picked through.”
“Why? We know the diamonds are here.”
Mercer just grunted and watched her walk off. She knew there was something here, he was sure, but he wasn’t banking on her interest being diamonds. He decided that when they found the mine’s entrance, he would have his talk with her.
By noon there was a fifty-foot scar in the hillside. The side of the mountain had tumbled in small avalanches as its support was torn away, and the laborious process of digging had to be repeated. Mercer was at the controls of the excavator, and the Eritrean operator, named Abebe, was standing in the pit when the teeth of the machine bit into the first of the kimberlite tailings.
Mercer shut down the engine, bounding from his perch. Abebe was already on his hands and knees examining the pulverized bluish stones in the bucket. The kimberlite had been crushed into a fine aggregate, the biggest piece no larger than the first joint of Mercer’s thumb. The men who had originally worked the mine had been very thorough in the processing of the ore, nearly powdering it to find even the smallest diamonds. To warrant this kind of extra work, Mercer knew, meant the mine’s assay value was high. It also told him that this had been a massive operation, with hundreds or perhaps thousands of workers. Kimberlite was notoriously tough, and it would take days to hand-crush even a small amount to this consistency.
He took the shovel from Abebe and dug into the exposed vein of kimberlite waste. The digging was slow, for the rock had been cemented together by the weight of the mountain above it and the countless rains that had percolated through it. The shovel hit a particularly tough spot and Mercer tossed it aside, dropping to his belly to peer into the hole he’d created. He thrust both arms into the earth, wrestling something out of the ground. It was another type of stone, white and badly chipped, roughly the size of his fist. Mercer held it to the light with reverence.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch.” As he studied it, his estimate of the mine’s age was pushed back several thousand years.
Abebe didn’t understand Mercer’s fascination with the lump of worked stone and ignored him when Mercer retrieved his leather kit bag from the excavator and placed the rock inside.
Selome and the others joined them a short while later. Gibby had made lunch, and Habte had found beer in the village of Ila Babu. They ate and drank in companionable silence. Selome sat close to Mercer, her knee almost touching his.
Habte translated a question from the truck driver. “Do you want us to work through the day? It is going to get hotter.”
“ ’Fraid so,” Mercer replied. “I don’t know how long our presence here will remain a secret. The mountains contain most of the noise from the excavator’s engine, but people on the other side will be able to hear us.”
The driver nodded at the response, but it was apparent he wasn’t too happy about it.
“We’re just about ready to open the mine entrance,” Mercer said to lighten their mood. “We hit the kimberlite tailings just before lunch, and I’m satisfied that we can open the mine without any danger.”
“What do you think we’ll find?”
“I have a theory,” Mercer said, then looked at the youngest member of their party. “Gibby, Habte mentioned there’s an old monastery near here. Do you know where it is?”
“I can show you,” Habte replied. “It’s about sixty miles away.”
“No, I need you here to start opening the mine, but I want to go up there and talk to the priests. Gibby, do you know it?”
“Yes. I think I can find it from here, but it is far.” The teenager didn’t sound sure.
“Talk to Habte about it. We won’t be leaving for a day or two anyway.”
“Why do you want to talk to the priests?”
“That monastery has been here for a thousand years. And I’m willing to bet they already know about this mine and the people who opened it.”
“But what do you wish to learn?” Selome pressed.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to talk to them, now would I?” Mercer stood and brushed off the back of his pants. He was sure that Selome had detected a change in his attitude toward her. She’d been playing him for a fool, and it pissed him off. She knew what this was all about, had known since the beginning, but still was asking questions she knew the answers to. Mercer had some questions of his own, and it was getting time for the answers.
They worked for three straight days, each of them settling into a routine that left them wasted when the sun finally set. Habte and the truck driver rigged a plow on the front of the ten-wheeled rig to use it as a bulldozer. They worked in unison with the excavator, pushing aside the piles of debris that the big Caterpillar stripped from the side of the mountain. Mercer and Abebe took turns running the excavator while Gibby stood in the excavated sections, guiding the bucket to maximize the bite it took with every scoop. Only Selome, who didn’t have a specific task related to the digging, balked at the traditional female role of housekeeper and chef.
Late afternoon on the third day, there was still no sign of the mine entrance. The team was gathered at the excavation. The ground had been compressed by the movement of the excavator until it felt like concrete. They had opened up a chasm nearly sixty feet wide and over twice that deep. The mountain towered above them. It hung precariously. From the bottom of the chasm, the sky was just a narrow blue band between the two sides. Habte and Abebe were smoking cigarettes while Mercer pulled from a bottle of beer. They were all frustrated by the amount of work and the lack of results.
Mercer broke the tired silence. “I’m going to have to blast the mountain. We’ve dug so deep, I’m afraid that lot over our heads is going to come down pretty soon. We have to cause our own avalanche, and that’ll mean at least another full day to clear the debris before we can continue to dig for the mine entrance.”
“No other way,” Habte agreed. “We did the same thing when I worked in the quarries.”
“Did you get the fertilizer I requested?” Mercer asked as he finished the last of the beer.
“Ammonium nitrite, two hundred pounds’ worth. And I got five thousand feet of detonator cord.” The explosives Mercer had requested when still in Washington had been abandoned in Asmara so he was forced to improvise.
“Good. We’ll use the diesel from the truck’s auxiliary tank. We won’t need that much punch — the mountain will collapse with just a good swift kick.” He looked at the hill, gauging where he would place the amfo. “After I make the shot, Selome, Gibby, and I are going to the monastery and have a chat with the good fathers.”
“Why do you need me?” Selome didn’t sound like she minded the trip, but she was curious.
“No offense to Gibby, but his English isn’t much better than my Tigrinyan. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted from scullery wench to interpreter.”
Selome smiled. “Give me another week and I’ll be running this operation.”
“That’s the spirit.” Mercer matched her smile for the first time in days. They’d have a chance to talk on the ride to the monastery.
Asmara, Eritrea
Night was his element. Yosef had the ability to blend with the shadows so he was like a wraith on the nearly deserted streets, easing around the puddles of light cast by an occasional street lamp. His motions were deliberate, his pace deceptively quick though he did not hurry himself.
After eleven in the evening, Asmara virtually shut down. Even the busiest streets were devoid of cars, and there was little chance of running into pedestrians. In all his previous nocturnal meetings, the rogue Mossad agent had yet to see a police patrol.
Since their return from Nacfa, he and his team had holed up in a rundown hotel near the old Soviet-style parade ground. The hotel’s owner, though harboring suspicions, had been paid enough not to ask questions about his guests. Asmara’s police were on the alert for a European in connection with the shootings at the Ambasoira Hotel, and while they did not have a good description of Yosef, he maintained constant vigilance. According to
