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 hear Mercer and Habte’s conversation.
“Are you set with everything you have to do?” Mercer asked tiredly. He’d rested as much as he could during the shift, but he was still weary, a bone fatigue that felt like it would be with him forever. The only bright spot was that Hofmyer hadn’t broken any of his ribs.
“Yes. I’ll be waiting just outside the tunnel. Everything will be rigged and ready to go.”
“If it’s not, this is going to be the sorriest escape in history,” Mercer growled. “Does everyone know what’s expected of them?”
“They will know what to do when the time comes. Those I didn’t speak to directly today, like the men headed to the mine now, will hear from the others. Don’t worry, they will be ready.”
Mercer was relying on a hunch, a thin one at best, and if he was wrong, Hofmyer and Gianelli would probably take turns roasting his testicles over an open fire and machine-gun everyone else.
“Are you set with everything you have to do?” Habte grinned, trying to cut through Mercer’s black mood.
Mercer gave a gallows chuckle. “We’ll both know in two hours.”
As Mercer suspected, Gianelli hadn’t provided tents for his laborers. Yet the Italian, the other whites, and the Sudanese troopers were waiting out the storm in separate tents, huge affairs that hummed with air conditioners to cut the humidity and glowed feebly through the silver streaks of wind-driven rain.
None of the women were forced to serve food during the storm, but they had laid out a meal for the returning workers. The injera was so soggy it oozed from Mercer’s hands like mud, and the stew kettles overflowed with rain water. Rather than waste his time with a meal he was too nervous to eat, Mercer made his way to the barbed-wire stockade. Big blue tarps had been spread on the ground, and he could see countless lumps beneath the plastic ground cloths. They were the men huddled together for warmth and protection. The sky cracked with thunder and lightning, piercing explosions that shook the earth. Following every blow of thunder, he heard the moans of the terrified Eritreans.
Three Sudanese had been given the job of watching the refugees, but as Mercer passed the tent they had erected for shelter, he saw one of them already asleep and the others looking about ready to nod off. On a night as foul as this, they weren’t expecting trouble from their prisoners.
That’s right, boys, Mercer thought as he entered the enclosure, no one out here but us sheep bunking in for the night. You have yourselves a good nap.
The Eritreans had reserved a corner of a tarp for Mercer and Habte, and he was directed to the spot with quiet gestures. He rolled under the top piece of reinforced plastic to wait until Habte finished his waterlogged meal. Despite the adrenaline beginning to wend its way through his system, he slept for a few minutes until Habte appeared at his side.
“You can sleep?” Habte remarked. “I guess you are not too worried.”
“If you’re as ugly as I am, you need all the beauty rest you can get.” Mercer turned serious. “Do you have it?”
Habte showed him a small miner’s hammer tucked in the waistband of his pants. “They never knew it was missing.”
“And you’ve got the two men to help?”
“One man. I will help get us out.”
“Forget it, Habte. We can’t risk your hands getting too cut up. You have some delicate work to do after we get out of the stockade.”