The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  The South African checked the bedroom once more and went to get his laptop from the desk. Out of habit, he looked for messages. There was an email and it was from Emma Stewart.

  Mr Coetzee. Your message was such a relief to me. I have been incredibly worried about Leo and now I can see from the photo that you have been able to rescue him from his abductors and he is in good health. Thank you, I will never forget your help and I agree that you should be rewarded generously. The problem is the amount you are asking. I have very little money of my own and I cannot lay my hands on such a large sum, it is quite impossible, especially in a short space of time. I have a friend who is able to lend me $300,000- and that is all I can raise at the moment. It seems heartless to be bargaining over the value of my son’s life, but I have no choice. You say you like him and that you want us to be reunited. I promise that I or my friend can fly down immediately to pay you $300,000- if you can find it in your heart to return Leo to me and end this dreadful episode.

  Please confirm that you can do this for me.

  Sincerely, Emma Stewart

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit over the top?” Emma had asked, before they sent the message.

  “We have laid it on a bit thick,” answered Jenny, “but since he knows you’re an author, he probably thinks you write like that all the time. In any event we should get his attention, three hundred thousand is a lot of dollars. Let’s see what he says.”

  Coetzee closed the laptop and went out to the car. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  Leo looked at him and said nothing. He continued, “The bad news is that we’ve got a hell of a long drive ahead of us. The good news is I just got a message from your mum. We’re on the right track to getting you home.”

  London, England

  “There’s an email.” The Voice’s companion went over to Dudley’s laptop when she heard the ‘ping’. “It’s from Emma Stewart.”

  “Aha! And what does Ms Stewart have to say?”

  “I’ll read it to you. It’s quite short. I have received your messages concerning my son. I won’t try to tell you how despicable your actions are, since you are obviously bereft of any human emotions or compassion. Your demands are quite beyond my financial capabilities, but I will make every effort to raise whatever funds I can. However, before I enter into any negotiations to get Leo back I need to see a photo of him showing today’s date. I will then contact you again. If Leo is harmed in any way I promise that you will never escape justice.

  Emma Stewart.

  “She appears to be suitably upset.”

  “And well informed of the normal procedure. She wants an up to date photograph.”

  “Naturally. The one we sent had no date on it, but fortunately we have the one we just received from Coetzee with today’s local press headline. Are you able to remove the handwritten address on the top of the page?”

  “Of course. But I’ll need to take over your laptop for a few minutes.”

  “Very well. Please do so, but we won’t send it yet. Let’s wait until we have confirmation from the Zimbabweans before we do anything.” The Voice tried to sound confident but he was beginning to worry. He prayed that the situation could be brought back under control. If not, he hated to consider the alternative.

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  The Mercedes S600 pulled into the courtyard of the Olifantsrivier Lodge at eight fifty pm.

  “Stay here and don’t get noticed.” Plato climbed out of the car, stretched his back then went through the reception door.

  Greg watched him disappear into the building. Fucking supercilious old shit. He took the chewing gum from his mouth and wrapped it into a ball in a Kleenex tissue. Threw it out of the car then replaced it with a fresh piece and started chewing again. He was becoming increasingly irritated with the driver’s behaviour. He either said nothing at all or made a sarcastic or patronising comment. Who the hell does he think he is?

  He knew Plato was the oldest and most experienced man in the company, with a fearsome reputation. The story was that he’d been part of ZANU during the Rhodesian Bush War and when Mugabe was appointed prime minister after independence, like many of his close supporters, he became a part of the inner circle. The lessons he’d learned during the fifteen year civil war became even more useful in clearing the path for Mugabe to become president. Greg had been with them for only two years and this was his fifth job, all totally successful, but it was the first time he’d been paired with Plato and he wasn’t enjoying it at all.

  There was only one employee at the counter, a pretty young black girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She smiled at the Zimbabwean. “Good evening. Are you checking in?” Opening up what was presumably the guest list for the day.

  He didn’t smile in return. “I’m looking for a friend, name of Marius Coetzee. He’s here with his nephew.”

  “You mean Mr Marius Ridgeway I think?”

  “Right, he has a double barrelled name, I forgot.”

  The girl looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry. You’ve missed them by about ten minutes. They checked out and drove off just after eight.”

  “Did you see which way they went?”

  “No. When you leave the drive you can turn east, west or south and they didn’t say where they were headed, so I have no idea.

  “He told me they were staying here tonight.”

  “They were booked for the night, but he said they’d changed their plans. They’ve been gone for literally ten minutes, if you know their mobile number you should be able to meet up. ”

  “Thanks.” Plato turned and walked away.

  “You’re welcome.” He heard as he went out the door.

  He took off his jacket, carefully placed it on the back seat and climbed back into the car. “They’re gone and I don’t know where. Somebody’s fucked up big time. I’ll have to call the office.”

  Greg said nothing as they drove out of the driveway and parked on the side of the road. As the girl had told him, there were three possible choices; east, into the Kruger, south towards Joburg and west, the road they had come on from Polokwane, but they had no idea which to choose.

  “Get them on the phone.” Plato said.

  Greg pulled out his mobile and called the number. He passed the phone to the driver without a word. He was becoming really sick and tired of this old man.

  Cambridge, England

  “Good evening, EzeTracker.” Simon Pickford answered the phone himself. It was after eight o’clock in the UK and most of the staff had already left. “Oh hello, Master,” he continued, cursing his luck that he was still in the office. He was tired and wanted to get home for a glass of wine and dinner.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, Simon, but I’m pleased you’re still there.”

  “What’s the problem this time?”

  “It seems that our target has left Phalaborwa. He was in a lodge there and he’s checked out. The problem is that I don’t know where he has gone and I need to make contact with him.” The Voice’s companion gave him an amused look, mouthing ‘make contact’?

  Simon breathed a sigh of exasperation. “Right. I’ll ask for a trace immediately and get back to you.” He terminated the call and rang the technician in charge of the monitoring with the new instructions.

  He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes and wondering what his old college mentor was doing tracing someone in South Africa. His usual requests involved tracking animals or precious artefacts or other strange objects which he deliberately asked nothing about. If the Master was involved in smuggling or anything similar he preferred not to know about it. But this was a different kettle of fish. Why would he be tracking someone via their mobile phone when he could just call them up directly? I can’t think of any reason which wouldn’t be illegal and I don’t want to tick that particular box. He decided he would become unavailable for any future requests from the man. It was becoming too risky for him and his company.

  London, Engla
nd

  It was eight thirty before the Voice’s telephone rang.

  “Simon. Thank you for calling back. I see from the map that our target could be driving east, west or south. Which is it?”

  “I have no idea. That’s why I’m calling so late. We can’t trace the phone at all.”

  A shiver ran down the Voice’s spine. This was not the time to lose Coetzee and the boy. “How can that happen? Has he switched it off or thrown it away?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t find it on the network. It probably just means that he’s driving and there aren’t any transmitter masts nearby. South Africa is a very big place and there are enormous areas where there isn’t any mobile connectivity. I’ve been looking at the network coverage and whichever way he drives from Phalabarwa, there are very few masts, because there’s hardly anyone or anything there.”

  “I see. So there’s no way that we can trace him at the moment?”

  “The problem is that if the masts are very far apart, he won’t stay in contact for long enough for us to get a fix. We need a short period of continuity to be able to identify the address and match the signal to at least one mast. The maximum coverage for a GSM transmitter is four kilometres. If he’s driving at a hundred an hour, that gives us about a two minute spot between the entry and exit of the transmitter range. I’ve given instructions to set up a search on an area of one hundred clicks around Phalabarwa in every direction. As soon as he passes an area with enough masts, I should be able to give you his whereabouts within a four kilometre range.”

  “Assuming of course, that he hasn’t discarded the phone or switched it off.”

  “Exactly. If that’s the case I’m afraid even our technology can’t help.”

  “Well, thank you and I’ll await your news.” He closed the phone.

  “You’ll have to call Harare, I suppose.” The Voice’s companion lit up a cigarette. “Their men are sitting waiting in the middle of nowhere. They won’t be very happy with us. It’s been a long day and now a long night.”

  “Indeed. However, they are being remunerated. I’ll call now and tell them to be patient. We unfortunately have no alternative.”

  “And what if we’ve lost them completely? If Coetzee has realised the danger of the phone and switched it off or thrown it away?”

  “I feel that is highly unlikely. It is his only means of communication with us, he won’t want to cut that thread until he is good and ready. After all, we are the channel to the money. He believes he is manipulating us, even though it is the contrary that is true, I am confident that we will find him again soon. Please pour me a glass of wine and try to be patient.”

  Over Germany, en route for Johannesburg, South Africa

  “Can I get you a drink, sir? Champagne or something else?” The Lufthansa air hostess was rather pretty, about thirty, with a charming smile.

  Why not? Thought Espinoza. It’s a shame to waste the business class privileges. “A small glass of champagne would be welcome, thank you.”

  The hostess poured him a generous glass and placed a packet of savoury snacks on his table. He took a sip, Hmm, cool and delicious. Opening up his notebook, he started rereading everything from the beginning. He was looking forward to his meal and then to a good night’s sleep. He wondered what was happening in Polokwane and Marbella. We’ll find out soon enough tomorrow.

  Marbella, Spain

  “Don’t worry about it, Sam. Emma and Leticia are still here so I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with you for a few days anyway. Call as soon as you get back and we’ll arrange dinner, just the two of us.” Jenny breathed a sigh of relief and after exchanging fond farewells she closed the phone.

  The Moroccan had called as she was getting ready for bed to say that he had to leave early the next morning for a few days. Now she could forget the subterfuge around Leo until he returned and with luck the trauma might be resolved by then. One less complication to worry about, she thought. But I am looking forward to some time with him when it’s over. This week is hard work, even for my only sister.

  After sending the messages to Coetzee and ARGS, the two women had gone up to their bedrooms. They were both exhausted. Emma was trying to take her sister’s advice; to focus her mind, think constructively and avoid becoming too distraught and overwhelmed by the ongoing situation. Jenny, pragmatic as always, was assessing the chances of arranging a large amount of money, in cash, to be available to Pedro, eight thousand kilometres away, within a few days. She climbed wearily into bed, wondering what tomorrow would bring, trying not to imagine all the things that could go wrong.

  Gravelotte, Limpopo, South Africa

  Coetzee drove past Gravelotte, on the R71, at a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour. It was just before ten o’clock, there was virtually no traffic on the road and he was ahead of his own tight schedule. Leo was snoring quietly beside him and his headlights were now pointing towards Polokwane. He calculated their arrival in Johannesburg in about five hours. That would give him the leeway he needed to execute his plan. He let the window down a little and lit a cheroot, holding it near the gap to carry the smoke away from the boy. He was momentarily surprised at his consideration. Getting too fond of him, he mused.

  He had driven past two small townships so quickly that the Telkom GSM network hadn’t even registered his presence, but the Land Cruiser had now been in range of the masts in Gravelotte for over two minutes. In Cambridge, the EzeTracker technician saw the IP address pop up on his screen. He quickly identified the transmitting mast then compared it with the next one to appear. He called Simon Pickford, who was now at home and enjoying his well-earned glass of wine. The target was going west towards Polokwane on the R71. Simon called his mentor and the Voice called Harare. The re-entry into cellular coverage also caused Blethin’s battery-dead phone, which had been asleep, to awaken for a tiny moment, consigning Leo’s text message to the Telkom spectrum, on its way to his mother’s phone in Spain.

  It was ninety-six hours since Leo had been taken.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  “Gravelotte? You’re fucking joking! We came through there two hours ago in the opposite direction.” Greg had answered the mobile since Plato was out of the car relieving himself. He hadn’t accepted the younger man’s suggestion of waiting in the lodge and getting something to eat. It was almost ten pm and after the long drive down from Beitbridge then waiting in the car for an hour in an icy silence Greg was tired, hungry and in a foul mood. “I’ll tell Plato. If we don’t call back then we’re on our way. How often are you checking the direction?”

  Plato listened without comment to Greg’s report then they climbed back into the Mercedes. A moment later, the limousine was on the road again, driving at a hundred and twenty kilometres per hour towards Gravelotte, then Polokwane. They were sixty minutes behind Coetzee and Leo.

  Delmas, Mpumalanga, South Africa

  The woman and her daughter were lying on a settee curled up together, fast asleep. Nwosu looked at his watch. It was almost ten thirty, time to get things moving. He went to the corridor and called his own mobile number again.

  “What is it, Nwosu?” Coetzee sounded irritated.

  “Where are you, Marius? Are you on your way with Leo?”

  “No, Nwosu. I’m driving through the Kruger with a chimpanzee. Don’t be such a bloody idiot, of course we’re on our way, approaching Polokwane, and the less you call me, the faster I’ll get there, so piss off and leave me in peace.”

  “See you later, Marius.” The policeman reflected for a moment then called the Brussels number he’d stored in the disposable phone.

  “Who is this?” Although he hadn’t recognised the number, despite the slightly distorted words the Voice sounded as calm and collected as always.

  “It’s Sergeant Nwosu. Is this a good time to talk?”

  After the usual pause, the Voice replied, “Sergeant Nwosu, how pleasing to hear from you.” Another pause. “Unfortunately
I can’t speak at the moment. Can I call you back in a minute or two on this number?”

  London, England

  The Voice and his companion had been watching Mathew Bourne’s Swan Lake on the Sky Arts Channel. He pressed the ‘Record’ button and regretfully switched off the TV. “We’ll finish watching that later. So, our missing sergeant has emerged from the twilight zone of Polokswane. Let’s find out where he is calling from and if he tells us the truth, shall we?”

  He called another number. “Simon, dear boy, I hope I’m not interrupting your evening too much but I’m afraid I need to ask one last favour.”

  Five minutes later he called Nwosu’s number back, the connection now being followed by the EzeTracker network. “Sergeant, I apologise for keeping you waiting, but I’m rather busy as you may imagine. I understand from your colleague, Mr Coetzee, that you have been incapacitated. Are you fully recuperated now?” He waited, wondering what pretext he would hear next.

  “I’m fine. Just a shoulder problem that needed attention. It’s fixed now and we can get on with the transaction.”

  “That is indeed good news. Is the boy with you?”

  “He’s arriving shortly with Coetzee. I just talked to them.”

  “Excellent. And may I enquire where you are awaiting them, Sergeant?”

  “We’re meeting here in Polokwane, then driving up to Beitbridge. We’ll be there in the morning. This time nothing’s going wrong.”

  “I see.” The Voice smiled grimly. “Then let’s leave it like that until Mr Coetzee and the boy arrive then you could perhaps kindly call me again.”

  His companion said, as he put down the phone, “I’ll be very surprised if he’s still in Polokswane.”

  “It’s possible, because that’s where Coetzee is headed with the boy. In any event, we’ll know as soon as Simon calls back.”

  A few minutes later, Simon Pickford informed him that the second phone was in Delmas, Johannesburg.