for at least six weeks of your field time.”
Mercer shrugged. “If you’re planning on a six-week search, I’ll save you the money and disappointment now and tell you that even if there was a pipe with a great big ‘X’ to mark it and a sign saying ‘Dig here,’ you’re not giving yourselves nearly enough time to find it. The search area is a couple hundred square miles, and it must be gone over inch by inch. No matter who you get to lead the expedition, even with all the luck in the world, don’t expect results for months.”
“Our timeline may be a bit short, I grant you, but it is our money to spend. And we feel this project is worth the expense.”
While he was listening to her words, Mercer found his attention drawn to the movement of her mouth, the way her lips formed each syllable perfectly. She was truly captivating. And he also sensed she may be a lure, what the Russians used to call the “honey trap.” He then discounted the idea. A woman as beautiful as Selome Nagast made such a ploy too obvious. “Why six weeks?”
“The photographs show the pipe to be close to our border with Sudan. Even with the best security, six weeks is all we feel we can keep a team safe from marauders. The search area is one of the most dangerous in Africa. You must have heard about the archaeologist and his guide who were killed there several months back.”
“Hyde mentioned it,” Mercer replied. “Listen, you and he have enough information, without revealing the Medusa pictures, to contact one of the big mining outfits in Canada or Europe. Why not give them a shot at finding your pipe?”
“It was considered. But at this stage, any deal we struck would be disastrous. Mining companies are notorious for making contracts that benefit only themselves and leave little to the countries in which they work. To get one involved at this stage would mean giving away too much. Look at what happened in South Africa and Namibia. For decades, the money from their mines lined the pockets of Europeans rather than the locals. We will be in a better bargaining position if we can find the pipe ourselves.”
“I can’t agree with you more. If there are diamonds there, you’re in a unique position to learn from the mistakes of other African nations, countries that all but gave away their wealth or saw it plundered by corrupt officials. I have to say again, though, if you are serious about searching for the pipe, give it at least a year and triple whatever budget you’ve set yourself. That way you can be assured one way or another.”
She took his assessment sullenly. “That is just not possible.”
“Then abandon the whole idea, use the money you were going to pay me and help your people directly. Bring some of the refugees home from the camps in Sudan, use it to court some industry to locate in Eritrea, hell, give it to the United Nations as a way of getting favors later on. Whatever you decide, it will be better spent than outfitting a poorly conceived geologic expedition almost certain to fail.”
Mercer didn’t like being so harsh, but he knew he should end this as quickly as possible. He was impressed by Selome and her determination but he also knew she was fooling herself. In fact, he’d fooled himself too. He’d wasted a day looking for the pipe because he too wanted it to be there. He saw a trace of defeat in her eyes and wanted to take her hand as a physical reassurance.
“We are going to pursue this,” Selome said, surprising steel in her voice.
“I wish you luck, I really do. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
She got up to go, but Mercer could not let her leave on such a sour note. He reached out and touched her wrist. “Listen, I could be wrong. You could be sitting on the biggest diamond strike in history, but you must prepare yourself to be disappointed. No matter what, it’s going to take a long time.”
“Dr. Mercer, none of us are as naive as you think. Of course this is going to be difficult, we all expect that, but it does not mean we shouldn’t try.”
Mercer got up from the booth after she had gone and slumped back at the bar next to Harry. “You heard?”
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Don’t you think you were a little tough? Before she came in, you thought there might still be a chance that the diamonds are in Eritrea.”
“I know, but I was wrong. Talking to Selome, I realized I was merely hoping, just like she and Hyde. Unless they can get one of the big mining concerns to foot the bill, it’s best they forget the whole idea.” Mercer demurred Tiny’s offer of another drink. “They live in one of the poorest places on earth, and they want to blow possibly millions of dollars on a project with a thousand to one odds. It’s wrong and I think even our Miss Nagast recognizes it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“This six weeks she mentioned. I don’t believe her reason for the rush any more than she does. Eritrea’s been an independent country for a couple of years and the diamonds have been there for a couple hundred million, so why the big push now? I don’t think they have the money for anything more extensive. And I think there is something more going on here. Prescott Hyde and the lovely Selome Nagast are keeping something from me. I don’t know what it is and I don’t really care. I’m done with this whole thing.”
Mercer had seen it dozens of times, especially in Africa. Money that could really help the people squandered on some glamorous project that usually never gets completed or, if it is, gets abandoned shortly. He hated that type of epidemic waste and wouldn’t let himself become part of it. He considered calling some of his contacts in the mining industry to try to blackball the whole thing. It was the best he could do to save Eritrea its money.
“Are you going to continue your research tomorrow anyway?”
“No. I’ll finish my report to Yukon Coal like I promised and look for another project. If the diamonds are there, they weren’t meant for me to find.”
The next morning, Mercer had already gotten his newspaper and a cup of tar-thick coffee before he noticed a package resting on the polished bar top. It was a plain buff envelope that hadn’t been there last night! A sudden adrenaline burst shot through his system. His home had been violated before — indeed, he had killed a potential assassin in the bar less than a year ago — but knowing someone had secretly broken in while he slept was even more disturbing. He ruthlessly crushed down a rising sense of panic.
After checking his entire house to make sure he was alone, he returned to the bar. He approached the package with trepidation. He quickly discounted his first thought, that it was a bomb. If someone had wanted to kill him, they could have done it as he lay in his bed. A silenced bullet was much more efficient than an explosive device. He considered calling the police, but if it wasn’t a bomb then it was a message, one meant for him alone. Ignoring the fact he might be destroying crucial evidence, he picked up the packet, recognizing the squishy feel of “bubble wrap.” He tore it open and a standard videocassette slid into his hand. His stomach turned to knotted ice. He had a chilling premonition of its contents.
He walked over to the entertainment center and slipped the cassette into his VCR, turning on the television in the same motion. The image that sprang up drained the blood from his face.
Harry White sat naked on a wooden chair with heavy silver tape binding his wrists to the chair’s arms and more of it wound around his thin white chest just below his sagging pectoral muscles. Electric wires were clipped to his nipples, and deep bruises surrounded his mouth and blackened both eyes. There was a look of terror on Harry’s face. The morning’s
When he finally spoke, Harry’s usual rasping voice sounded more like a child’s plea. His speech sounded scripted.
“Mercer, I was grabbed last night after leaving the bar.
I don’t know who is holding me, but they are serious in their intentions.” As if to prove this statement, a hand appeared from off camera and backhanded Harry viciously. It took him a few moments to recover, his chest heaving in fright and pain. “They demand that you go to Eritrea and find the diamond mine or they will kill me. You have no choice. If they find that you are not planning to go, parts of my body will be dumped on your doorstep, culminating in my head in two weeks’ time.”
Harry stopped speaking, his rheumy eyes focusing beyond the camera’s range for a second as if listening to someone. Then Mercer heard another voice, one masked by an electronic synthesizing device. “Dr. Mercer, listen to your friend. We do not wish to kill him, but the discovery of the mine is too important to us to worry about the death of one old man.
“You have six weeks to accomplish the task. If you are not successful, Harry White will be killed. If you
