Brotherhood and Others (16 page)

“Still think this is about weapons,” Monarch mumbled.

“Slattery says it's not,” Barnett insisted. “He says no chance of an X-ray—”

“Explain the bidding process,” Sing said.

Monarch realized that as the path grew steeper they'd all slowed down.

“How and when,” said Bergenheim, who was gasping and looking ill.

“The helicopter will take you back to your vehicles as soon as you see the mine,” Lieutenant Zed replied. “I will give you an e-mail address. You will submit your bids to that e-mail by noon the day after tomorrow. That will give you and the other bidders arriving in the morning time to come up with your best offer.”

“Wait,” Chatterjee said. “What other bidders?”

“Right,” Sing said angrily. “We were led to believe—”

“You were led to believe that there would be an auction,” Lieutenant Zed snapped. “You didn't honestly think I would limit it to four? The South Africans couldn't make it here until tomorrow. The same with the British. The two others—from Singapore and France—asked to join late.”

Monarch checked his watch. It was almost five. Sunset would be at six twenty, which meant the pilot would want to fly sooner than later.

“How much farther is the mine?” he asked.

“Ten minutes,” said Gahji.

“I don't need to see it,” Bergenheim complained. “Just send me the geological reports.”

Lieutenant Zed laughed and walked on, calling over his shoulder, “We don't have any reports, and no idea how deep the laterite vein goes.”

“What are you talking about?” Chatterjee said. “You dug it, didn't you?”

The rebel leader shook his head, gestured back across at the plantation house. “Those people, the Coeurs, they started the mine. At one time they had almost one hundred people in here digging. But before the hole started to produce, malaria and dysentery swept through here. Killed them all, and the mine was abandoned.”

“And, what, you just stumbled on it, went in, and found that diamond?” Sing asked, dumbfounded.

“Basically,” Lieutenant Zed agreed. “It was as if God led me to it.”

Monarch noticed Fasi glaring at the ground.

“But who owns the claim?” Bergenheim demanded. “If there was a mine, someone owns the mineral rights to it.”

“We live in the jungle, but we're not apes,” Lieutenant Zed said calmly. “I bought the rights for fifty dollars two years ago.”

“Fifty dollars,” Chatterjee said, shaking his head. “That diamond is worth … well…”

“Yes, it is,” the rebel leader said, smiling again as they broke from the jungle into a clearing chiseled flat high on the hillside.

Dark tailings had been thrown in heaps down the side of the hill, stripping it of vegetation, exposing the reddish surface soil Monarch had seen from the helicopter pad. The mine entrance looked like a black gash. Filthy, exhausted boys wearing headlamps pushed wheelbarrows laden with fresh ore from the hole. Others picked through the rocks the mine boys dumped, looking for gems.

“They don't look much like warriors,” Monarch commented.

“Every boy takes his turns up here,” Lieutenant Zed retorted. “They do it eagerly. Isn't that true, Gahji?”

The boy soldier nodded vigorously. “It is their honor because they know they not only fight for the revolution, they work for the guns they carry.”

But Monarch saw more desperation than pride in the mine boys' faces. And fear. And shame. Then he noticed that Fasi was regarding the boys with what looked like pity.

He's basically a slave, but he's worried about the boys? Monarch thought.

“Whoever wishes to see where it was found may enter now,” said Lieutenant Zed.

In his earbud, Barnett said, “Your call. We won't get a feed. And we've got the GPS coordinates.”

“I'm going in,” said Sing.

“Yes,” Chatterjee said. “It will be cooler inside, right?”

“A lot cooler,” Gahji agreed.

Bergenheim was already moving toward the entrance.

Though Monarch was interested to see the inside of a diamond mine, he said, “I'll pass, wait at the helicopter.”

“Can't wait to leave us, Mr. Monarch?” Lieutenant Zed asked.

“Can't wait to deliver my assessment and bid recommendation to my clients,” Monarch said.

“Go down with him, Gahji.”

*   *   *

“I'm with you,” Julio said. “Every step of the way.”

Robin wanted to argue with the leader of La Fraternidad, but caught Claudio shaking his head.

“Perfect, my brother,” Robin replied instead. “Part one will go easier.”

It was late on a Friday afternoon in September, blustery and raining in Buenos Aires. They were on the roof across the street, keeping tabs on people entering and exiting the jewelry factory as the weekend approached.

Just as the natural light began to dim, Claudio said, “There they are.”

Robin peeked over the edge of the roof, seeing a van bearing the logo of a cleaning service backing up to the loading dock. A car parked beside it. Two women climbed out. A man in a workman's jumpsuit exited the van.

The overhead door rolled up. The women and the man climbed onto the loading dock and took cleaning gear from the rear of the van. The overhead door rolled down.

“No security guard at night?” Julio asked.

“They replaced him with a new alarm system,” Claudio explained. “Last employee will leave for the weekend in five minutes. Then it will just be the cleaning crew. The women will leave in two hours. The man, Mr. Mendez, will stay behind ten minutes to inspect and then leave at exactly seven thirty.”

“Every time?” asked Julio, sounding impressed.

“Every time,” Claudio replied.

Two hours later, at precisely seven twenty, the two women came out the service door, lit cigarettes, climbed in their car, and drove off.

Robin, Claudio, and Julio were already in motion.

*   *   *

The pilot was there, making his inspections. Monarch walked to the shady side of the helicopter. Gahji shadowed him.

Trying to appear at ease, Monarch rested one hand on the helicopter. But he was studying everything, and trying to figure out what he could do to delay the helicopter's departure.

He thought of that clanking noise in the rotor housing. Could he suggest looking at it and then monkey with it enough to disable the chopper?

Or steal Gahji's gun and shoot the—?

No way. The bridge to the stockade had been retracted. The gate was closed. There were three or four hundred armed kids inside and he still had no idea where Lieutenant Zed kept the diamond.

Then something dawned on him that just might work. He stood, picked up his instrument case, and set it on the floor of the helicopter bay. He flipped the hasps open, lifted the lid.

“Thought you were scared about the humidity and heat,” Gahji said, watching him suspiciously.

“Just want to make sure my computer backed up the data,” Monarch explained, making a show of removing the computer and attaching the portable X-ray camera.

He acted as if he was paying attention to the recorded images of the diamond's remarkable architecture. But for the next several minutes, he kept the camera aimed toward the cockpit and triggered burst after burst of X-rays toward the instrument panel.

“The others are coming,” Gahji said.

The pilot opened the cockpit door, climbed in.

“No problem,” Monarch said, detaching the camera, and sliding it and the computer into the case.

Shutting and locking it, hearing Lieutenant Zed's voice approaching, Monarch wondered whether it had been enough.

The other diamond experts came around the rear of the helicopter.

The pilot cursed.

*   *   *

“What the hell is—?”

Julio clamped a gloved hand over the mouth of the cleaner at the jewelry factory. Claudio and Robin had stepped out from behind the van wearing hoods when he raised the loading dock door.

Mendez began struggling and making whining noises as Julio dragged him back inside the loading area. Claudio and Robin vaulted inside. Robin killed the lights. Claudio lowered the overhead door. Robin flipped one light back on.

The man had stopped struggling and sat down on the cement floor because Julio had pressed a pistol barrel to his head.

Where had that come from? No one in La Fraternidad carried any weapon other than a knife. Julio used to say that guns were unnecessary and only complicated things if you got caught.

“What's the alarm code?” Julio demanded from behind his hood.

Mendez looked wild-eyed, said, “Señor Hernandez, he kill me I tell you.”

“I'll kill you right now, you don't,” Julio growled.

“Tell us and you'll come out of this alive,” Robin said, hoping to defuse the situation.

The cleaner sobbed: “4-8-0-2-3-2.”

“How long until it activates?” Claudio asked.

“Thirty seconds you must leave before the doors and windows go alarm.”

“Smart man,” Julio said, taking out a kerchief and using it to gag the cleaner. Robin joined him with rope.

Julio tied his wrists while Robin got his ankles.

Claudio typed in the code, then went to the overhead door, lifted it, and then shut it. He watched a digital panel, saw the word “Armed” flash twice.

“I still think we should just leave the alarm off,” Julio said.

Claudio shook his head. “The alarm company has to be expecting it to be armed right about now. That's the routine. We don't want to break it until we're ready to get out of here.”

Robin thought of something. “What about his van? What if someone comes looking for him?”

“He's not due home until midnight so we won't be here long enough for it to matter,” Claudio said.

Julio went around behind Mendez, removed his hood, and turned it backward before lowering it onto the cleaner's head.

“Sleep,” Claudio said, removing his own hood. “No use fighting it.”

But Mendez's body remained stiff and alert.

“Let's move,” Julio said, starting toward the door.

Claudio caught him. “I've found that it's better if our young genius leads.”

Julio thought better of it, but then nodded to Robin, said, “Show us how.”

*   *   *

First Gahji and then Lieutenant Zed went to the door of the helicopter cockpit. Monarch heard a fierce discussion ensuing.

“What's happened?” Bergenheim moaned. “I just want to get back to my nice air-conditioned—”

“Something is wrong with the helicopter,” Lieutenant Zed said sharply.

“I thought I heard something wrong before we landed, up in the rotor,” Chatterjee said before Monarch could.

“We all did,” Sing said.

“This is electrical,” Gahji said, studying Monarch, who acted pissed off.

“Are you telling me we have to walk a hundred kilometers out of here?” he demanded angrily.

“I'll die,” Bergenheim whimpered. “I am not meant for such things.”

“You won't have to walk out, any of you,” said Lieutenant Zed, sounding disgusted. “But you will have to stay the night. We'll call in a second helicopter after dawn to take you out.”

“Fuck,” Monarch said, exasperated. “I wanted to get those reports in tonight.”

“I did too,” Chatterjee said. “We had a lead on the bidders coming tomorrow.”

“Now it's a level playing field,” Sing said, with a touch of bitterness.

The Belgian jewel expert looked like he might be sick all over again.

“Well done,” Gloria Barnett whispered in Monarch's ear.

Monarch clucked as if he were completely irritated at the situation.

“We will feed you, and find places for you to sleep,” Lieutenant Zed said. “Maybe tomorrow you'll know better how life is for these boys.”

Monarch sighed, looked over at Gahji. The boy soldier's lazy attention was still on him when the rebel leader barked, “Fasi, see to food, and beds for them.”

The pygmy reacted as if swatted with a riding crop, hurrying away toward the bridge, which had been extended again.

“I'll contract some incurable disease,” Bergenheim lamented as they trudged after the pygmy. “Some snail that will get into my liver and never leave. I've read about it. They have them here.”

Monarch had almost come to feel sorry for the Belgian. “You'd have to step in water with a cut on your foot,” he said.

“Malaria then,” Bergenheim said, and looked at Gahji, who had at last taken his eyes off Monarch. “Are there mosquitos?”

“Clouds of them,” Gahji said. “But we have nets.”

“And whisky,” Lieutenant Zed said. “Whisky in the blood helps keep the mosquitos away. Johnnie Walker Black Label. And strong cigars. Cuban.”

“Black Label and Cuban cigars out here?” Sing remarked.

“We live in the jungle, but we are not apes.”

*   *   *

As agile as only the son of a cat burglar could be, Robin slipped through the door that led off the loading dock into a hallway that connected it to the jewelry factory floor. He flipped on a flashlight, and then reached into his front pocket and fingered open a bag of talcum powder. Taking a solid pinch of it, he cast it underhand out and toward the ceiling.

He kept his light moving from the top to the bottom of the hall, looked over his shoulder, and said, “No beams yet.”

“I know there are some in here,” Claudio warned.

Robin nodded. He remembered them from the parts list for the alarm system that Claudio had somehow obtained. Setting off carefully, tossing the powder every few feet, they soon reached the factory floor.

“East wall,” Claudio said.

The three of them swept their lights over rows of assembly benches, a shipping department with stacks of cardboard, and a glass-faced office where the owner worked. The safe had to be in there.