The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (15 page)

“It goes tits up.”

Amadou looked at Bear, took the money, and weighed it in his hand. “Six days.”

The sun was at its peak in a blue Mediterranean sky. The dry heat reflected off the concrete, sweat ran down their backs. A white Cessna Stationair taxied out of the hanger, stopped and opened its doors for access.

“Your plane
, gentlemen. You will be in hot and dry Waw Kabir in no time. Enjoy your flight.”

“Whoa,” said Bear. “I’ve paid you for six days work. You’re coming with us.”

“And when your friends arrive who will meet them? Arrangements are ready for you and Akeem. Whatever you need, at a price of course, is available.”

“Vehicles for travel across the desert. I need two,” said Bear.

“Fuelled and waiting. Two Toyota Land Cruisers with extra wide tyres and enough spare diesel to get you back to Benghazi if you want to drive. I do not recommend you try. Too many boys with weapons who might shoot you and say they thought you were Gaddafi’s men trying to escape. Charles told me what you need and I keep my word.”

Akeem
stood one metre in front of Adamou and stared at his face.

“You are wasting time,” said Adamou.

“I am etching your face into my memory in case one day I must kill you. I hate killing the wrong person.”

“Come
, Akeem. I trust this man is as good as his word,” said Bear.

“You
’re associates of Charles. He has fingers in many pies. To offend him is to order my own death. For as sure as the sun rises every day, that would be my fate. I wish to live to see my grandchildren have babies.”

Bear turned. “You will be joining us later?”

Adamou nodded. “When your friends arrive,” he nodded. “Of course.”

On the tarmac nearby stood several military vehicles, th
eir shabbily-dressed crews lounged against them.

Adamou waved and shouted. “May Moham
mad go with you, my friends.”

Bear and Akeem understood and ran to the waiting plane. With li
ttle air traffic, the control tower cleared them for take-off in minutes.

***

The pilot, a man in his mid-thirties with a frail frame, his face covered in stubble and shoulder-length black hair tied in a ponytail, smiled. In a heavy English accent, he said, “Enjoy the flight, gentlemen. I understand I will be bringing you back from the end of the world.”

             
“Is it that awful?” asked Bear.

             
“Awful is the wrong word. For centuries desert tribes used it as a staging post, because of the fresh water. Without water all that exists are sand vipers, scorpions, boulder plains and more sand.”

“Not that it matters to me but are
we taking a direct route?” asked Bear.

“As you say in your country, as the crow flies.”

Akeem stared out of the window and said nothing.

“Will you refuel in Waw al Kibir?”

“No chance and pay their prices? This is fitted with long range fuel tanks. With luck, I’ll fly seventeen hundred kilometres there and back. Without the extra fuel tanks, we can cover fourteen hundred. They reduce the payload but give me another six hundred. Fuel at desert landing strips is treble the price and at the moment there’s not much of it, after our squabble with Gaddafi’s troops.”

“How long is the flight?”

“Four hours. I hope.”

“You hope?
”

“I hope no head winds or sand storms.”

“Wake me when we arrive. From where I’m sat there’s not much to see.”

***

“Wake up, guys. Make sure you’re strapped in,” shouted the pilot.

Bear and Akeem glanced o
ut of the windows at Waw al Kibir.

“I
t’s a container city, an old fortress and lots of palms,” said the pilot.

“Y
ou forgot the oasis, very important,” said Bear.

On landing, t
he plane’s wheels touched the hard-packed sand-covered runway with a thump. The craft taxied to a small building and stopped.

The pilot
released his straps. “Follow me. Have your visas and passports ready, and don’t argue. In the middle of the desert rules are sometimes forgotten.”

Bear and Akeem
jumped out of the plane onto the hot landing strip. Not the faintest hint of a cloud discoloured the sky. The sun scorched bare skin and their shirts became stained with sweat. They strolled to a building that served as Arrivals and Departures and waited. The one uniformed official grabbed their paperwork and stamped it. The pilot handed over his flight plan attached to a clipboard.

Bear nudged Akeem as the man removed an envelope and shoved it into his pocket.

“See you two next week,” said the pilot as he wandered back to his plane,

A
boy entered and bowed. “I am Zero Zogby, I may only be eighteen but I am the best guide in this village. You may call me ZZ.”

“Go on,” said Bear, “I’m listening.”

His cropped black hair made him look younger than his years. “Mr Charles tell me, I work for big black man. Outside, one car, another at tent.”

Bear walked outside and
gave the cream-coloured Toyota Land Cruiser the once over. “Did you drive this?”

“Yes.”
The boy caressed the bonnet. “Air-conditioned. Very good.”

“Akeem,” shouted Bear.
He got into the driver’s seat and ZZ opened the passenger door. “ZZ, you’re in the back.” He gestured with his hand. “My partner sits in the front.”

ZZ grinned and jumped in
the rear.

Bear started the engine, waited for Akeem to load their l
uggage. “Okay ZZ, which way?”

ZZ
pointed to a track dusted with sand. 

Ten minutes later at a spot surrounded by tall palms, they stopped a few metres from a large tent.

T
hey alighted from the Toyota. The thin white canvas appeared to float in the light wind.

“Your home,” said ZZ.
“My father’s portable generator supplies power for lighting and the air-con.”

Bear pulled the entrance flap to one side and entered. Cooled air wafted across his face and
the low hum of an air-conditioning unit disturbed the peaceful setting. Carpets covered every inch of the ground on which the tent stood.

“Remove shoes,” said ZZ. “G
ood manners.” He turned and smiled at Akeem who stood barefoot.

Bear removed his shoes
and looked around. “Impressive.”

ZZ pointed t
o the entrance. “Toilet and bathroom outside. Kitchen...”

“Don’t tell me,” said Bear, “outside.”

Two inflatable mattresses covered in sheets and cushions lay in the far corner. 

“Tea?” said ZZ. “After a long
journey tea is refreshing.”

“Sounds good,” said Bear.

ZZ disappeared and within five minutes, they sat on cushions on the carpet-covered sand sipping tea.

“Akeem, time for a walk,” said Bear.

Both men strolled around there encampment, the hot wind causing sweat to soak their shirts. They stopped when far enough away not to be overheard.

“So far so good,” said Bear. “You know what we need and I’ll leave that for you to arrange. Do you agree we go for the treasure?”

His eyes bright, Akeem nodded.

“Agreed, I’
ll text Petros. Thank God for satellite communication.”

Chapter Thirteen

Their meeting place was not of Petros’ choosing but when he arrived he saw Eva at the bar of the Bow Bells with a drink in her hand.

             
His eyes scanned the room, big-screen television, a pool table and chalk board, value-for-money menu.

             
Eva, dressed in tight blue jeans and a loose fitting pink sweater, sipped at a pint of lager. “You found it then?”

             
“I’m here.”

             
“You have some news?”

             
Petros waved to one of the bar staff and ordered a pint of tonic and fresh orange juice. “I’m off to Benghazi tomorrow and will return to London in five days.”

             
Eve stood frozen, her expression angry. “I’ve had half a dozen needles stuck in my bum and I’m coming with you.”

             
“Don’t think so.”

             
“You agreed and we are searching for my grandfather’s diamonds.”

             
“It might be dangerous.”

             
“What are you trying to say?”

             
“I don’t want you around.”

             
“You take me or I find someone else.”

Petros shuddered at the madness in her eyes. “Eva,
I don’t believe we can work together and I don’t give a toss what you think.”

“It’s my turn now,”
she said. “Try to understand. It’s a question of priorities. I don’t want to work with you but I do want to be there at the moment you find those diamonds. As far as having to look after me, I can handle myself. I’m in or you’re out?”

“Three pound
, sir,” said a barmaid.

Petros turned
and smiled. “Sorry. Too busy talking. Here’s five, put the change in the pot.” He picked up his pint and took a good gulp and paused. “If I agree, you do what I tell you, when I tell you. I’m not offering you a choice.”

She looked straight into his eyes.
“The shoe is on the other foot, Mr Kyriades. I will employ you, providing I tag along.”

There was a trace of cruelty in his smile
. “Good job I booked two return tickets to Benghazi. We leave from Heathrow at two tomorrow afternoon. I’ve included the fares on your bill.”

Her face tensed as she raised her hand
to strike him. “You bastard.”

He grabbed her wrist and twisted.
“You do that once.”

Eva rubbed her wrist. No one could stop her. In less than a week the Fifth Reich would have the bulk of finance it needed to commence the storm which would race across Europe. “Go home, Mr Kyriades, I will meet you tomorrow at midday. Don’t be late.”

Petros hurried to Bow tube station
eager to get home. On the way, he texted Bear advising of his flight number to Benghazi. Was he wrong to let her come or should he have tried harder. He shrugged, she had been determined.

***

Eva let her eyes wander around the bar until they stopped at a man staring at her. She
beamed a smile certain to boil ice. Her intent obvious.

             
“Hi,” said the man.

             
She turned, ensuring her body brushed against his. “You took your time.”

             
”You were with your boyfriend or is he your husband?”

             
“My business partner and I’m not married,” she said with a slight irritation in her voice. “He’s gone home to his wife.”

“So what are we go
ing to do?” asked the tall, smartly dressed, brown-haired man. His beard thick and dark.

She pulled a face.
“I don’t do anything with strange men.”

“Peter Jones
. Just call me Pete and I love the company of attractive foreign women. Fancy something stronger than lager?”

She went quiet, then another smile to tease.
“Why not? A Bloody Mary with a double shot of vodka.”

Five drinks later, they tottered along a street filled with Victorian terrace houses.
He pointed. “This used to be one house in the fifties. I own the garden flat.”

As he closed the door
, she let go of his arm. “Where’s the bedroom?”

“
First right.”

Without hesitating she walked
into the bedroom and stripped.

He
removed his clothes almost as quickly.

“Don’t
stand there.” She moved towards him and pressed against his firm body

He ran his hands over her smooth skin, grabbed her backside, lifted and in one movement, they tumbled onto the bed.

She reached for him and found him ready.

Late in the
evening she left the sleeping Peter and returned to her flat. Her alarm woke her and naked, she slid out of her bed. She felt sore but considered the two orgasms satisfactory for casual sex.