The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (31 page)

Chapter Twenty
- Three

Petros and Bear waited on the fish deck while two men clambered over the side. One in uniform and another, wearing an expensive black suit, white shirt and tie strolled towards them.

             
The taller of the two produced a port authority identity card and gestured to the other. “Martin Backer an Assistant to the German Ambassador.”

             
“Petros Kyriades.” He turned. “My partner, William Morris.” He held out his hand to Martin who shook it.

             
“You are British but you ask for someone from the German embassy. Please explain?”

             
“Do you need your bodyguard?” said Petros.

             
Martin turned to the port official. “Would you mind?”

             
The man nodded, jumped to the jetty, and strode away, whistling.

             
“Please,” said Petros, “follow me to the bridge and I’ll tell you.”

             
Martin gave him an enquiring look but tagged along as they climbed a metal ladder. Bear looked around for a few minutes before he followed.

             
They stood on the starboard bridge wing, the light breeze ruffling their hair. The sun reflected off the flat water.

             
Petros handed Martin a transcript of Eva Engel’s grandfather’s notebook. “You don’t have to read it but suffice to say, my friend and I travelled to Libya and recovered the diamonds mentioned. Take them but I need a receipt as by German law I am entitled to a substantial reward.”

             
Martin’s expression was one of amazement and confusion. He smiled indulgently. “Can I see them?”

             
Petros disappeared to return a few minutes later with two holdalls. He opened one.

             
Martin stared dumbfounded at the rough diamonds.

             
“There’s more in the other bag.”

             
“I can’t take these back in my car.”

             
“Why not? Who’s to know?”

             
Martin appeared anxious, unsure, traumatised as the colour drained from his face. “I’m an assistant secretary not a courier. What if I’m attacked and robbed?”

             
Petros exhaled. “I can’t help you. My friend and I need to clear customs and immigration.”

             
“I can take care of the red tape.” He removed his mobile and spoke in German.

             
“How long will they be?”

             
Shocked, Martin asked, “You understand German?”

             
“I can speak, read and write the language. How long?”

             
“I need to examine your passports.”

             
From behind Bear handed over both. “Genuine and up to date. We took passage on this wreck so we could give you the diamonds. The two men the dockyard police arrested thought differently but that’s of no longer of any importance.”

             
Martin checked the passports as if he were from immigration. Finished, he slipped them into his jacket pocket. “The boat’s owner will be billed for the damage to the harbour wall. You have approval to come with me as guests of the embassy. That is, when the official car arrives.”

             
“The crew. What’s going to happen to them?”

             
“Their boat will be impounded until the damage and the harbour fees paid.”

             
“Why do I have a strange feeling those two reprobates are going to be here for a long time?”

             
Martin’s mobile chimed.

             
“Fifteen minutes,” said Petros to Bear.

             
Get your bags together,” said Martin.

             
“Everything we need is here, wallets and a change of clothes.”

             
“It’s here,” said Martin, as the oversized black Mercedes entered the marina. “Wait until I give you the nod. Then as fast as you can, jump into the back of the car. No one can touch you once you’re inside an embassy vehicle.”

             
“Bit cloak and dagger,” said Bear.

             
“I know,” said Martin, “but the Maltese have a habit of holding up proceedings. It’s quicker for the embassy to check you out. Any problems, we wash our hands and give you to the police. Anyway the accommodation and food are better where we’re going.”

             
“Food,” said Bear. “We haven’t eaten a decent meal in two days. You couldn’t rustle up a plate or two of sandwiches. Could you?”

             
“Bear, get in the car and for once change the record.”

In a few steps
, both men left the vessel and entered the rear of the car.

Martin shut the door and nodded to the driver.

As it accelerated away, Petros heard the electronic door locks activate.

Bear shrugged. “You can’t blame them.
I bet there’s armour plating on this.”

***.

Bear finished the last sandwich from a large platter when Martin and a short, bald, fat man entered the room. He had the notebook in one hand and a recorder in the other.

             
Martin pointed. “Petros Kyriades is the blond and William Morris has a dirty bandage round his head. Gentlemen, Helmut Smitt, the embassy’s intelligence and security officer. He will ask you a few questions.”

             
“Fill your boots,” said Bear.

             
Helmut pulled a chair out from under the table and positioned his chubby body on the leather-covered seat. He started the recorder. “Mr Kyriades, do you know the value of the diamonds?”

             
“No.”

             
Helmut grinned. “In a few minutes an expert on diamonds will arrive at the embassy. I can’t tell a piece of glass from the real thing. Help yourself to coffee?”

             
A young woman entered to inform Helmut his man had arrived.

“Bring him straight here.”
The young woman nodded.

             
Several minutes later a tall, well dressed and unsmiling man entered, holding a large black briefcase in his right hand. Hazel eyes blinked behind frameless glasses.

Helmut stood and extended his hand. “
Mr Sephton. Thank you for coming at short notice. I appreciate it’s inconvenient for you and your family. What I’m going to show you, will, as an expert on diamonds, astound you.”

Sephton no
dded as Helmut deposited one holdall on the table.

“I need to know
if these are genuine and if so, the value per carat.”

Sephton shrugged as he opened the bag
and taken aback said, “Where did you get these?” He removed his glasses and polished them.

“Are they real?” asked Helmut
again.

Sephton removed a selection
of small, medium, and two large stones. From his briefcase, he removed a black box. “An electronic tester.” He picked a small stone and inserted it into an opening, waited for a few seconds, then nodded. “Wonderful.” On each stone, he repeated the test. “These are, in my opinion, gem quality rough diamonds. It will take me four to five days to determine each stone’s value based on its cut, colour, clarity, and carat size.”

Helmut
sat back in his chair and spoke slowly, “In your expert opinion what is your best estimate as to their value?”

“Sir,” said Sephton. “I know diamonds but you are asking the impossible. Those I inspected are of high quality but I cannot assume the
rest are the same.”

“What if I told you they are,” said Helmut. “These stones
came from a mine in Luderitz in 1941 by order of Adolf Hitler. Of course this can be authenticated.”

Sephton shrugged.
“A very rough guess.”

“I
t would be good to know,” said Petros.

Sephton checked the contents of the bag. “One hundred million pounds s
terling. To be precise I need to take these to London or Amsterdam.”

Bear
whistled. “Not bad for a few weeks’ work.”

Helmut raised his eyebrows. “Top or bottom
estimate?”

“Bottom,” said Sephton, “But until every diamond is categorised I cannot be sure.”

Thank you,” said Helmut. “I understand you and your family rent an apartment at the Hilton.”

“How did you know I was in
Malta,” asked Sephton.

Helmut
grinned. “We asked the diamond jewellers in Valletta.”

“I see,” said Sephton. “That’ll teach me to combine business with pleasure. I assume my business is done.”

“Thank you and please send your invoice marked for my attention.”

Sephton glanced at his watch. “No charge, I enjoyed the experience. Time I left or my wife will think I have another woman.”

“Helmut pulled a small stone from the holdall. “Give her this and tell her diamonds are forever.”

He smiled broadly.
“The stone, she will love.”

Helmut waited until the door shut.
“You believe the German Government will give you a reward.”

             
Petros stared straight into his eyes. “As a precaution, before I started searching, I checked on your government’s policy. Can you be sure who owns the diamonds?”

             
After a pause, Helmut said. “The German Government.”

             
“The Government dominated by Hitler and his officers needed diamonds. They organised a supply route from Luderitz in Namibia. That regime no longer exists. For that reason, the discoverer owns half. The other half by the owner of the property in which the treasure remained hidden. Your pilot concealed them in a cave in Libya. Now you can give back whatever you wish, so long as I get my half share. Under the circumstances, I believe we both do well.”

             
A smile filled Helmut’s face as he pressed a finger to his lips. “It will make you rich.”

             
“He is rich,” said Bear, “And as his partner so am I. But we owe money to others for expenses.”

             
“Read the notebook and when I’ve had a hot shower, I’ll happily tell you the full story,” said Petros.”

             
“A good meal and a shower,” said Bear.

             
Helmut rose and leaned across the table. “Extraordinary finance is a sensitive issue. A member of staff will escort you to your room and measure you for suits and accessories. You cannot be seen dining with senior embassy staff as you are. We will, of course, deduct the cost from any monies that may be agreed. Mr Morris, I will arrange for the embassy nurse to change that disgusting bandage” He closed the door as he left.

             
“Tight-arsed bastard,” said Bear.

             
With a smile on his face Petros leant back in his chair. “If our share is fifty million, a few hundred pounds makes no difference. We can make it tax deductable if that makes you happy.”

             
The door opened and a tall, well built man, his dark blond hair cut short as a serving soldier, entered. His face strong and intimidating as he spoke in heavily accented English.             

             
“My name is Hans and I will be looking after you during your stay. Please follow me.”

             
Petros spoke in German. “Hans, you’re built like a brick shit house. Security, bodyguard or both but you’re not house staff.”

             
Hans laughed. “I work out.” He stopped. “Your room, two beds and one bathroom. I will measure you. Do not leave this room.”

             
“I think with my sun tan and size I might be noticed,” said Bear.

             
Hans smiled as he scribbled their sizes. “Please get undressed, you smell of dead fish. You will find bathrobes in the wardrobe.”

             
“I’m going for a bath,” said Bear. “I’ll toss my gear out.”