The River of Diamonds

A line of light streaked across the part of the night that I was looking at. Tracers! Another parabola answered the first — Bob Sheriff!

The bastards!' I swore. The bloody bastards…!'

'A submarine…?' said Mary.

'No — that burst of fire was from a fast boat, maybe a hydrofoil like Sheriff's.'

They went straight for the mining equipment, didn't they?'

'Yes. It doesn't look as if they were after the diamonds we'd sucked up today, or else she would not have tried to sink the Mazy Zed. No, she was out to stop us mining — just as Shelborne tried to settle me.'

'You're wrong about him, John.'

'We'll sort that out later,' I replied roughly. This was the second time in a matter of days that I had found myself hanging on to life by a thread, thanks to Shelborne. She drew away at my tone. I went on, conciliatory. 'Was there one torpedo or two. Was there a second explosion?'

'I don't think so. I only remember a fearful crash and then I found myself in the water — looking for you.' She caught my arm, and whispered, 'Listen!'

I would have known that voice anywhere: thin, it rattled as harshly as a compressor drill, that remarkable Bushman-Hottentot patois. Skipper Koeltas! The Malgas must be close at hand, unless they were survivors like ourselves. The staccato vowels clicked like handcuffs. I started to shake with silent laughter. Never had I heard anything like it — and they're pretty tough in the Richtersveld.

'What is he saying?'

'It's about the torpedo-boat captain.' I grinned. 'Koeltas says — do you really want to know?'

'Yes. How he manages those clicks and clacks I shall never know.'

'He says the captain is a pimp and his mother the village whore — there's a lot more, a sort of potted genealogical table, a la Koeltas.'

'A la Koeltas!' she echoed.

I cupped my hands. 'Ahoy, Koeltas! You Sperrgebiet-poacher-sonofabitch!' I broke into an expletive which must have brought all Koeltas's ancestors, buried in their customary seated position, back on their feet.

The thin voice cut off in mid-sentence, and then crackled like static. The water gurgled against the thick hose, there was a north-flowing current in the bay, setting from the Mazy Zed's anchorage towards Black Sophie Rock and Plumpudding Island. These two were in the northern part of the bay among jagged reefs about a quarter of a mile from the shore. The two islets were close together and Malgas's berth was about fifty yards from Black Sophie.

Silence.

'Koeltas! Johaar! Kim!'

There was a ripple alongside the hose. Mary screamed, 'Shark! Shark!'

Her scream ended in a strangle. Someone had a hand over her mouth. I couldn't see a face, only a gleam of steel in the starlight, fluid-blue as the sea itself.

'Quiet! It is Johaar! Shut up — come. That bastard hear and shoot us up.'

The knife was in his teeth. Mary cringed against me. The improvised life-raft was pulled along by Johaar's powerful stroke. I saw the schooner's masts, then hands reached down and dragged us over the low rail on to the deck.

'Keep down!' snarled Koeltas, with a reflex burst of Richtersveld profanity.

'By Jesus, it is a woman!'

'Kim, you bladdy womanizer! I'll cut your throat if you don't shut your trap!'

From somewhere behind Plumpudding came a heavy fusillade, coupled with the drum of engines pushed beyond the limit of their revs.

Koeltas said softly, 'He's coming back for the Mazy Zed.'

'So he didn't sink her?' I asked.

'There was a hell of a bang and her lights went out,' he replied. 'No, man she's afloat. That's why he comes back…'

'With one tit hanging low,' leched Kim.

'What do you mean?'

'One of the shells went off, but the other is stuck.' said Koeltas.

By shells he meant torpedoes. One had run, but the second was fast in its firing-tube.

'Where are Commander Sheriff's men?' I went on.

Johaar laughed derisively. They were caught with their pants down, all right. They're okay for chasing a ship like the Malgas and bluffing themselves, but that bastard sank one of them. The other is throwing a lot of stuff around, but he doesn't know what in hell he's firing at.'

'Where did the boat come from?' asked Mary in a small voice.

'Lady,' said Koeltas with an odd note of deference. 'I know this place well. I know a way through the rocks between Black Sophie and Plumpudding…'

'That Cape Town tart,' said Kim, 'she was before my time.'

'Ag sis, don't be so saucy, man!' snapped Koeltas. 'Lady, I smell a ship out at sea. She waits. That's where the boat comes from.'

. 'A ship?' I echoed. 'What sort of ship waits off a peaceful coast with a torpedo-boat ready slung…?'

Koeltas laughed in his harsh, metallic laugh. 'Mister, you don't know the Sperrgebiet. There are diamonds. The Mazy Zed finds diamonds, but not for the right people. There are ships — strange ships, black ships, fast ships — and you don't see them by day. They hide themselves against the sea like the stoneplants of the Richtersveld; what is stone and what is plant you do not know.'

'Look!' exclaimed Mary. A faint luminescence, a defined line of light, was becoming visible. The moon was rising behind the dunes. Very soon the enemy would give the Mazy Zed the coup de grace.

'We must sink her.'

It was light enough for me to see the wiry little yellow man lying on the deck in his oilskin. The Tartar's eyes were as savage as his voice. Mary lay next to me, shivering in a pool of sea water. I could sense Kim's eyes burning on the outline of her body under the soaked remnants of her overall.

'With your Standard Police Smith and Wesson,' sneered Johaar. 'Yes, we'll sink her all right, man.'

'He'll think you're a spook with that silencer,' added Kim. 'Yes, let's shoot him up with the thirty-eight!'

They all laughed, including Koeltas.

'Wait!' snapped Koeltas. 'Listen!'

A strong roar of motors reverberated from the direction of Plumpudding Island, but Black Sophie Rock cut across our line of vision. It was growing lighter. Then, about 1000 yards away, I saw a vicious cream of water and the torpedo-boat shot into view. She was a fine sight, blurred in her own spray but listing to port as she rode high on the hydrofoils. A torpedo hung, half-in and half-out, of one firing tube. She raced towards the Malgas at fifty knots, I reckoned. Out of sight there came another scream of hard-pressed engines. Bob Sheriff was far behind. Then the enemy boat was abreast the Malgas. I looked into the twin muzzles of the quickfirer mounted on the cabin roof as they bore on us. I dragged Mary nearer, waiting for the guts-tearing, flaring rip of incendiary bullets which would reduce the schooner to a flaming mass of wooden splinters. Perhaps she was saving the whole weight of her metal for the Mazy Zed, for she simply thundered past, rocking us wildly.

'She sits up like a dog,' said Koeltas admiringly. 'You sink her, mister?'

They all turned and looked at me. Their best and most effective weapon, the FN automatic, would be useless against the hydrofoil craft. And the Malgas was immobile — a sailing ship at anchor against a fifty-knotter!

'Anyone see her name?' I asked lamely.

'Sookin Sin,' said Mary.

'What the hell's that?' growled Koeltas.

'It's not important anyway,' I replied, trying to think as the enemy lined herself up to rake the Mazy Zed. Six anchors! They couldn't even cut the ungainly barge adrift. I visualized the anchorage, Sinclair Island and its nearby promontory. The enemy would have to continue on between the Mazy Zed and Sinclair because at her speed there would be no room to turn; if she did, she'd run into Sheriff, who was now screaming out from behind Plumpudding in pursuit. Between Sinclair and the shore there was less than 300 yards. There came into my mind the idea of a trip-rope. Three hundred yards… Black Sophie was closer than that to the Malgas. If only… I glanced across the water to the rock, feverishly measuring, calculating. If I could rig a heavy cable between the schooner and the rock…