he gets here.”
He handed the control of the skiploader to Habte so he could wipe away the blood on his face. “If he twitches more than you like, go ahead and put a little more pressure on his head.” Mercer revved the diesel to punctuate his order and drowned out Joppi’s pleas for mercy.
Giancarlo Gianelli entered the cavern about an hour later with a retinue of guards. He wore fresh khakis and he smiled disarmingly at Mercer, who sat slumped in the control seat of the small earthmover. “I see we have a slight problem.”
“Not if you don’t mind me squeezing Joppi’s head like a grape, we don’t,” Mercer replied nonchalantly.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“You’re right.” Mercer revved the engine and eased up on the bucket, freeing Hofmyer. “I wanted you to see that I could have killed him and didn’t. Every man present, including your troops, can confirm that I didn’t start this. I just want it to end. He goes his way and I go mine.”
“And just where do you think you are going?” Gianelli seemed amused by the apparent ease Mercer had subdued Hofmyer and just as casually let him go.
“You know what I mean, Gianelli. Call him off and I’ll go back to work.”
“So this wasn’t some elaborate effort to escape?” Giancarlo arched an eyebrow.
Mercer looked at him flatly. “You’ll be the first to know when I’m ready to escape.”
“Your bravado is impressive,” Gianelli chuckled. Hofmyer was sitting on the ground, his head cradled gingerly between his hands. “No more, Joppi. You want to beat Mercer to death, do it when we are finished here. Am I clear?”
Hofmyer’s reply was a moan.
“Good.”
“Gianelli, tell me.” Mercer eased himself from the Bobcat and stood in front of the Italian industrialist. It was the first opportunity he’d had to speak with him. “What’s this all about? Working this mine, I mean. You don’t need the money, and you’ve already proved there are diamonds here just like your uncle said there were. Why work these people to death for a couple thousand carats? I know I’m not getting out of this alive, so what’s the harm in telling me?” A thought struck Mercer that moment, and he voiced it. “After all, do you think the Central Selling System is going to let you move these stones? They’re going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.”
“Very astute,” Gianelli said. “You hit upon the crux of my plan on the first try.”
“What is this Central Selling System?” Habte interrupted.
Gianelli rounded to Habte and spoke in a patient tone. “The CSS is the secret arm behind one of the most recognized corporate names in the world. Unlike any other industry, the diamond market is dominated by a tight- fisted monopoly that controls every aspect of the trade: mining, cutting, and selling. Nearly everyone in Europe and America is well acquainted with their artful television and print advertisements that espouse the everlasting quality of their stones. The CSS is a shadowy organization that keeps rein on who gets diamonds, who is able to sell them, and for exactly how much. Through their policies the value of diamonds is kept artificially inflated.” He turned to Mercer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re thinking the CSS will find out about my little operation and close down the mine in order to maintain their monopoly?”
“That’s about right,” Mercer said. “They know down to the individual stone how many diamonds are mined worldwide and not only in the facilities that are part of their consortium. If previously unknown stones from an unknown source suddenly appear, their investigative branch is going to find out and put an end to it, through any means necessary. You know the power they have. The CSS has contacts in the highest echelons of South Africa’s and England’s government. They operate with near impunity.”
“That’s what I’m relying on. You see,
Mercer finally understood at last. “You’re going to bluff them?”
“Not bluff them exactly. I’m going to show them the stones we’ve recovered so they can see my seriousness. When I hand over a bucket of diamonds they won’t be able to trace, they’ll know there’s a new player in the game. I don’t know if they will pay me more to know the mine’s location or more to ensure I don’t work it anymore. Either way, they must control this site. Consider my actions extortion. I’m using their greed against them.”
Mercer kept his face neutral, but he had to admit it was a brilliant plan, elegant and simple. Gianelli would reap billions. The CSS wouldn’t know he didn’t really own the mine until they had paid him off. “And when your actions force the CSS to raise the price of stones worldwide in order to pay you off and send South Africa’s economy into a tailspin?”
“Who cares? So what if pimply-faced boys have to pay a few thousand dollars more for engagement rings for their stupid girlfriends? As for South Africa, I hope the country falls apart and the whites retake control. I made a lot of money down there before the blacks were given power. While part of my motivation was to reinstate my uncle’s name in the family annals as the true genius he was, I certainly wouldn’t have spent so much money without some financial recompense.”
Mercer knew that South Africa’s fledgling democracy wouldn’t survive the shock of tens of thousands of men out of work. Anarchy would run rampant as people fought to stay alive. “You sick bastard. These are lives you’re playing with.”
“The cheapest commodity in the world.”
“So how much is enough? You must have a couple thousand carats, and there’s a rumor going around about a mammoth stone. Why keep working these people?”
“The more stones I dump on the CSS, the more they’ll pay me to get out of the diamond industry. I’m sure you know I’m walking somewhat of a tightrope between my need for the stones and the chance of being discovered. But the efficiency of the men hasn’t diminished much in the past two weeks, thanks to you, so we’ll remain a bit longer.
“To give you a little motivation, I’ll make you a bargain. At the end of say, three more weeks, if I haven’t been forced to leave prematurely, I’ll make my deal in London. I imagine my negotiations shouldn’t last more than a few minutes. Once completed, I’ll have the refugees released. After I sell my knowledge of the mine, that information no longer has value and they are free to go and tell whomever they wish. Does that sound fair?”
“In three weeks there won’t be ten men left alive,” Mercer spat.
Gianelli’s eyes glazed angrily. “That’s not my concern.” He turned to Hofmyer, who had finally gained his feet. “Go get yourself tended to and see that du Toit comes in here to watch these monkeys.”
Mercer went back to work, his mind reeling. The Mideast, South Africa, the refugees, Selome, Habte and Harry. With stakes this high, he had no choice but to succeed.
The Mine
The noise was like the pounding of drums, a deep bass that rattled the chests of the men heading down the tunnel at the end of their shift. Even before they were close enough to see the outlet, they recognized the sound. They had been farmers once, these men, and they knew when the rains came.
It was eight at night and so dark that the delineation between the black tunnel and the outside was just a fraction of a shade, no more than a ghost’s glow. Water poured over the mouth of the tunnel in a continuous waterfall, a solid sheet that every few seconds would disgorge the soaked form of a man heading into the working pits. Conversation was impossible as Mercer and his fellow miners coming off shift approached the cascade. The sudden appearance of the replacement workers was startling and eerie.
“Will the rain help us or hurt us?” Habte had to shout in Mercer’s ear to overcome the noise of the tremendous runoff.
Mercer could only shrug. He was focused on things other than the storm. He’d told Selome to be ready two hours after his shift ended, and he and Habte had a great deal to accomplish in that time. Just before it was their turn to step into the torrential night, Mercer pulled Habte aside. The closest Sudanese guard was still a good five hundred yards down the drive herding the stragglers from Mercer’s team. It would be impossible for him to see or
