The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (12 page)

             
There was movement at the entrance. Akeem’s eyes were drawn to it as grey man’s niece entered. In Arabic he said, “Is she not beautiful, old man? May she give her husband many children and you live a long life to enjoy them.”

             
The two men hugged and Akeem whispered, “If the paperwork is wrong in any way I’ll stick a thousand dicks up your arse.”

             
The grey man backed away. “Perfect, effendi. There will be no problems.”

             
Akeem waved him away as a master to a servant. “Bear, shall we book our flight and then have breakfast. You can have whatever you want except bacon.”

             
“Great day,” said Bear to the receptionist. “The flight to Zouar, where can I book two seats?”

             
“I book for you. You travel tomorrow or today?”

             
“Tomorrow,” said Bear.

             
She lifted the telephone handset and entered a number. She chatted in Arabic and after a few minutes replaced the handset. “Tomorrow at seven. Take passports, visa, document and cash. I charge. You pay hotel in Zouar if you miss plane.”

             
“That was easy,” said Bear.

             
“She takes her commission,” said Akeem.

             
Akeem waited until they started to eat. “That woman doesn’t realise I speak Arabic and we should use it to our advantage. To be fair she booked us on that flight. The other thing is we need local clothes. You and I stand out like priests holding communion in a brothel. Here is not so bad but in Zouar we need to blend in.”

             
“Akeem, you’re right but never discuss business when I’m eating. It plays havoc with my digestion and I’m not nice when that happens.”

***

Their taxi dropped them at the local market. Hordes shuffled in, out and along narrow passages. Bear and Akeem dressed as Europeans sensed hostility as they strolled along. It entered Bear’s mind that Europeans did not frequent these markets. For a moment that bothered him.

             
              Akeem stopped at a clothes stall and for twenty minutes rummaged and shouted. One by one, he tossed various garments at the trader. “Headscarf, tuareg, tagelmust,” he shouted. The stall holder disappeared and returned with the indigo dyed cotton garment. Akeem studied them and smiled. “How much?” he said in French and Arabic. 

             
The trader held up five fingers.

             
“Three and the tagelmust a gift,” said Akeem.

             
“I have a wife and ten children to feed, effendi. I must have four.”

             
“You get two or no sale.”

             
Akeem bargained for a further ten minutes before he paid two hundred and fifty Francs.

             
“A lot of noise for second hand clothes,” said Bear.

             
“I paid too much but I tired of the game. These are good and smell awful.”

             
“Blend in, the locals won’t come near us.”

             
“Perfect,” said Akeem. “Now we buy a couple of knives, just in case of trouble.”

             
Another stall in the market contained replicas of Arab swords and knives. After a short conversation Akeem purchased at a ridiculous price, two double edged hunting knives.

             
“We are ready. Now we can relax. Tomorrow we will need our wits about us.”

             
“Fancy a snack?” said Bear. “There’s a cafe of sorts at the far end of the market.”

***

The next morning their taxi dropped Bear and Akeem at the airport departure point. With the mundane formalities complete, they sat and waited.

             
“I hope that heap of shit is not our plane,” said Bear.

             
“Looks like a Douglas DC series but I can’t decide which one,” commented Akeem.

             
Bear attempted to sound positive. “I’m sure the pilot wouldn’t risk his life flying that heap of crap.”

             
“No chance,” said a lanky man dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with three gold rings on the epaulettes.

             
“First impressions don’t do it any favours,” said Akeem in Arabic.

             
He laughed. “If you were sand-blasted at ten thousand feet a dozen times a year, how would you look? I always complete my pre-flight checks to the letter. A crash on our flight path is a guaranteed death sentence even if you survive the impact. Mountains and sand in every direction. Follow me, two seats are in place. The rest of the hold is full of cargo. I apologise for the goats but they pass wind when frightened.”

             
“What did he say?” asked Bear.

             
  “Goats fart.”

             
“I bet they fly first class.”

             
They climbed the stairs and strolled into the hold.

“Where’s the happy
cabin crew with big tits and tight arses?” said Bear.

             
“When they knew you were a passenger they fucked off. Our two seats are up front,” said Akeem.

             
“Never knew goats smelt so bad,” said Bear.

             
The pilot came out of the cockpit and in Arabic said, “Fasten your seat belts and keep them secure. We bounce in every direction on this route.”

             
Akeem turned to Bear and repeated the instruction.

             
“Ask him where the vomit bucket is?”

             
The engines increased in power, the whole plane shook.

“No point.
Hold on and say a prayer.”

             
After three hours in the air they landed. A manually-wheeled staircase arrived and the door opened. Bear and Akeem peered at the overheated world of livestock herders, subsistence farmers, strange grass and dust.

             
“Welcome to Zouar, the arsehole of the world,” said the pilot. “I leave in six hours.”

             
“I don’t suppose you can recommend a hotel?” said Akeem.

             
“I wouldn’t advise it but if you must, try the two storey place to the right of the satellite tower. There are a couple of date palms outside the main door. It’s habitable, that’s all I’ll say.”

             
Both men sweated but with no choice strolled across the sand-covered ground to a concrete blockhouse. A soldier stamped their paperwork and returned to his book.

             
Bear scanned the vicinity. “Where the fuck does PK expect me to find a chopper?”

             
“We might as well try those two hangers,” said Akeem.

             
The first was empty but in the second two men worked on a twin engine Cessna.

             
“Let me do the talking,” said Akeem.

             
“Fine by me.”

             
Akeem approached the men with his hands open wide. Bear followed with their two bags. “My friends, I need information. My partner is a photographer for National Geographic. He is mad but wants to take pictures of the Tibesti mountains at different times of the day, something to do with the shadow effect. In N’Djamena we were told you have a helicopter and pilot for hire.”

             
The two men placed their tools on a portable bench and laughed. The older of the two said, “Many donkeys and goats. Few own cars and if they do petrol is a valuable commodity. Whoever mentioned helicopters, lied.”

             
Akeem shrugged. “So no transport for hire in Zouar.”

             
The older man shook his head for a moment. “How much you pay?”

             
“Depends.”

             
He beckoned. “Come.”

             
In the far corner of the hanger a mass of dirty sacks covered many dirty vehicles. The man lifted a corner and pointed. “Six Range Rovers, and two all-terrain Mercedes trucks but no petrol.”

             
“Who do they belong to?”

             
“At one time, relatives of Muammar Gaddafi, now they are mine. I fix their plane.”

             
“Why don’t you sell them?”

             
“In this land a goat is worth more than an expensive car. You can eat a goat and drink the milk. A car drinks money.”

             
“You say very little petrol?”

             
“I say petrol expensive.”

             
Akeem rubbed his chin and spoke to Bear. “Fact, no helicopter. Fact, we’re not going to get one. Fact, transport over there with no petrol.”

             
“More important, the land bordering Libya is mined. Here’s your bag. We’re on the plane back to N’djamena. Ask him if we can get a meal.”

             
Akeem spoke to the man. “He says, two cheap cafes in the town centre.”

             
“That’s the best news today. Let’s go. We have time to kill.”

             
Having returned late to their hotel, Bear contacted Petros and told him his idea was a non-starter.             

Chapter Nine

Petros
relaxed in his den and nodded as Bear reiterated his time in Chad. He offered him coffee.”

“No thanks. Need to cut back on my caffeine intake.”

“Fancy a holiday in Libya?”

“Not at the top of my to do list.
From what I hear, Libya’s not the safest place to take a weekend break. They shoot people just for fun,” said Bear.

Petros
leaned forward in his chair. “I’m serious.” He handed across a holiday brochure and a map. “Look at this, Waw Names is the place for us. I believe the diamonds are here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “this is Waw Namas, and here’s Waw Kabir, the nearest airstrip. There’s a road of sorts more or less to the front door. What do you think?”

             
Bear shrugged. “You never cease to amaze me. It says here, this place is in the centre of the Sahara. Sun, sand and fuck-all.” He dropped the map back on the desk. “Okay, smart arse, when do I leave?  I’ll take Akeem as he speaks Arabic. I recommend two vehicles, be tooled-up and a team of four, just in case.”

             
“Agreed. It’ll take me and that woman a week, maybe longer, to get jabs and visas. You leave when you have your visas. I’ll book my flights to Benghazi.”             

“
I’ll leave with Akeem asap and co-ordinate your flight to Waw Kabir where I’ll be waiting with two vehicles and the necessary equipment. It’ll save time.”

             
“Take time out and treat Jocelyn this weekend, there’s no rush. Evil Eva has yet to come up with the money. Mind you, I’m tempted to collect the diamonds and not tell her.”

             
Bear grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

             
“I said tempted, Bear, and if she tries to do the dirty, I’ll leave her buried up to her neck in the middle of the Sahara for the ants to feast on.”

             
“I don’t want that woman with us,” said Bear.