The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  “I’m thinking this could be very good news. It could be genuine.”

  “Why would you doubt it? It was sent by Coetzee from his own email account.”

  “Emma, we don’t actually know if this message came from Coetzee. All we know is that it came from his email address.”

  “So we don’t actually know if Leo is with him or not, if this message is genuine?”

  “Not for sure, but I’m inclined to believe it for several reasons. First, because it was sent to your publishing address, which implies he doesn’t know your private one, so he may not be close to the main perpetrators. Second, from the way he writes I don’t think he suspects that you know he was involved. You seem to have got away without them catching on that you were onto their deception. Third, the photo is not pasted onto the message. It’s attached separately so we can see the properties.”

  Emma opened up the photo file. “You’re right. Look, it was created by Marius Coetzee and loaded onto his computer on July 15th at 15:15. That was just half an hour ago, so it must be genuine.”

  “And then there’s the amount he’s asking for, it’s a fraction of the other demand.”

  “What should we do? Shall I reply immediately”

  Jenny thought back to her conversation with Espinoza, considering whether she wanted to divulge the last piece of evidence unearthed by him.

  “What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “It’s something I learned from Espinoza today. Something that happened yesterday.”

  “Don’t leave me in suspense, tell me what it is. If Leo’s safe and we can get him back then I can take any news now, good or bad.”

  “First, I need to get rid of Sam and send Leticia out to the pool with Emilio. Then we can talk about this. We don’t want them to think there’s anything wrong.”

  She went to the door, “Stay here and I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well and need a rest. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Sam was on his mobile at the other end of the terrace with his back to the others. He put the phone away and came over to her. He seemed suddenly to be distracted. “Is anything wrong?” She asked.

  “I’m afraid I have to leave. Is Emma alright? Can I help?”

  “She just needs to rest. I think her trip to South Africa was more tiring than she realised. She’s sleeping now, so we’ll leave her in peace.”

  Leticia stood up from the table. “If Emma’s sleeping I’ll take Emilio up to the lake to feed the fish so we don’t disturb her. Say au revoir to everyone, chéri.” The little boy kissed them all goodbye and went off happily with his mother.

  Sam took Jenny in his arms. “I hate to rush off, darling, but there’s a problem I need to deal with immediately.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

  “It’s a business matter that I need to take over myself. You know what it’s like, the buck ends here.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out. But I don’t like to leave you after such a short visit.”

  “That’s alright. I have to look after my sister anyway. She seems very tired and she’s missing Leo.”

  “Yes, I was wondering where her son is. It’s strange that he’s not here when they just returned from Joburg, don’t you think?” He looked intently into her eyes, awaiting her reply.

  “She wants him to be with other young people, Sam. It’s his summer holidays and he’s been with her for the last two weeks, wouldn’t you feel the same?”

  “Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I was just a little worried that something might be wrong. I’m glad that’s not the case. How long will Emma be staying?”

  “Probably another week or so. And Leo will be coming next week, so you can meet him. If you’re staying around that is. Are you? Am I going to see you again soon?”

  “It depends on this latest development. I may have to take a trip. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve made my plans.”

  She walked with him to his convertible sports car and they kissed for a long moment. “Give my kind regards to Emma. I hope she feels better soon.” He climbed into the car and waved as he drove out of the gate.

  Jenny breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared from view. Oh, Dear God, please let Espinoza find Leo, she prayed as she walked back to the house. Emma can’t take much more of this. And neither can I.

  FORTY-FIVE

  London, England

  The Voice was speaking to someone in Cambridge, a university city about sixty miles north of London. The town is at the heart of one of the UK’s Hi-Tech research areas, known as Silicon Fen, England’s answer to Silicon Valley in California. Thousands of innovative inventions and discoveries have been incubated in the business start-ups that populate the area, a lot of them directly linked to the thirty-one colleges which constitute the University.

  Simon Pickford, one of the Voice’s old pupils, was now a celebrated pioneer of satellite and terrestrial tracking, of vehicles, equipment, people, just about anything that moved. His company, EzeTracker, had recently been floated on the UK stock exchange, making him an extremely, not to say obscenely, wealthy young man, much to the Voice’s chagrin, since he had taught the young man everything he knew for four years. However the valuable knowledge Simon had extracted from his old mentor was not unappreciated by the entrepreneur and he welcomed the opportunity to give assistance whenever he could. In addition, his experience in the cutthroat arena of hi-tech innovations had taught him to be discreet, very discreet, and the Voice usually required that quality.

  “So, what is it this time, Sir? Are we looking for elephants in Cameroon, or black rhinos in Zambia?”

  “Nothing so exotic, my dear boy. A very mundane request. For you and your team, technically undemanding in the extreme. Nevertheless, time is of the essence and I would appreciate your immediate collaboration.”

  “Right. Hang on and I’ll get Louise to cancel my next appointment. I wasn’t looking forward to the interview in any case.”

  He came back on the line. “My limited abilities are now at your disposal. What can I do for you, Professor?”

  Marbella, Spain

  “My God, yet another death. These people who’ve got Leo must be monsters.”

  Jenny had decided to tell her sister about the death in Polokwane and that she was convinced that it would help Espinoza in his investigation. Emma was white in the face, imagining her son in the hands of merciless murderers.

  She’s falling to pieces, thought Jenny. We can’t go on like this. “Emma,” she said, “it’s time I spoke to you sensibly, so please don’t get upset. I know this is an awful situation for you and Leo, but you can’t take refuge from everything that occurs by bursting into tears. You’re a clever woman and you’ve got to start using your brain in a more constructive way. We’ve made amazing progress already and I’m certain that we’ll continue to do so when Pedro gets into Polokwane. But I can’t think of every possible angle by myself and I need you to help me.”

  “But you have no idea what it’s like to have your only child in the hands of faceless murderers in some far off place. I feel so helpless.”

  “Actually I think I know pretty well what it’s like. I’ve been held hostage myself, with my family and a close friend, at gunpoint, on the brink of death at the hands of a pathological killer. But somehow we prevailed. Not all of us made it unfortunately, but the murderer died and I and Leticia and Emilio survived and I will never forget it as long as I live. I know that we can do the same here if we refuse to give up and work together to find Leo and bring these people to justice. I know we can do it, Emma. Please snap out of this mood of despair and help me.”

  Emma stared at her in astonishment. “So that’s what happened when you came over here after Charlie’s death?

  Jenny nodded. “And Ron’s death too. It’s not something I care to talk about or even think about, Leticia neither.” She paused, wondering how much to say. “It was a revenge attack by someone w
ho thought Charlie and his friends had robbed his family in Angola. A man called d’Almeida, posing as a Spanish lawyer. He was abetted by a French woman called Esther Rousseau, a very clever accomplice. He was killed, but she subsequently disappeared.

  “My point is that our experience is an example of how strength, resistance and planning can win the day. Not just in your novels, but in real life as well. With Pedro we’re a team of three. Let’s start acting like a team.” She looked at her watch. “We can’t advise Pedro about this message now, he must be just boarding his flight. I’ll text him to call us when he gets to Frankfurt. In the meantime, let’s look at it again and see if we can spot anything further.”

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  Nwosu’s phone rang at just after four, it was the Voice again.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Coetzee. Do you have any further information for me? Have any other events transpired?”

  Coetzee was sitting on the deck, smoking a cheroot and reading page one hundred and eighty of An Extravagant Death. He had told Leo to stay in his bedroom because he had to take an important call.

  He put aside the Kindle. “Things are still just the same. I called the hospital and they’ve stitched up Nwosu’s shoulder and he’ll be able to leave in the morning. So I’ll keep the kid with me in this motel tonight then pick the sergeant up early and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I see. Are you still unwilling to divulge the whereabouts of the hospital or your accommodation?”

  “It’s not that I’m unwilling. I just don’t think it’s safe for us to let on where Leo is. It seems to me there’s far too many ‘accidents’ happening around us for me to give anything away.”

  “To what are you referring, Mr Coetzee?”

  “I’m talking about Lambert and Blethin. And Masuku, the guard. I don’t know what kind of cleaning up operation is going on, but me and Leo aren’t going to be part of it.”

  “You seem to be very well informed about recent news. Polokwane must be a veritable mine of information.”

  Coetzee took a deep drag of his cheroot. “They have newspapers here. We’re not exactly in the darkest jungle. And I have my sources, of course.” He waited expectantly for a reaction to this last comment.

  After the usual pause, the Voice continued, “Well, Mr. Coetzee, be that as it may, I give my assurance that you and the boy are in no danger, none at all. That is precisely why we have removed any possibility of this arrangement becoming known to a wider audience. It is in our own and indeed in your own interests that you should leave no traces behind when your task is accomplished. Which is why I am now speaking to you, to assist you in accomplishing just that. However in order to do so, I do need to know where you are, because I have made some arrangements which will facilitate your endeavours.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Instead of you going to Zimbabwe, I have arranged for two of my friends there to drive to Polokwane to take the boy off your hands. You can then pick up Sergeant Nwosu from the hospital and return to Johannesburg without further ado. What do you think of that?”

  “When is this supposed to happen?”

  “In point of fact, my friends are already on their way. I expect they will be in Polokwane by nightfall, that is to say in about two hours. You will therefore understand that I do need an address since Polokwane is quite a large town.”

  “OK. Give them this number and tell them to call me when they get to Polokwane. I’ll take the boy to them on one further condition, the money you promised me. I want it in my account before I hand over the boy. I’ve done my job and I want my reward. Otherwise the boy and I will disappear until I see the money. Is that understood?” The security man had no intention of handing Leo over to anyone. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

  “I agree, Mr Coetzee. You have done your job and you must be rewarded accordingly. I will give immediate instructions for the transfer and it will be in your account shortly. In the meantime please be prepared for my friend’s arrival and all will be well.” The phone went dead.

  Now Coetzee was really worried. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Voice intended to fulfil their agreement. Thank God we’re not in Polokwane, he reflected. Looks like we’ll need to move again tomorrow to keep ahead of them. They have more resources than I do.

  Cambridge, England

  Simon Pickford received a call from his chief telecoms engineer at four fifteen. “Thanks Tom,” he replied and made a note. After quickly checking the information online he called a London number.

  “Simon, that was impressively efficient.” The Voice sounded ebullient. “Do you have good news for me?”

  “You haven’t lost your touch, Sir. Just as you suspected, the phone is in South Africa, but not in Polokwane.”

  “Do you have an exact location?”

  “Not precisely. We used triangulation because of the short time available, but it’s accurate to less than a kilometre.” Pickford had not enquired after the reason for the trace and he had no wish to know. He received regular and unusual requests from his old College Master and he was wary of becoming embroiled in any suspicious affair. He had a very large fortune to protect.

  “And where might that specific kilometre be situated?”

  “I’ve never heard of the place. Phalaborwa. I looked it up and it’s in Limpopo province, right next to the Kruger.”

  “Phalaborwa? Can you spell it out for me? It’s far beyond the geographical knowledge of a University Professor.” He noted the name down from Pickford’s spelling. “Do you have the coordinates of your triangulation?”

  He wrote down the latitude and longitude cross references. “That’s marvellous. Well done and thank you, young man. No wonder your company is so successful. I envy your propensity for technical competence. I can hardly operate a mobile phone, even less a computer.”

  “You taught me all the theoretical knowledge I needed to build my platform, Master. So it’s at your disposal whenever you need my help.”

  “Thank you, Simon. Now, if I may make one further request?”

  “The entire EzeTracker team is at your disposal.”

  The Voice explained his requirements in a few words. “Is that technically feasible?”

  “It’s more difficult if there isn’t an open line, but still possible now that we have the IP address of the phone. As long as it remains switched on and on the same network, we can follow it to the nearest GSM mast. I need an hour or so to get it set up then we can report whenever you want.”

  “It’s now four thirty. Can you start to give me positions from, say six o’clock, on the hour? You don’t need to spoil your evening by calling. A text from your technical people will be more than adequate.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got more meetings. I’ll arrange the set up immediately and check it myself until I leave at eight-thirty. Then we can report until midnight. After that my support staff are on duty and I don’t want to give them such a delicate task, so we’ll be off the air until seven in the morning. I hope that’ll be OK.”

  “Thank you Simon, that will be most acceptable. Please give my regards to your wife and family and I hope to see you all soon.”

  The Voice put down his phone and turned to the other person in the room. “Did you hear that? It seems our Mr Coetzee is trying to bamboozle us as to his whereabouts. Impertinent man! I can’t believe he is insulting our intelligence in this fashion. He must pay for such prevarication.”

  “Here it is.” His companion had already found the location. “The cross point is situated right on the Olifants River. Sounds like an ideal spot for a safari holiday, several hotels and lodges there, they must be in one of them. Do you want me to start enquiring?”

  “No. You won’t make any progress by phone from England to South Africa. It will be a waste of time and money and may come to Coetzee’s attention. I’m sure he has protected his privacy with some ready cash. I know I would have taken that precaution. I shall infor
m our Zimbabwe team to head for Phalaborwa and they can scour the area when they arrive. It can’t be too difficult to find a single man and a boy in a hotel. It’s bound to be noticed. In addition, we now have a trace on him if he decides for some reason to relocate to another destination. But my attention is now directed to Sergeant Nwosu. Where is he? Has he really been injured? It’s all very odd.”

  “Have you thought of the possibility that Coetzee doesn’t have the boy? Perhaps it’s Nwosu who has him and he’s making plans of his own.”

  “I think we can be certain of just one thing. The boy can’t have escaped or we would be aware of it. He would have sought help and there would be some sign of it in the news or in the behaviour of our ‘targets’.

  “So what do you suggest? We wait until the gorillas get to Phalaborwa and just hope for the best?”

  “I suggest that you google Polokwane and look for hospitals and clinics? They can’t be too numerous. Then you can feed your impetuous nature by calling to ask if they have a Police Sergeant who has just undergone shoulder surgery. That may complete our picture; Nwosu in hospital, Coetzee and Leo in Phalaborwa.”

  “Are you going to tell the others about this?”

  “I think not. There have been too many anti-climaxes already. I have no wish to provoke another. I’m calling Harare now.”

  Masekwaspoort, Limpopo, South Africa

  The 1995 black Mercedes long wheelbase S600 was driving through the Nzehelele Nature Reserve on the N1 South in the direction of Polokwane. Although the car was fifteen years old and had done almost two hundred thousand kilometres, it was in showroom condition, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. It approached the Boabab Plaza toll station through Masekwaspoort, a natural cleft in the Soutpansberg, the magnificent forested mountain range of northern South Africa, at one hundred sixty kilometres per hour as if it were coasting. Nightfall was still more than an hour away and there was a soft luminous light in the sky.

  The driver was a grizzled black man in a worn black suit and shoes, a white shirt and a straw trilby. Sunshades hid his eyes, which was just as well, they weren’t pleasant to look into. They’d seen too many dreadful things over the last fifty years, many of them at his own hands. He looked straight ahead at the road and hadn’t spoken since they had set off from Beitbridge, in Matabeleland South, Zimbabwe, just over an hour earlier. He was by nature taciturn and didn’t make friends easily, nor for long. One of his friends, or maybe an enemy, had once said of him, “Plato’s a difficult man to forget, but it’s well worth the effort.”