The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  Keeping under the line of cameras he found the point he was looking for, the break in the fence where the rail track went through. There were control posts on both sides of the track, but they were unoccupied at that time of night. He slipped around the fence and crawled under the sliding gate then walked away from the dock, as free as a bird.

  * * *

  From inside the southern control post, Superintendent Treboux looked out the darkened window as Yilmaz, speaking on his mobile, walked across the periphery road towards the A55 heading west. He went down to the waiting unmarked police Peugeot and they drove just near enough to watch for the car that the captain must have called. There was no hurry. It would be interesting to see who came to pick him up and where they went.

  Malaga, Spain

  Espinoza was watching the morning news on TV when Marcel Colombey called back from Paris. Whilst they were talking he sent through a scanned photo. Espinoza compared it with the two photos he’d sent over then exclaimed, “How did you obtain this?”

  “I arranged for an agent to go round to her apartment building yesterday afternoon. He talked to one of the neighbours then waited until she came out with her boyfriend. His name is Harry Slater, he’s English and apparently they’ve been living together since she came back from Australia, eighteen months ago.”

  “That means I got hold of the wrong end of the stick completely. Now I’m totally confused. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  He prepared a quick email to DS McCallister and sent it off with the photograph attached. It was four in the afternoon in Sydney and he asked the policeman if he could turn it around quickly. It was time to close this case. He found the number given to him by Chief Superintendent Hendricks and called DI Dewar in London.

  Marbella, Spain

  “Good morning Patrice. You’re just in time for coffee.” The Frenchman had arrived without warning and Leticia was in the garden with Emilio. Jenny took him out to the terrace. “You know Emma of course and now you can finally meet Leo. He came back from his friend’s house on Saturday. I’ll go and call Leticia.”

  Patrice sat opposite Leo, seeming to scrutinise him carefully. “How was the match, Leo? It must have been quite exciting, waiting for over two hours for a single goal right at the very end.”

  “The whole trip was exciting actually. Mum and I had a great time, but I’m really happy to be back in Europe, to be perfectly honest. Especially here in Aunt Jenny’s house. It’s fabulous.”

  “It’s a nice coincidence having a friend living just along the road. What was his name again?”

  “Nigel Dean. He’s our head boy. Brainy but rubbish at football. It’s not their house anyway, they’re just renting it for a month. It’s on the beach but not half as nice as this one.”

  Emma had tightened up imperceptibly at Patrice’s first question, but she was impressed with her son’s performance. “Tell Patrice about the day out at Lion Park,” she said, to move him onto safer ground. He didn’t need to invent that story.

  As he started his account of their trip, Jenny came back with Leticia and Emilio. “Chéri, what a lovely surprise.” They embraced and he lifted Emilio up in his arms.

  “I’ll have to wait for the rest of your story, Leo. My next appointment is at ten so I’ve only got a few minutes,” he said. “There’s something important I need to tell Leticia and it can’t wait. We’ll go by the pool where we can talk quietly. You don’t mind, Jenny?”

  She shook her head and looked quizzically at her sister as he took them into the garden, speaking to Leticia in French in an animated fashion. “What was all that about?”

  “It started off as a bit of an interrogation, but Leo was more than a match for him. I’m not sure what’s going on with that man.”

  “I sometimes wonder that myself.”

  London, England

  Detective Inspector Dewar was cleaning up his desk. He picked up the dossier on Lord Arthur Selwyn Savage Dudley. The email from CS Hendricks had thanked him and advised him that the murder cases were closed and he didn’t consider the phone tapping to be relevant to his investigation. Dewar’s last information from Simon Pickford was that Dudley had apparently made contact with the targets and didn’t need any further tracking. He had a lot on his plate and was about to send the file back to records when he received a call from Pedro Espinoza.

  The Spaniard introduced himself as an ex-Chief Superintendent of Homicide who had been assisting Hendricks in the South African murder hunt but had been intrigued by the phone tracking story. He asked if Dewar had any information on Lord Dudley.

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Mr Espinoza. I don’t know you and in any event as an ex-policeman you know that such information is restricted on a ‘need to know’ basis. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”

  “I applaud your caution Detective Inspector, but perhaps you can do two things for me. Firstly, if you would like to check my credentials with CS Hendricks that may allay your worries, and secondly, I doubt that the name of your contact at EzeTracker would qualify as ‘need to know’ information and I would be very interested in learning a little more about the technology involved.”

  Smart approach, thought Dewar. There’s no reason not to assist his technical education. He replied, “I’ll contact Hendricks and I’ll also call EzeTracker. If my contact wants to speak to you I’ll give him your number in Spain.” He read Espinoza’s number from his phone. “That’s the best I can do. OK?”

  Dewar rang off, wondering if this might somehow lead to a new angle on Dudley. It would be nice to finally get something more than circumstantial on him, the man was obviously a nasty piece of work. He would help Espinoza as much as he could within the rules. He put the file back on his desk and called Simon Pickford.

  Port-de-Bouc, South-West France

  Superintendent Treboux and Lieutenant Grandville were in Port-de-Bouc, a seaside commune of twenty thousand inhabitants on the south-west coast of France. The Peugeot was parked at the side of the Quai de la Liberté, on the east side of the slipway from the marina. From the car they looked straight across the water to La Leque, the central tourist area on the other side. More importantly they looked directly at the Ancre de La Leque, a small three story hotel with a brasserie on the ground floor. It was ten in the morning and Captain Yilmaz and the man who had picked him up had been in the hotel since arriving there at three o’clock. The two customs officers had taken turns to catnap in the car, and Grandville had walked across to the brasserie to bring back coffee and croissants at eight o’clock. The town was still quiet at that hour and they had an uninterrupted view of the hotel entrance.

  “Regardez! Look!” Treboux sat up and rubbed his eyes. Yilmaz and the driver were coming out of the hotel. A swarthy man carrying a leather bag walked up to them from the direction of the Port Renaissance, the small yacht basin adjacent to La Leque. They shook hands then scanned the street around them and set off back towards the port. The officers locked the Peugeot and crossed the bridge across the waterway, keeping the others in sight.

  The men walked alongside the rows of private yachts and climbed aboard a white Jeanneau fishing boat with blue and red stripes along the side. They quickly cast off the lines and the craft headed out of the port.

  As he and Grandville ran down the quayside, Treboux pulled out his mobile phone. “They’re just pulling out. It’s a red and blue striped Jeanneau.”

  “I see it,” replied the voice on the other end. “Hang on a minute.”

  The officers lost sight of the boat as it exited the marina. The man’s voice came back. “It’s heading west to go south from the looks of it. Probably heading for Spain but it’ll be hours before they cross into Spanish waters.”

  “Then on to Turkey, I suppose. We’re almost at the lower quay, you can pick us up there.”

  They reached the end of the quay just as the unmarked M15 High Speed customs inshore patrol boat pulled alongside the jetty and t
hey jumped aboard. The vessel pulled away immediately and headed back out to sea, going west after the Jeanneau.

  Treboux called one of his team at the Port of Marseille. “Anything?”

  “Not yet. One of the crew has identified the last container to be loaded and we’ve taken it off and opened it, it’s full of TV sets. They look OK but the dog handler’s on his way. I’ll call as soon as we have something.”

  Geneva, Switzerland

  “Quoi? Ce n’est pas possible. It’s impossible.”

  “I’m afraid it’s true. I wouldn’t joke about something like that, M le Prince.” Jolidon was trembling. He had just announced to the Moroccan that the cargo had been seized by the French customs.

  “Fucking Hell, it can’t be true!” Bensouda was in his suite at the Kempinski. He sat on the settee, a cold sweat suddenly covering his forehead. “What about my investment?”

  “It was entirely consumed by the purchase of the merchandise and the costs of transporting it to Marseille.”

  “You mean there’s nothing left? What about the last hundred thousand I sent? That can’t be gone as well.”

  “I tried to recuperate it for you this morning, M le Prince,” Jolidon lied, “but it had already been transferred on to the other party.”

  Bensouda gasped for air. “One moment.” He went to the bar in the suite and poured out a measure of Chivas Regal and drank a large swallow. “I have to come and see you. You can’t just call and tell me I’ve lost over a million dollars like that. There must be something we can do. I’ll be at your office in a half hour.”

  “Unfortunately I am not in Geneva today, Monsieur. I came to Zurich last night to ensure that the transaction was executed correctly by our bank here and I just received this dreadful news by telephone a moment ago.” This was also untrue. He was actually in Lausanne, not to execute a transaction, but to keep away from Bensouda.

  “What exactly did they tell you? Are you sure you didn’t get it wrong?”

  Jolidon gave a brief fictional account of the telephone call. “You can rest assured that your involvement in this matter has not been and never will be disclosed to anyone.” This subtle threat went unnoticed by the troubled Moroccan. “But I’m worried about my own position, Monsieur. If my involvement in the transaction has been discovered, I could be facing very serious charges. I may stay away from Geneva for some time. Until I know what transpires.”

  After a few minutes more of begging and pleading for some respite Bensouda was finally lost for words. He rang off and went to get another whisky. He was shaking with rage and with fear. There would be no more jetting around the world, no more living like a lord in Marbella, no more chauffeur-driven limousines, no more throwing his family’s money away in casinos, no more suites in fancy hotels. The game’s over. That was my last throw of the dice and I lost. Time to pay the piper.

  He found his uncle’s name in his phone and with trembling fingers he pressed the number.

  Marbella, Spain

  Leticia waved Patrice off from the front entrance then came running back to the terrace with Emilio. “Jenny,” she called excitedly. “I have important news. Get your iPad please?”

  “I’ve got it here. What is it?”

  “We’ll go for a stroll and leave you to it.” Emma and Leo went off into the garden.

  “Right. What do I have to look up?”

  Leticia handed her a sheet of note paper with Banco de Iberia embossed on the top. “Here. Patrice says it explains everything. I think I understood, but you can explain it properly to me.”

  Jenny typed in, Regina Oil & Gas Inc, Saskatchewan. There were several items on the page, all with variations of the same headline, Regina Oil & Gas Strike. Saskatchewan’s Biggest Find, Ever. She opened the Bloomberg item, as Patrice had indicated and read the article to Leticia.

  “Regina Oil & Gas, one of Canada’s newest and smallest oil exploration start-ups, announced yesterday that their third exploratory drilling, near Sask, in the Bakken formation in the southeast part of the province, has delivered the goods in style. Using a combination of horizontal drilling and hydro fracturing technology Regina discovered a large contiguous pool of sweet, light crude oil. The company estimates that the pool could deliver over a billion barrels of oil over the next several years, making it the largest single discovery in Saskatchewan’s history. Trading in Regina stock was suspended on the Toronto Stock Exchange yesterday after the share price more than tripled in frenzied trading.

  “Fetch me your bank file will you?”

  Leticia came back with the file and Jenny leafed through the statements. She drew in her breath. “Now we know what Patrice meant when he said he’d make the money back by September. Look.”

  She showed her the June 30th statement. Included in the list of shareholdings was five hundred thousand Ordinary Shares of Regina Oil & Gas, at a value of four hundred thousand Canadian Dollars. This small oil and gas company had now discovered a massive pool of oil worth a fortune and their share price had risen from eighty cents to two dollars fifty cents.

  Jenny looked up the exchange rate against the Euro. “They were valued at about three hundred and twenty thousand Euros and now they’re worth almost a million. You’ve made about six hundred and fifty thousand already and it sounds like it’ll still be going up when they open the markets today.”

  Leticia clapped her hands. “We’ll make back the money we lost on that Ponzi scheme. That’s why he was rushing about so much. It was this Canadian customer who had a lot of meetings in London but it was very confidential. He was involved in their PIO, I think he said.”

  Jenny was so relieved at the news that she laughed out loud. “You mean IPO, it’s when they went public on the Canadian Stock Market, I suppose. That means he’s been involved with them for a long time. He must have a good nose. I should ask him for some tips.”

  So that’s what all his travelling and stress was about. She felt embarrassed that she’d harboured any suspicions about him. Thank heavens we can all get back to a normal relationship now. “I’m putting a bottle of champagne on ice for lunchtime. We’re going to celebrate.”

  Sydney, Australia

  DS McCallister compared the photos sent by Espinoza with those in the dossier he’d received from his colleague in Perth. There was a background file with pictures of everyone involved in the case; Tony and Nicole Forrester, the staff at N-Jet and the two executives lost in the crash.

  He sat back in astonishment. “Shit! I don’t believe it. This is going to add some spice to Pedro’s paella.” He checked the two images once more then scanned the photo from his file and sent it with a quick note to the Spaniard. He wasn’t allowed to send the dossier to Espinoza, who was no longer a police officer, but he now expected to receive a request from the French National Police. He asked his assistant to prepare a scanned copy to be emailed as soon as it was requested. Then he left the station and drove to an Outback Steakhouse along the street. It was eight o’clock in the evening and he was famished. He switched his mobile to vibrate and laid it on the table in case Espinoza called.

  Marbella, Spain

  “Cheers! Here’s to Leo coming home, Leticia getting marvellous news and the renewal of my social life.”

  No one understood Jenny’s toast completely but they were all happy to raise their glasses. Even Leo had a glass of champagne in his hand and joined in the celebration. There was an air of cheerfulness in the house that hadn’t been there for a while. They relaxed on the terrace and chatted happily, Leticia getting to know another part of her new family and everyone enjoying the moment.

  Jenny’s phone rang and she excused herself and walked away from the others. “Sam, how are you. Are you back in Marbella?” She listened for a moment then said, “Morocco? I don’t understand. I booked at the Finca Courtesin for next weekend. How long will you be away?”

  After a few minutes Jenny walked back to the others, fighting the tears from her eyes.

  “What is it?” Emma j
umped to her feet. “What’s wrong, Jenny?”

  She took a deep breath. “It was Sam. He’s going back to Morocco. He doesn’t know for how long, perhaps for a long time, he said.”

  Malaga, Spain

  Pedro Espinoza had been on the phone with Paris, working out an arrest procedure with Marcel Colombey when the email arrived from MacCallister. He didn’t yet know who they were going to arrest, nor under what names, but he was sure the moment was not far off and he wanted to be ready. He looked at the screen in disbelief and grabbed his mobile again.

  “Sorry to disturb you Mac, but I’m sure you were expecting my call.”

  “Too right, Pedro, only I expected it sooner. I just ordered a T-Bone so I’ve got five minutes.”

  The two men talked for a short while then the Spaniard thanked him and rang off. He called Inspector Colombey back. Now he knew who to arrest, although he could hardly believe it.

  At Sea, en route for Barcelona

  It was a clear day and the patrol boat, doing ten knots, had been trailing the Jeanneau for over four hours at a distance of just over one kilometre. The sea was quite choppy and the fishing boat was hugging the coastline. This suited the customs pilot since there was a lot of tourist traffic and he could keep the boat in sight without being noticed.

  Although Superintendent Treboux’s position with the French Customs Directorate gave him the authority to detain Yilmaz and the other man at any time, he didn’t want them taken into custody until the drugs had been found and impounded. It was easier to obtain an arrest warrant backed up by irrefutable proof and much easier to get the men to talk when they knew they were facing many years of imprisonment. These men were just the low hanging fruit. He wanted to find the people at the top of the tree, those who were flooding Europe’s streets with deadly narcotics and fuelling the never-ending escalation of crime in his country.