The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (11 page)

“
Thanks, I owe you.”

             
Charles scratched his chin. “One day, maybe, perhaps I’ll collect.” He opened the door and closed it as Bear left. Chad, he thought, been a few years since they had an uprising.

***

Seated at a table with the main entrance visible, Petros sipped his glass of white wine and waited. He checked the time when Eva entered, five to twelve. She wore a red body-hugging dress that left little to the imagination. He lifted his right arm and waved the white envelope.

             
For a moment she hesitated and scanned the rest of the bar. She smiled and strutted towards his table. “Petros Kyriades?”

             
He stood. “Correct, and you’re on time. At five past the hour I may have left. Glass of wine, red, or white?”

             
“Pleased to meet you. I’ll have a dry white.”

             
He stopped a passing waitress and gave her the order.

             
“You’re a friend of Mr Morris so I must trust you but you mentioned you identified me by sight, how?”

             
“We are here to discuss a collection from Libya. You need to be aware that the price has gone up.”

             
Her eyes flared with anger. “Mr Morris and I agreed a price. I’ll not pay anymore.”

             
“Enjoy your wine. This conversation is ended.” From his pocket, he removed a battered leather bound book.               “Yours.”

             
She grabbed it. “Did you read it?”

             
“Every word and the location of the diamonds died with your grandfather. But I’m certain whoever you employ will have great fun searching the Sahara.”

             
The waitress placed a glass of wine on the table. Eva’s manner was tense as she drank a mouthful. “Mr Kyriades, you are a rude man.”

             
Petros sipped at his wine. “No, not at all.” He smiled. “This is a business relationship, no more, no less. We are not friends planning a holiday. You want those diamonds and my team of operatives might be able to recover them. I can’t guarantee they are still where your grandfather left them. I’ve researched this collection and have an adaptable plan, which allows for varying situations.”

“Ach, how much will this cost me?”

“At this moment Mr Morris is researching an alternate route into Libya. He’ll be back in a week. If this collection is possible you can double the original fee.”

“Nein, I mean no
, it’s impossible.”

“Then our business is finished and I’ve wasted a few thousand pou
nds which I’ll charge to experience.” He finished his wine, pushed his chair back and stood. “Good bye and good luck because you’ll need it.”

              She grabbed his arm. “Wait.” She stared at him. “I need to talk to my associates. I’ll contact Mr Morris within the week.”

             
He lowered his head. “You have one week.”

             
“All right.” Her annoyance intensified.

Not a nice woman
, he though. He paid the bill and headed out the entrance. The midday sun tried to warm the air but the cold wind cut through his jacket.

             
“Keep walking, Mr Kyriades,” said John Soames. “Any further progress on finding the diamonds?”

             
“How come you knew I was here?”

             
It’s my business. You’re a bonus. Just so you are aware, we have the telephone in her flat bugged. Be careful what you say. By the way, she hasn’t made one call to Germany yet. You didn’t answer my question.”

             
“No progress. She can’t afford my team. I’ve given her a week to come up with the money but I don’t care. I abhor the Nazi ideology, the mix of discrimination for the betterment of one race, which she believes. It may be small and insignificant but so was the Nazi party. Those people have no sense of right or wrong.” He turned his head, Soames had gone.

***

When Bear contacted Petros it was past six in the evening. “How did the meeting go with Evil Eva?”

             
“She thinks I’m rude. I don’t think she likes me.”

“What did she say when you doubled the price?
”

“Wasn’t a happy bunny but I told her she has one week or we walk. How did you get on?”

“Remember Charles Haskell?”

“How could I
forget that bastard? He set up that Zaire job that turned into a massacre and we ended up walking four-hundred miles.”

“Yeah
, but we found Lucy and saved her life.”

“Okay
, every cloud and all that. What about him?”

“I met him in his office. He’s agreed to let me use Akeem Babin as the eyes in my back. Good man in a tight spot and speaks French and Arabic. Might have a chopper pilot.”

“Akeem.” He nodded. “But
at what price?”

“We did a deal when I
reminded him I saved his life.”

“
Akeem’s a good man providing you’re on the same side. When are you leaving?”

“In two days. Be
back in five. By the way, add a couple of expensive cameras to the price. I’m visiting Chad as an extreme location photographer.”

“Just be careful or Jocelyn will have my guts.”

“See you when I get back.”

Chapter Eight

Bear met
Akeem by the taxi rank at St Pancras Station. Together they boarded the Eurostar to Paris where they journeyed on to Charles De Gaul Airport.

             
Checked in and with a two-hour wait, they made their way to the bar. “Still on orange juice?” said Bear.

             
“Alcohol confuses the mind,” said Akeem, “and my faith forbids it.”

             
“Well I’m having a pint of God’s own nectar, Guinness.”

             
They found a table, sat and made themselves comfortable and chatted.

             
“What’s with Chad?” asked Akeem.

             
He tapped the side of his nose. “Need to know, and for the moment you don’t. This is a recon. If I need you for the main op, I’ll tell you. Anyway, time to go, our flight’s being called.”

***

Bear slept for six of the seven-hour flight to N’Djamena International Airport. He and Akeem strolled out of the airport into a humid thirty-five degrees.

             
They jumped into a dust covered taxi. “Novotel,” said Akeem.

             
The driver welcomed them with a toothless grin and said something neither man understood.

Ak
eem shouted at him in French as the driver manoeuvred the taxi past armed guards and out of the airport. They alighted at the entrance of the hotel. Akeem handed the driver four American dollars.

             
“Welcome to the best hotel in Chad,” said the bubbly receptionist in French. “We have rooms available. All are air-conditioned as is our dining room. Passports, please.”

             
She turned and photocopied both. “Number of nights?”

             
Akeem turned to Bear. “How long?”

             
He held up three fingers.

             
The young woman grinned and said in English, “two rooms, three nights, cash or card?”

             
“American Express,” said Bear. “Both rooms on my card. I need to get to Zouar in the Tibesti region. Where can I hire a light aircraft?”

             
“Tibesti hot, dry and dangerous. Terrorists cause much trouble. Why you go there?”

             
“Extreme location photographer.”

             
“Every day plane flies to Zouar in morning and return in afternoon. You have special permit from minister to go?”

             
“Do we need one?” asked Bear.

             
“No permit, you cannot leave N’djamena.” She checked the time. “Ministry still open. I phone. My uncle works in government office.”

             
“This will cost you an arm and a leg,” said Akeem.

             
“Such is life. We need to recon Zouar and beyond.”

             
“My uncle says he will process your documents but a small gift may smooth the paperwork.”

             
“Could you suggest the size of this gift?” said Bear.

             
“Four hundred thousand francs will hurry the paperwork. I take from your card?”

             
“No way,” said Bear. “Two in cash.”

             
“A taxi will take you to the ministry in five minutes.”

             
“Can the driver stop at a bank on the way?” asked Bear. “I prefer to make these transactions in cash.”

             
The taxi arrived and they drove fast through the streets. The driver sounding his horn made a sharp left and stopped outside a bank.

             
“You stay here, Akeem.”

              In ten minutes he returned to the taxi and they drove on, stopping in the grounds of an aged French colonial building.

             
“Tell him to wait,” said Bear.

             
Akeem shouted at the driver in Arabic. The man shrugged, turned the engine off, but left the meter running.

A grey
-haired, tall, middle-aged black man dressed in a well-worn suit strolled towards them. My niece told me you wish to travel to Zouar. You have a gift for me?”

             
Bear removed an envelope from his jacket pocket. “I think you’ll find this acceptable.”

             
He checked the contents and shoved it in his trouser pocket. “You have registered at immigration?”

             
“I thought we had two days to register,” said Bear.

             
“I need your registration documents to process the special authorization.”

             
Bear’s frustration erupted. “This is ridiculous. You take my money and then tell me I need to register. I’ll have my gift back. We’re out of here.”

             
The man smirked. “You gave me a gift which I have accepted. It’s not my problem you did not register. When you have, come back. I may be able to help you.”

             
Akeem grabbed Bear’s arm. “Walk away or you’ll never get a permit. Old man, where do we register?”

             
“The airport has an office but now closed. It will open tomorrow.”

             
“What time?” asked Akeem.

             
“Tomorrow. Tell my niece when you have your documents.”

             
Bear said nothing for several moments before he clambered back in the taxi. “Akeem, time to leave.”

             
Akeem gesticulated and spoke in Arabic to the grey man before he walked away.

             
“What did you say,” asked Bear.

             
“I told him he was the camel dung on my shoe. Our paperwork will be ready for collection tomorrow when I will praise him for being so industrious.”

             
“A rather crude insult.”

             
“Bear you value life far too much. In the Muslim world the sole of the shoe is a great insult. I made sure grey man understood I’m not a nice man.”

             
“You’re not but I’m glad you’re on my side.”

             
With a cruel smile on his lips, Akeem said, “He who pays the piper calls the tune.” He yelled at the driver. “Novotel.”

             
At reception, they picked up their keys. Bear and Akeem followed the signs to their rooms.

***

Much to their surprise the grey man stood in the centre of the lobby when Bear and Akeem made their way to breakfast.

             
He bowed his head to Akeem and handed him a large envelope. “Your documentation is for a three month period. I hope that is acceptable.”