might be noticed,” said Bear.

  Hans smiled as he scribbled their sizes. “Please get undressed, you smell of dead fish. You will find bathrobes in the wardrobe.”

  “I’m going for a bath,” said Bear. “I’ll toss my gear out.”

  Petros stripped to his briefs, collected Bear’s clothes, dumped them in a laundry bag and handed them to Hans.”

  “Do you need these back?”

  “Burn them.”

  Petros collapsed exhausted on the bed. “What happens now?” he asked himself. He lifted his mobile and pressed the keys to contact Amadou.

  It buzzed three times. “Petros, my friend. You are in Malta?”

  “We are in the German embassy. Your contact, Ibrahim the undertaker, planned our disposal. He couldn’t have known we were carrying diamonds. I think it was simple, take the money you promised but fail to deliver the goods.”

  “The man’s a fool,” said a stressed Amadou.

  “His men are confined on board and the boat impounded. I took a large lump of concrete out of the dock wall.”

  “So long as you’re safe. Those men and the boat are of minor importance but any man who schemes to cheat me pays the ultimate price.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome.” By unspoken consent, the connection went dead.

  “Bath’s free and the water’s boiling,” said Bear as a wall of steam trailed after him.

  “Any dry towels.”

  “Plenty for you.”

  A knock on the door forced Bear to grab his bathrobe.

  Petros opened the door and faced a bright, middle-aged blonde woman with a white trolley covered by a sheet. Her brown eyes studied Petros’ face. “I am the embassy nurse. May I check your friend’s head wound?”

  “Please, my big fat friend is there.”

  The nurse walked straight to Bear, grabbed his head with both hands removed the bandage
and poked at the wound. “I will clean out the infection. Please lie on your side and face me.”

  Bear closed his bathrobe in a failed attempt to cover his person.

  The nurse laughed. “You men believe we think of one thing.” With deftness she scraped the mess away. Bear clenched his teeth as she dug deep.

  “Clean, bleeding and the antiseptic will work. Sit up and I will bandage. When you return to England have a doctor check. You may need a few stitches.”

  Bear remained still as she wrapped the bandage around his head. “That feels much better.”

  “And so it should,” said the nurse. “I am a professional. Don’t get it wet.”

  She placed the used instruments into a stainless steel dish, covered it up and started to leave. “Men. Why are you so embarrassed? Such a little thing.”

  Both men heard her laughing as she strolled along the corridor.

  ***

  Amadou’s frown creased his face. Ibrahim had been prepared to double-cross him. He was no longer trustworthy. A swift solution was necessary.

  ***

  Hans knocked, opened the door and entered, his arms filled with carrier bags. “One suit each, three shirts and a tie, plus underwear, socks and shoes. You will wear these for dinner, tonight.”

  Bear emptied each bag’s content on his bed. “This must be yours, PK.” He tossed three white shirts still in there cellophane wrappers to the top of the other bed. In a few minutes paper littered the floor and items of clothing covered both beds.

  “What time’s dinner?”

  “Be ready at seven thirty.”

  Petros wandered across to the window. To his right and left the Mediterranean stretched out before him. With a click, he opened the doors to the balcony, stepped out and sat in a white plastic chair. The garden below contained a mixture of flowering shrubs. At this hour it remained shaded from the fading sun. He punched the memory button on his mobile and in a few seconds heard his home phone ringing.

  In the bedroom Bear snored.

  Chapter Twenty - Four

  No sunlight shone into Ibrahim’s office. He turned from the window and sat at his desk. A shudder swept through his body as the door creaked open. He whirled round to face a figure dressed from head to toe in black. “Who are you and what do you want?” he screamed.