The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  “Don’t do it! He’s going to transfer the money by the Internet. He’ll never be able to do it if you don’t give him the number. He’s murdered four people and he probably killed the real Francisco too. Let him rot in hell.” Adam was still struggling to get free.

  Leticia opened her eyes and looked at Jenny. Neither of them spoke. D’Almeida picked up the pistol and went over to Adam. He pressed the muzzle against his forehead. “You have exactly five seconds. Then whatever brains this idiot has got are splattered all over the floor.”

  Adam’s face blanched, but he said again. “Don’t do it, he’s bluffing.”

  The murderer’s finger tightened on the trigger. They heard the first click of the double action firing mechanism. Adam closed his eyes, waiting for the shot. His mind spun away, thinking of all the things he wouldn’t be able to fix. He’d attacked and robbed Stanford. He’d lied to his brother and provoked the car crash that had killed him. He’d faked letters and showed them to his parents and to Nick and the others. And after all that, he’d tried to steal from these two women. He’d tried to steal from his new partners. He felt nothing but contempt for himself. Payback time, he thought.

  “Thirteen, ten, sixty-nine.” It was Ron’s birth date. He had been a Libra, true to his sign.

  “Thank you, Jenny.” D’almeida put down the gun on the table and entered the PIN number in the BlackBerry. He looked at his watch, it was ten fifty-five. He entered the security number from the electronic key marked ‘J’ and pressed Send.

  “Well, that wasn’t too bad was it?”

  Adam was sweating. He’d been prepared to take the bullet, but he knew it was stupid. Sometimes he was stupid. Why die for a few million dollars when I’ve just inherited a fortune. He thanked God that Jenny had intervened. He looked at her sitting next to him. Chin up, her cheek bruised, but a determined look in her eyes. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll make it up to everyone, he thought.

  She smiled, saying, Don’t worry, silently with her lips.

  “Did Schneider tell you that they have banks all over the world?” d’Almeida said smugly, bragging his inside knowledge. “It’s really convenient on a Sunday night when you’ve got an important transfer to make. Well, maybe not for you, but definitely for me.”

  The sound of La Marseillaise blasted out. It was the BlackBerry. He read the message. “Please enter second PIN. Muito bem. Merci, Esther,” he said.

  He walked over to Leticia, BlackBerry in one hand, gun in the other and said to Adam, “So now you know why you’re still alive, even though you don’t deserve it. What’s the second PIN number? And don’t let’s go through that same charade again, because this time it’s Leticia who’ll die. Then there’s only you and Jenny left. And if I don’t get the money, then I really have no reason to leave anyone alive.” He stood over the young woman and held the revolver against her head. Leticia had her eyes shut tight again, praying silently.

  “Well, Adam?”

  “You complete and utter shit. Fifteen, zero three, ninety-eight.” It was the date of his brother Greg’s death.

  The Angolan entered the number and the updated security number from the third electronic key. He pressed Send again and sat back down. A fraction of a second later, twelve million dollars started out on a six-stage route from Geneva to the Marshall Islands, Goa and three other insignificant tax havens, before arriving in a numbered account at the Union Bank of Panama, awaiting d’Almeida’s visit.

  “That was a clever system that Charlie devised,” he said. “It just made it complicated to get the three of you here together. But as you’ve seen, I’m pretty good at sorting out complications.”

  The hostages didn’t respond to this show of arrogant self-congratulation. They sat in silence, now clearly seeing the trap that d’Almeida had set for them. And wondering just how it would end.

  And he got me to do the job for him. The spider and the flies. Not for the first time, Jenny recognised the twisted brilliance of the murderer.

  A few moments later the phone rang once more. He looked at the message. “Well, it seems that I’m twelve million dollars richer than I was this afternoon. It’s not as good as twenty-four, but it’ll have to do. Lucky me!”

  Adam cursed Schneider’s name. That stupid, hyper-efficient Swiss banker. His Internet banking, high security system had just cost them all the money in the Angolan Clan account. A chunk of data, containing twelve million dollars, had left Klein, Fellay and was speeding through the ether on its way to God knew where. The money was gone. Who the hell is Esther, anyway, he wondered?

  D’Almeida typed in another short message on the BlackBerry, then pressed Send again. He turned his attention back to the three hostages. “Now, what shall we do next?” He said with a broad smile on his face.

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  Sunday, 27th April, 2008

  Lyon, France: Marbella, Spain

  Esther Rousseau installed herself in the middle seat of row 23 on the left side of the plane. She had gambled on the flight not being busy and maybe getting three seats to herself. Unfortunately the window seat contained a very large and sweaty Frenchman, who looked at her in the same way that Schneider had. Just below the neck. She put a wrap around her shoulders and when all the passengers were aboard she moved into the aisle seat.

  The flight had been delayed for half an hour because of the storms across Europe, but she hoped that she’d still be in time to meet Ray’s plane. She kept her mobile phone on, in her hand, until they were ready to taxi away. Just as the announcement came to switch off phones, a short text message arrived. It said simply, “12 million. XXX.” Esther laughed out loud and settled back in her seat.

  Espinoza had just turned off the autopista at La Cañada and was racing up the Coin Road towards Las Manzanás urbanisation when the radio-telephone squawked again.

  “What is it?” He shouted.

  Martín’s voice screeched out. “Where are you? We’ve all been here for ten minutes.”

  “There’s a crash on the highway. I’m less than five minutes away. What’s happening?”

  “Still the same. No activity in the neighbourhood. I’m not surprised, in this pissing rain.”

  “Hang on. I’m almost there.” He pushed his foot flat on the floor and acelerated up the deserted road. The dashboard clock said ten fifty-eight.

  D’Almeida winced again as he put the BlackBerry back into his inside pocket. “Now, last item on the agenda. The keys to the safety deposit. Since I can’t have the money from them, thanks to this Irish imbecile, I’ll take the diamonds, they’re no good to you lot. When things settle down, I’ll sneak back to Geneva and get them out of the vault. Nobody else will know about them once you three are gone. That’s the balance of my reward, another twelve million, poetic justice. So, I know there are two keys, where are they?”

  Jenny’s brain started racing again. Leticia’s not up to this. She’ll crack and give him the key to save Emilio. But there could be a chance here. She looked across at Adam, trying to work out a plan of action.

  The other two had only really registered the words, once you three are gone. It was a sentence of death. They would not leave the house alive!

  “You first, ladies. Where’s your key? Leticia, have you got it?” He held the pistol against Jenny’s head. “Speak up, I haven’t got time to waste.”

  Leticia sat immobile, paralysed. Unable to move a muscle or to make a sound.

  “I asked you a question, Leticia, where’s the key? I’ll count to three, then Mme. Bishop will be reunited with her husband. And it will be your fault.”

  “She hasn’t got it. I took control of it when we left Geneva.” Jenny was totally convincing. D’Almeida looked at her. Knew she wasn’t lying.

  “So you’ve got one and Adam’s got the other. Clever of me finding out about the double key security, wasn’t it?” He laughed, delighted to brag about his inside knowledge again. “So, where is it, Jenny.”

  “It’s in a safe place in my bedr
oom. The first one at the top of the stairs.”

  Adam and Leticia looked blankly at her. What did she mean? She didn’t have a key.

  Before d’Almeida could notice their air of surprise, she went on, “In the third drawer of the bedside cabinet, there’s a key inside a decorative box. Not the porcelain one, the other one. The key opens up the mirror above the dresser and there’s a safe behind. The combination is...”

  “Jenny, shut your mouth. It’s so bloody complicated, you’re going to show me. My head is pounding like a drum and I haven’t got all night.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got a date, a very important date. You’re coming with me to get the key, and no tricks this time.”

  He turned to Adam, “And where’s your key? You must have it with you and it better be easy to find. I’m in a hurry.”

  Adam played along with Jenny’s game, whatever it was. He said. “When you get Jenny’s, I’ll tell you where mine is. Provided you release us and let us go. That’s the deal.”

  D’almeida laughed. “Fine with me, Irish asshole. You give me the key and the access code and I leave you in peace.” They knew this promise was worthless, but it might win them a few precious minutes.

  Clumsily, protecting his injured shoulder, D’Almeida pulled Jenny to her feet to lead her to the hall. She fell to the floor. “I can’t get upstairs with this tape on, I can’t even walk.”

  “Useless bloody woman!” He took out a pocket knife and cut the tape around her ankles. She struggled to stand and he pushed her to the staircase in the hall and up the stairs. The pistol was pressing against her back. Jenny’s mind was whirling again and she was hyperventilating. There must be a way to turn the tables here. It was the last opportunity she’d get before he realised she was lying about the key. But what could she do with her hands tied behind her?

  He switched on the bedroom lights. “Right. Where’s the bloody key?” He pushed her inside.

  The lamps illuminated the spacious room and the double bed in front of them. Lying on the bed was Fuente, looking as if he’d just fallen into the fountain again. His long, thick hair was soaked through. A large damp patch surrounded him on the counterpane. He looked up at the intruders, his big green eyes blinking in the lamplight.

  “Fuente, you poor thing, you’re absolutely drenched through. Did we frighten you from the cellar. I’m sorry, we didn’t know it was you. Did you have to climb on the roof to get back in?” At the sound of Jenny’s voice, the cat lay on its back, purring. Inviting her to stroke it.

  “What the hell are you worrying about a stupid cat for? Get that filthy animal out of here.” Realising that Jenny could do nothing with her hands tied, he pushed past her and bent down to grab the cat. It jumped up and lashed out at him, raking its claws across his cheek. D’almeida put his hands to his face and staggered back towards the door.

  Jenny ran straight at him, smashing solidly into his damaged shoulder with her own shoulder, pushing him backwards from the doorway onto the landing. Before he could recover, she hit him again, knocking him over the top stair. D’Almeida lost his balance and with a cry, plunged down the staircase, his head smashing onto the hall floor below with a sickening thud.

  Racing down the stairs after him, she checked his body. He was unconscious and blood was trickling from his face and head onto the marble tiles. She looked around for the gun. It wasn’t in sight. He must be lying on it. She tried desperately to turn his body over, but with her hands tied behind her, it was impossible.

  She left his motionless body and ran into the kitchen. Before the amazed stares of the others, she sat down on the floor to pick up the serrated knife, her hands behind her back. Turning the blade inwards, she sawed through the tape around her wrists. She dropped it twice when she caught her flesh with the blade. Free now, she went over and released Adam and Leticia from their bindings.

  “What happened, what did you do?” Adam rubbed his wrists, sore from the tight binding.

  “I’ll tell you later, there’s no time now. Quick, Leticia,” she instructed, “Get Emilio, we’ll take the Vitara and get out of here.”

  Leticia ran along the corridor to the bedroom and came back into the kitchen with her son in her arms. He was still asleep.

  “Where are the car keys?” Jenny was searching the table and the counter.

  “In my bag in the hall.” Leticia turned to lead them out of the kitchen.

  “You fucking cow! You almost killed me.” D’Almeida was standing in the doorway, holding onto the frame. He was shaking his head and swaying slightly on his feet, but pointing the pistol firmly in their direction. The scratch across his cheek looked like parallel ski tracks running down to his chin. The blood dripped onto his shirt collar and the lapel of his jacket.

  The three hostages stared at him in dismay. They had been within seconds of escaping, but time had run out for them now.

  He looked at his watch again. “Thanks to you, you interfering bitch, I’ll have to come back for the keys. But now I know you haven’t got one and you’ve turned out to be a big complication. I dislike complications. Goodbye, Jenny.” He turned the pistol on her and squeezed the trigger.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  Sunday, 27th April, 2008

  Marbella, Spain

  Espinoza’s car screeched to a halt in front of the security post at the entrance to the urbanisation. Two blue and white Policía Nacional cars and a Municipal Police car stood waiting, engines running. The security guard sat in his cabin looking at the CCTV screens. Six police officers crowded in the doorway, trying to shelter from the rain.

  “Well?” Espinoza went to look over the man’s shoulder at the screens.

  “Still nothing. Some guy arrived in a taxi about an hour ago and went in through the gate. He had bags with him, like he was going to stay. Since then I’ve seen no movement at all.”

  “Why aren’t the garden lights on? You can hardly see anything.”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t come on tonight but I figured it was this shitty weather had knocked them out.”

  Espinoza’s mind went into overdrive. “What about the inside lights?”

  “I can just see the reflection of some lights. The downstairs ones have been on all night and the upstairs just lit up. But we’re not allowed to see in the house.”

  “What’s going on Pedro?” Martín, the Policía Nacional officer, lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out the door.

  “We’ve got a possible hostage situation up at Charlie Bishop’s house.” The Chief Inspector gave them a rapid summary of the evening’s happenings. “The child is there too. I don’t know what’s going on but my nose tells me it’s not looking good. And I don’t like this problem with the outside lights.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We go up to the house by both streets, from the west and from the east. I want the lights, the sirens, the works, to try to scare the hostage taker. At the house we block both sides of the entrance. If the gate’s locked we go over the wall and get inside the house, firearms cocked and ready. I think this guy, if he’s there, is a multi killer, so take no chances. If he blinks, hit him. If we’re wrong and there’s nobody, no harm done. But I’m not taking bets on it.”

  “Inspector Jefe.” One of the local policemen spoke up. “There’s another road, well, more of a dirt track, going up around the urbanisation, at the back of the Bishop’s house. It goes by the new Avenida Parc development. Why don’t me and Felipe go up the Coin road and drive in from the other end? Then we’ve got all the exits covered in case he gets out the back.” Espinoza gave his agreement and they screeched away from the urbanisation. Back towards the main road, to come in from the opposite direction.

  “Take this.” The Chief Inspector handed the security guard a walkie talkie unit. “If you hear or see anything, press this button and shout for help.”

  The remaining three cars set off towards York House. Martín on the east side of the golf course and Espinoza and the third car on the west side.
The storm had returned and occasional flashes of lightning were reflected on the surface of the lakes between the fairways. The police cars sped up the deserted access roads, sirens blaring, emergency lights flashing. Competing with the streaks of lightning and rolls of thunder.

  The property looked dark and menacing. Light was escaping from a few rooms on the ground floor and one upstairs room. Espinoza parked on the grass verge, almost touching the wall. The accompanying car straddled the width of the road, blocking any passage. The main gates and the small gate were closed. He waited until the third car drew in against the other side of the gate. Everyone drew their pistols and waited for a few seconds. No one appeared in the driveway. They couldn’t see the main door, situated at the side of the house facing the waterfall.

  He called down to the guard at the entrance to the urbanisation, “Anything?”

  “Nothing at this end,” came the distorted reply.

  “Right.” The Chief Inspector got out of the car into the downpour and shouted to his men above the noise of the rain, “On the roofs, over the wall.” The six policemen climbed onto the car roofs and prepared to scale the three metre wall.

  NINETY

  Sunday, 27th April, 2008

  Marbella, Spain

  As d’Almeida squeezed the pistol trigger, Adam jumped forward, making a grab for the gun. There was a loud report and he fell back against the wall, a burning sensation in his hand. The bullet had pased between his fingers and thumb as he yanked the gun muzzle aside, but he had hardly even felt it. Now the powder burns were starting to sting.

  “You stupid shit! I’m going to shoot you first for that, you Irish bastard.” He trained the pistol on Adam’s chest. His head and shoulder were throbbing so badly he couldn’t think straight.