Blood Diamonds Conspiracy

By Yvonne Crowe

Yvonne Crowe pulls no punches as she delves into the lives of the disaffected who are the collateral damage of this illicit industry and mankind's inhumanity to mankind in their lust for power and greed. I believe she is a new author to watch out for - Mark Nemcoff author of Fatal Sunset
I think the biggest pull of this book, its main selling point, is the history of the blood diamonds. I was left with one thought after I finished reading this novel - as long as there are wars in the lands rich with diamonds, there are going to be diamonds covered in blood. The book is a good, informative read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne Crowe
• Release date: Sep 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370161218

Yvonne Crowe

Yvonne Crowe is a successful writer of controversial mystery/thriller novels, many of which are set within Catholicism and the Vatican, as well as standalone novels. She now has six books published in the Nicolina Fabiani series and an exciting sequel that will change the dynamics between Lina and David is currently being written. Nicolina Fabiani is an American/Italian Pulitzer Prize Winning investigative journalist who is ably assisted in her adventures by David Baron a Professor of Ancient Languages at the American University in Beirut. David moonlights as a Katsa for Mossad, Israel's Intelligence Service. Edoardos Guilianini is a Vatican priest who is private secretary to the hugely popular caring Pope Callixtus IV whom the hardliner traditionalists in the Roman Curia want to show the door to. Join them as they unravel historical secrets in Europe and the Middle East. Yvonne lives in Auckland, New Zealand and loves to travel to other countries where she gleans many ideas for her novels.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Manhattan New York April 2006

Colette bolted upright in bed, shivering with cold, heart beating madly. Wildly she cast her gaze around the apartment, confused and disoriented.

Where was she? Slowly she began to recognize the familiar contours of the bedroom and its contents. Her heart rate began to slow and the shivering ceased.

Realizing she was safe in her own apartment in New York, she scrambled out of bed, put on a silk dressing gown and padded into the kitchen to switch on the electric kettle. I have to get over this, she scolded herself. I have to move on.

As she reached up for the tea caddy on the shelves built between the glass fronted kitchen cabinets, she mulled over the failure of her marriage.

The kettle clicked off, signaling it was ready for her to make the wonderful Waldfrucht tee (Forest fruit tea) she had picked up in Germany and liked so much. Spooning the required amount into the glass teapot, she waited for a minute then poured it into the cup she had taken out of the cupboard.

Slowly she made her way back to the bedroom and placing the cup of tea on the bedside cabinet, piled three large European pillows to lean back on, settled back into bed and pulled the covers up. Sipping the tea whilst again taking in the familiar surroundings, her mind drifted to the recent past.

Basil, her husband. Now separated, she gloomily reflected on their life together, her frustration and anger building as painful memories crawled out from the deep recesses of her mind where she had hidden them, and overwhelmed her. No more sleep tonight.

Black, black, black. Goddamn his black heart and miserable soul. Basil was twenty three years older than her, with finely chiseled patrician English features. Tall and slim, with a laconic air, the epitome of the English private merchant banker, which indeed he was. Dark gray eyes that in two seconds could change from warm to direct a glance upon you as cold as the winter winds blowing across Lake Michigan. How the hell did he do that?

His first wife had thrown off the earthly shackles four years earlier and Basil immediately sought the obligatory younger trophy wife. Most of his colleagues had simply unshackled the original wife, without waiting for them to pass on. Just passed over.

After meeting at a gallery showing, they took their time over a pleasant twelve month courtship, during which he had treated her with consideration and gallantry. Her family approved, but many of her friends expressed concern at the different in their ages as well as their chosen careers.

Once the knot was tied, he showed his hand and tightened his grip. As time and the marriage went by, he went into overdrive and she found herself living with a completely different person, who tried to suck the life out of her. Slowly they drew further away from each other.

Insanely jealous, possessive, needy, dependent upon women, as most boardroom bullies are. A control freak who tried to take over her life and every breath. Colette was a successful author and this was anathema. Creative death by osmosis.

His business relationships were appalling. Driven to be top of the totem pole, he had no compunction in climbing over the dead (or live) bodies in his quest for more power and riches. The poor relation in an aristocratic family, he was bitter with a world that should have done better by him. A product of his years in the public schools of the British class system, the man was driven by his own insecurities and fears. To counter this, the obligatory testosterone machine, his British Jaguar XJ6 was brought out for excursions to the country when he was not using the Bank’s limousine.

Basil craved recognition and desperately wanted to be part of the Old Boy Network, if not New York society. Tolerated for his somewhat tarnished aristocratic background, and his usefulness as a Merchant banker to the very rich, he merely hovered on the fringes. Not admitted to the inner circle which was reserved for major royalty, not minor aristocracy and it irked him no end.

Jesus, He had fumed to Colette. My lineage would leave theirs for dead. It goes back to William the Conqueror, a Norman who soon saw off the Saxons.

So what if these snobbish New Yorkers can trace their roots to some bloody old Quakers who arrived on a leaky old tub and landed on this island because British royalty didn’t want a bar of them.

Ah New York Society, such an unforgiving and cruel system. Reminiscent of the Euro trash of Europe and Britain.

I’ve got a game plan that will have them begging for me, he had told Colette.

From his furtiveness about business trips in Europe, her well tuned ear suspected something that hinted at the darker side of life. However, he would not be drawn out about his activities, hiding his covert dealings behind the need for secrecy in his chosen career.

Image – Status – Basil’s Holy Grail.

Oh yes, he knew his way around tax shelters and the English merchant bank in which he was a partner, had branches in the right places. Registered dummy companies sitting on high shelves, looking down from a lofty height, were dusted off to be used for the benefit of tax evasion and money laundering. Too bad if the poor benighted middle class paid their taxes under fear of imprisonment, struggling to prop up their country’s infrastructure whilst the wealthy employed financiers such as Basil and Ambrose to ensure tax shelters protected them from losing any of theirs. Some ill-gotten gains that went right back to the robber barons of old, whose descendants had washed themselves clean by entering legitimate business, just as the children of the American Mafia dons had done. Without the burden of taxation however.

As the burden was too great for the middle classes to sustain, social services and infrastructure were eroding. The rich got richer and the divide grew wider.

Chapter 2 – Monte Carlo 2005

Prudence demanded that the Cartel met in Monte Carlo, rather than Tel Aviv. This pleased Basil, as it would give him a chance to play baccarat at the fabled Casino. If everything went as expected, he would realize his greatest desire, to become one of the regulars.

Seated around the table, each member of the unholy alliance trusted each other not one iota.

Ira Lemontov, the dapper little Russian Jew who looked like everyone’s idea of a fatherly rabbi. The life of luxury agreed with him and had padded out his once lean figure. However, one look into his eyes and Ira’s true nature was reflected very clearly. Not a man to be trifled with.

When Ira was conscripted for compulsory military training on behalf of his country in the late 1970’s, he had spent it as a brown beret in the elite Golani Brigade. The famous infantry brigade was formed under David Ben-Gurion in February 1948. Its 1st Mechanized Brigade is one of Israel’s original fighting units. One of his missions was to train the military of an African country. It was one small step for Ira to realize there was a huge and vastly profitable industry secretly at work, supplying these nations with illicit arms. This whetted his appetite no end.

After serving out his two years of active service, he liked the rush living on the edge of danger gave him, but knew he did not want to choose this as a career, as it would not open the doors to the riches he sought. Searching around for a way to combine his experience with his desires, he spent some time as a mercenary in Africa to learn all he could about the illegal trafficking of weapons.

It was not long before he uncovered the profits to be made from the illicit smuggling of diamonds. Surviving the ravages of internecine wars, for which he was very well paid, he made contacts in Zimbabwe and Sierra Leone to pave the way for his ambitions.

Breaking international embargoes on illicit arms trafficking requires more than individual effort. To move illicit cargo around the world without raising suspicion and overcome any obstacles, it takes an internationally organized network of individuals, well funded, well connected and well versed in brokering and logistics. Ira was small peanuts until Ami sought him out.

Now, he lived very well indeed in Israel. Personally meeting with the sellers, purchasing and organizing the smuggling of rough diamonds out of Zimbabwe, Liberia and Sierra Leone. Greedy outstretched palms, well greased to ensure easy entry into Antwerp where they were cut and polished, then on to Tel Aviv, to merge with legitimate gems and disposed of.

Amichai (Ami). His name means my people is alive, my nation survived. This was his father’s gift to him, naming his son for all the heroes who had fought for the State of Israel. As dedicated as his father, he followed in his footsteps by working in secret intelligence. Where his father had worked for Likud which had evolved from the Irgun, Ami belonged to the Metsada unit, reputed to be answerable directly to the head of Mossad, the Israeli secret intelligence service, which has always prided itself on weaving a cloak of impenetrable secrecy around its covert operations.

When Ami was not carrying out secret missions for Metsada, he and Ira were joined at the hip. Ami saw that Ira was well protected, as Mossad had much to gain from the trafficking of the diamonds. An unending, ongoing war was an expensive business.

They differed not at all from most of the intelligence agencies in other countries. They are unable to ask their governments to overtly fund covert operations that fit into their political agenda, so they must find other ways and means. Complicit in drug smuggling, arms trafficking, diamond, oil and other mineral wealth resources from South American and African nations were a given. The politicos’ hands remained unstained with the blood from dirty untraceable money as they caused mayhem around the world. Destabilizing, repressing, funding rebel armies that terrorize and control the population.

A charming, handsome, charismatic man now 40 years of age, he moved around the globe at the agency’s bidding. Although women were drawn to his strength and ruthlessness, an attractive combination, Ami was already dedicated to an extremely demanding mistress. His country’s ideology.

Arkadiy, the representative of the Russian Oligarch arms merchant who was gobbling up the state owned enterprises as fast as he could and diversifying into the west. Arkadiy was helping himself to the stockpiles of Russia’s defunct military hardware for him. Still the lethal KGB enforcer, despite the veneer of respectability cloaked over his natural inclinations, Arkadiy was not a man to trifle with lightly.

Over 6 ft tall, and a rival for Amichan in the looks department. Extremely handsome in the intense dark way of his ancestors, the Cossacks, he was highly intelligent and a killer with the women.

Arrogant, with a short fuse, he had joined military counter-intelligence, then been posted to a not so pleasant sojourn at the Lubyanka, which had provided him with invaluable contacts and the desired leg up the ladder. From there to the private sector had been a snip.

Basil Mortimer, the banker. The most recent addition, due to the untimely demise of the previous incumbent twelve months ago, he reveled in the intrigue. Influential power that other men could only dream about. The epitome of the aristocratic Banking Establishment that enabled the Cartel to distance itself from further Jewish involvement, he was still proving himself. Slim, suave and toxic.

His role was to launder all the money through various shell companies that had been set up in Jersey or the Isle of Man. Back to Russia for nefarious deeds; and Tel Aviv for covert purposes.

Reuven Har-Zahav, the Cartel’s accountant, who kept a very low profile during the meetings. Financial discussions took place with Ira and Ami outside the meetings. His presence was required to keep him up with the state of play. Where the share of the profits to Mossad and Ira went, was of no-one else’s concern. He was a shrewd man with a high intelligence quotient and oversaw the distribution of the share of profits between the members. His background is not important.

Everyone performed their own dirty little function in this web, whose deliberate complexity made it impossible to track and trace its true purpose.

Lemontov chaired the meeting.

We’ve moved $350,000,000 worth of goods this year, he announced proudly. However many of the cosy internecine wars in the sub-Saharan continent were drawing to an end, causing some concern.

Everyone’s eyes lit up with glee. That figure made them very important indeed in the world of diamond trading. Ira gleaned great satisfaction from being the Man with the Golden Touch. He met with the sellers and determined their needs, accepted the diamonds in payment and arranged delivery.

The rough stones were inspected in Zimbabwe, Angola, Liberia and Sierra Leone. Small quantities were packed in soda cans or thermos flasks with false bottoms, their size making it so easy to hide them in almost anything. Another favorite ruse was to hide them amongst toys in false-bottomed suitcases. Those that Ira did not bring out personally would be entrusted to mules who would then fly back to Turkey and from there to Belgium or Tel Aviv. Easy access through customs. Palms greased. Everyone was on the take.

Larger quantities went by ship.

Are they safe in the hands of mules? Basil had queried when he first joined the group twelve months previously. Have you ever lost any? Stolen by them?

Lemontov had thrown Basil a look of disgust at such an obviously stupid question. Would you rob us if you were the mules? he asked sarcastically.

Basil had looked suitably abashed, as he considered the rather unpleasant consequences for the unfortunates that might even consider such an action. Well aware of what happened to the workers in the mines if they were discovered trying to steal the diamonds by concealing them inside their bodies, he shuddered at the consequences. Death was still a great deterrent, even though these people lived and worked under the most horrific conditions.

I use Hasidic Jews, Ira continued. "They are true believers who have found their way to the Promised Land. Many of them were freed in the Jews for wheat deal that America made with Russia. Ira told him. They are anxious to be of service to Ersatz Israel and are paid very well for the risks they take. One per cent of the rough stones help set up a Russian Jew in Israel, or Antwerp."

Many Russian Jews had found their way to Israel when Russia was forced to release them during a famine. This bargaining for the lives of his race, still had the power to bring out a white hot rage in Ira. Damn these old oppressive regimes. Showing his true feelings in private, to the one man he could trust to share them without being exposed to ridicule, he had bitterly exclaimed. Will the Jews ever be free of being used as pawns Amicham?

This from a man who normally kept his emotions under control, as his own welfare came first and foremost before any other.

Basil had shaken his head in bewilderment when he thought of the trust required for a person to carry the tiny gemstones. So easy to slip one or two out and keep for themselves. Christ, the risks still seem very high to me.

Because you are an ignorant, supercilious man, who has never bothered to understand the background of the Jewish people. Ira did not bother to hide his aversion to Basil. He waved his hand at him, as though to brush away an annoying fly. After centuries of persecution, do you think Hasidic Jews would betray Ersatz Israel? Ira contemptuously responded, as though to an ignorant child. Of course the risks are high, so are the rewards. Risks are a way of life to Jews. Have been for centuries. I am accustomed to taking risks and anyone who crosses me does so at their peril. His cold flat eyes had raked Basil who had flinched under his gaze.

Prudence dictated Basil retreat for now.

I will continue if I may, Ira arrogantly put Basil in his place. You do not understand the Jewish culture and our total commitment to the land that has been returned to us. Sacred land that our forefathers owned and we were driven from centuries before.

With the trend of global financial deregulation and new Israeli legislation aimed at easing the movement of capital, we assisted mass Jewish immigration from Russia in the late 1980’s. Our country’s banking system encouraged aliyah, (the immigration of Jews and their accompanying capital). As they were mainly penniless, being unable to realise any of their assets in Russia, we provided capital in the form of diamonds and then set them up in a new life. They are grateful we freed them from a life of misery in Russia and if necessary they are willing to die for Israel. We assist immigrants also from Iran and Syria. The majority of them are religious Jews, and here he shrugged nonchalantly, so we are able to launder the proceeds through Jewish religious institutions, such as yeshivas and synagogues. We arrange the Belgian passports the travel on and provide papers so they appear to work for a large, well-known, seemingly legitimate diamond firm in Antwerp or Tel Aviv.

Looking like the cat that ate the cream, Ira deigned to educate Basil further. We can also take out the small hauls by airplane direct. Larger quantities, about two to five hundred stones are packed in cargoes such as cotton threads, and then moved by boat. The cargo is not opened at customs, we see to that. Sometimes we bring them out with former Israeli Air Force pilots who are training the African military.

Basil’s mind had boggled at the sheer enormity and complexity of this part of the operation alone. After all the Diamond Council was attempting to put restrictions on conflict diamonds, but this didn’t appear to phase Lemontov one iota.

Why should it? he mentally shrugged. He has powerful government allies on his side.

Now his eyes gleamed at the thought of the hi-level connections it would take, to make this possible. No doubt about it, he was in elite company here. If only my enemies could see me now. Part of this powerful group. I’ll show them. The thought bolstered his fragile ego which required constant stroking.

Once the diamonds reach Antwerp or Tel Aviv, we sell them. In the diamond cutting shops the rough diamonds are sliced and burnished into finished gems. Ira kept to himself that he was owner of one of the largest companies involved in this lucrative service to the industry in Antwerp. He exchanged a knowing glance with Ami, who was privy to the secret, as Mossad had again been instrumental in funding him.

They are then sold to a dealer, who mixes them with legitimate diamonds, and poof, they vanish into the legal trade.

Basil had looked around the room. Without exception they all looked smug and satisfied.

Then your role. Lemontov had waved his hand imperiously as Basil. You ensure the money is washed through your connections in the Channel Islands or the Isle of Man, which are far safer than the banana republics.

The Russians’ share goes to them to purchase arms they sell to the country of origin or elsewhere. It’s just business. Ira shrugged his shoulders to indicate he did not care who received them.

Basil had not needed much persuasion and returned from his reflections to the present.

We have made it perfectly clear, there is to be no selling to both sides in a conflict. Ira reminded Arkadiy of the warning he had been given. All we have behind us is our reputation. If our customers cannot trust us, they will not give us repeat business. We rely on this.

And make sure, Ami interjected, that you never sell to a group that will turn our weapons on white people, or it will lead to investigations. They can kill as many brown people in the world, including in the Middle East, but impress upon your buyers their discretion is required. Given the very nature of the cartel’s customers, he knew they walked a fine line. This behaviour had recently contributed to another arms merchant’s downfall.

My share returns to me. All very simple, efficient and effective. Ira continued as he chomped on a large unlit cigar, making Basil crave one of his own, preferably lit so he could puff away contentedly.

And it goes without saying, you do not arm factions in the Middle East. Ami looked directly at Arkadiy Korshanenko.

Such a direct attack peeved the Russian off no end. Of course he and his Oligarch had provisioned the extremist militants in Islamic Jihad against Israel and all other comers. They did not use the pipeline the cartel used, and it was not for him to tell his master who he should arm. After all the man was a Russian Jew and if he chose to arm Palestinians, it was none of Arkadiy’s business, as long as the shekels kept rolling in. Hadn’t Mossad specifically chosen his master for their own uses?

We’re not happy with the time it has taken to clean the money before it arrives in our bank since you took over. Pissed off, Arkadiy turned his resentment on Basil, bringing the hapless banker back from his reminiscences. This was the first he had heard of it.

The Russian lent over the conference table with and glared at Basil in an endeavor to intimidate him.

Fat chance. Basil bristled with anger. He hadn’t come this far to buckle under to a thug dressed in Armani. Unwisely he maliciously retaliated. I’ve had no complaints from you or the group up to this point. Do you want to take over the job? Lose everything with your chaotic banking system.

An ancient reptilian look briefly flared in the Russian’s eyes as he looked at Basil as though calculating whether to have him for dinner. Coldly he responded, Don’t cast aspersions about my country.

Basil had a reputation for not suffering fools gladly. It was unfortunate he did not show some restraint himself.

Your economy is shit and your country is history. Leaning back he delivered the thrust with urbane British sanguinity.

ВЫ – ДУРАК.- You are a fool. Arkadiy’s face contorted with fury as he roared at him in Russian. Standing he walked around the table to confront Basil, he turned to Lemontov, the Russian Jew who lived in Tel Aviv and was thankful he did not reside in Russia as his ancestors had, Arkadiy continued in Russian as he knew Ira understood the language.

если он продолжит вести себя так, я его прикончу – If he continues to behave like that, I will finish him."

Standing over Basil he pointed a finger and with a face reminiscent of the freezing Siberian Winter blowing over the Steppes and threatened, You will listen to us. We have deadlines to meet. There are other arms merchants vying for the same goods as ourselves and we need to be first. Keep your mouth shut or I will shut it for you. Thumping his chest to make a point, he boasted, don’t think I can’t.

When Basil’s ego was in full flight, he tended to become quite tactless when dealing with an honest to God Russian Bear. Standing up to make eye contact with Arkadiy, he picked up the gauntlet thrown down by the other man. Well good for you, he sneered challenging the angry Russian to continue the verbal duel. Don’t you ever threaten me again you Russian prick. Your asinine country went belly up trying to keep the heel of your boot on the neck of satellites that didn’t want to be part of your cock up. Did you think there was a never ending stream of money that would keep pouring in to stuff into the cracks? Gorbachev was the first sensible leader you had since you assassinated the Russian royal family. He actually did you a huge favor.

Whilst Arkadiy was not about to deny this, nor was he about to let Basil have the last word. Men had been killed for less, but with Ira and Ami watching as the situation escalated out of control, that was out of the question. However, one dark night in an even darker alley, things could be arranged. No-one insulted Arkadiy Korshanenko and got away with it. We have more wealth in Siberia than you can imagine. He snarled.

Sure and you can’t dig them out. Basil was not about to concede defeat.

What has your pisspot country got? Arkadiy rose to the bait. Nothing. Mother of God, you parade your outmoded royalty for a few $$$. Where is your famous Empire now? You’re the laughing stock of the world, as your PM hangs off America’s coat tails, scrambling around for some TV airtime.

Basil did not have a rejoinder for Arkadiy’s riposte. In fact, he was at a loss for words and that did not happen very often.

Satisfied he had stung the imperious Englishman with a reach like Muhammad Ali’s, he could not resist one last insult. I can buy and sell you ten times over, you British faggot.

Unfortunately it was a common Russian trait to cast aspersions on an enemy’s sexual preferences. After all, a good Russian male’s reputation was based on his ability to consume vast amounts of vodka and remain functioning, especially the performance of his cock.

Chapter 3 – The Cartel

The tension in the room was palpable and Ira decided it was time he stepped in and put an end to this.

Frowning in their direction, he was not about to sit still whilst two male bulls locked horns and goaded each other into battle on his turf.

Enough, he commanded, making sure they understood he would brook no further infractions. This behaviour will not be tolerated. Do you think you are both invincible? Well, you’re wrong. In this business, someone is always watching closely to bring us down. If either of you draws attention to us or exposes us, retribution will be swift and sure. Pointedly he looked from one man to the other, his hard edged stare giving both men an unmistakable message.

Your behaviour is contemptible. I never want to see another display like this. Too much depends on the group working as smoothly as a well oiled machine. I will not tolerate personality conflicts in this group. Sort this out immediately.

Ira would be the first to admit there was a certain satisfaction to be gleaned from the power he held over a member of a race that had persecuted Jewry for centuries, buy slaughtering or freezing them to death in the godforsaken icy vastness of Siberia. Not to mention the once arrogant British that had tried to prevent the survivors of the holocaust from returning to the land, they themselves had deeded Jewry for services rendered in World War I. Basil was a typical example of the arrogant, depleted aristocracy of the British Empire.

Arkadiy turned on his heel and returned to his seat.

Ira Lemontov sat back in his chair and looked at Ami, who allowed a fleeting glimpse of concern on his normally impassive features. Mossad would not condone any rift in the group, which drew attention to the cartel’s existence. Illegal arms merchants are always identified with their country and the Israeli government had no intention of allowing themselves to be identified. One incident such as this had occurred, attracting attention to the Nation, which was already judged by a different standard.

Ira knew Israel needed to keep the British intelligence services onside, whilst the Americans were trying to make them sue for peace with the Palestinians. Stealing a glance at Ami, he realized the Mossad agent was wondering about the choice of Basil to front for the financial arm. Had the Brits made an error of judgment in their haste to replace the unexpected early demise of his predecessor?

Then tell the Ruski to deport himself with better manners. Basil retorted defiantly.

The Russian glared at Basil and spread his arms wide. What am I to do when this cretin insults my country and my honor? he beseeched Ira.

Although he was strongly tempted to tell Arkadiy what he really thought he kept his icy demeanour. I’m telling you both. Discretion is our bailiwick against exposure. Other traffickers have been identified by graduate students on the Internet and exposed. If they can find us Interpol can. If you can’t put your differences aside you’re out. I will never let you threaten this organisation. Ira’s quiet threat was more disturbing than if he raged at them. To prevent any unravelling of the framework, the scheme had been devised to ensure cut outs were easily replaceable. This could certainly extend to members of the Cartel and had worked smoothly until Basil’s predecessor had unexpectedly turned up his toes.

However his current threat was an idle one, but it succeeded in bringing the men to heel for now. He would let this one incident go. If needed, these idiots’ masters would bring them into line faster than the Mongol hordes, led by Kublai Khan, who swept everything before them. Your Foreign Office will be less than pleased. Turning to Basil, he stabbed his finger at him, to emphasise a point.

And as for you. Turning to Arkadiy he directed the same finger at him. Keep your Russian tantrums under control. His grandfather had regaled him with tales of the atrocities Jewry had been subjected to in the ex-KGB man’s Motherland, whether under the Tsar or the Bolsheviks.

At this, Arkadiy stalked out of the room leaving no doubt in everyone’s mind, this was far from over.

Reason prevailed for once as Basil became very thoughtful. It would not bode well for him if his masters learned he had been partly responsible for creating turmoil in the Cartel. Particularly if it threatened their source of income from the deal. This certainly did not bear thinking about. His stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought.

Behind their urbane British Reserve, the Punjambahs at the Foreign Office wouldn’t hesitate to eradicate him if he got in the way of their political agendas. Tendrils of fear goosed his spine, into his shoulders and he moved his neck in order to free it from seizing up. All too well, he was aware, of the lily white hands that would not hesitate to reach out, ensuring troublesome people disappeared without a trace.

Feeling distinctly uneasy, he thought of the accident in the tunnel in Paris which had killed a young royal and her Egyptian lover. Whether to avoid a scandal of immense proportions or other interested parties whom she had recently taken a stand against before her death, was unknown. Annihilation could be swift and lethal if you crossed the establishment’s well laid plans.

Basil had learned it was the quiet spoken ones you had to watch in this world and he looked hard at Ira Lemontov, who held the key to Basil’s dreams of future wealth and power. So close now he could taste it, as he confused the semblance of reality with the real thing. He was, and would remain, simply the minion carrying out the bidding of the powerbrokers behind the group.

Ira stood and walked out of the room deep in thought.

There is too much at stake here. Ami the agent walked quietly beside him. The PM will not be pleased.

I’m aware of that. Damn the volatile arrogant Russians and the arrogant supercilious Englishman. I will control them both and make this work or I will replace them. Too much has gone into building Ersatz Israel over too many years to allow anyone to threaten it.

And so the game moves on to be played out upon a larger stage, beyond personal greed to the power of international politics. Ira understood the dynamics of world power and revelled in being at its centre. After 5000 years, Israel was a nation once again and he was playing an important part in its survival. No man and certainly not Ira Lemontov, could resist the entré this had given him to powerful circles who called him friend and respected him.

It had been a long time coming but now the western powers needed Israel as their foothold in the Middle East. The balance of power gave the small nation a standing in the world and a slight edge over their former arrogant masters. After more than 4000 years of persecution, the boot was on the other foot now.

And so, the tentacles reached out from the corrupt Cartel, intent on increasing their personal wealth at the expense of others into two of the most vulnerable countries in the world. Africa, whose endemic corruption allowed its riches to be plundered at will. And Palestine, which the western powers self interests demanded be controlled by the destabilisation and disaffection of its peoples, as it was their foothold in the Middle East and the way to the oil rich countries that were no longer dancing to their imperious tune. Vast sums of foreign aid were made available to carry out the atrocities, perpetrated by a state desperately determined to end their 4000 year old history of persecution and oppression. Anarchy and chaos were the order of the day.

Chapter 4 – New York April 2005

With the first year of marriage behind them, Colette slowly began to realize how ill suited they were. The suave debonair man vanished before her eyes.

Whilst he basked in the reflection of her success, she had felt his resentment when it was necessary to distance herself from him as she began writing her new novel eight months ago.

What the hell is this? he demanded. I don’t know what you are thinking and rarely see you these days.

What on earth’s wrong with you Basil? Colette was unprepared for this frontal attack at a time she needed harmony around her. Why would he need to know what she was thinking all the time? As if it mattered. They were an independent couple weren’t they? She had certainly thought so.

You know I have to seclude myself to immerse myself in the story. I have to tease reality out and breathe life into the characters. This is a complete departure from my other books. It’s a genre I haven’t tried before.

Then the green eyed monster rose up from the depths and pushed its way to the surface. And I need you to by my side at the functions, dinner parties and first night openings that my position demands I attend, Basil insisted.

This became a continual refrain, with Basil at his most sanctimonious. Coupled with his constant demands on her time over trifling matters, the constant barrage was beginning to wear her down.

Colette found herself walking on eggshells to avoid triggering his sulks and tantrums.

Basil, before we married you were happy to go places alone when I couldn’t be with you. We discussed the demands the process of writing would make on my time and you told me you understood and could cope with this, Colette protested.

You still have time to see those literary geniuses you mix with. Behaving quite petulantly, the mask he had worn for twelve months was beginning to crack.

Sometimes I need the input and encouragement from my peers, because they understand what a demanding lonely path a writer treads. We have to discipline ourselves and write for eight hours a day if we are to get anywhere. It’s not like an office job where someone else is driving you.

So why aren’t you available when the eight hours are up?

Many times I am Basil, she tossed over her shoulder as she began to walk away. However, when I am in the midst of a creative flow, I can’t just down tools or I would lose the thread.

Bah. Growling with displeasure, he brought her up short by grabbing her arm. Don’t walk away from me. How many months do you think I’m going to put up with this?

Don’t ever do that to me again Basil. Her voice was icy and cutting, surprising him. Normally she was mellow and easy going. This turn of events threw him. It will take as long as it takes to write. Some novels can take up to two years. Perhaps he had been confusing easy going with being malleable. Until now, she had no reason to stand up to him like this. He knew she was an independent spirit and had professed to like this trait in her.

Truth be told, at times it had irritated him but he believed he could curb it when they married. Jumping back into the fray, he began to make matters worse as he thrust his face close to hers. Well if you think I’m going to put up with that, you’ve got another thought coming.

The unfortunate recipient of the venom raining down eating at the very fiber of her being was appalled at the change in his attitude.

So, you’re going to lock yourself away again tonight? he continued to rant. When I want you to be by my side, I expect you to comply with my wishes.

I’ve got a deadline with my publishers to meet and I would rather be home writing than with those pretentious people you go to first night openings with. As she continued to walk towards her study he stood gazing balefully at her retreating back.

You didn’t think they were pretentious before we married.

Turning to face him she bit back, knowing she couldn’t spend the rest of her life with Basil, avoiding emotional landmines.

I didn’t meet this particular group of people before we married. No wonder you kept them hidden from sight. They’re nasty, bitchy social climbers. Walking into the study, she closed the door wondering how matters had come to such a sorry state.

Slowly the realization grew that it was a deliberate attempt to stifle her creativity and sublimate her will to his. If she let him, he would control her mind and life. Jeez, those old signals from her childhood, this she could not allow, so the battle of the sexes was fought all over again.

His resentment hung around the apartment and their relationship, like the thick mists hovering over the Florida Everglades. What murky things lay beneath the surface? Was his ultimate goal to stifle her creative voice, cage her spirit and break her until he held complete dominion over her mind and body? Surely not? There had been no indication of such control during their courtship. He couldn’t have been more accommodating.

So why the sudden change to this unreasonable behavior that she could not condone and was interfering with her career. As it continued, the ravine between them grew wider and deeper, no matter how carefully she traversed the slippery slope.

Trying to keep him pacified drained her energy to such an extent she felt as though her soul was being stolen. Finally realizing she was trying to please another emotionally unavailable bully whose own selfish needs surmounted hers, she made her stand after yet another attack.

Where are you going tonight? I thought we could have a night in. Basil was at his most perverse, knowing very well her plans for tonight.

I told you yesterday I have to meet Francis. As my agent he needs to discuss my progress on the new novel. You’re more than welcome to join me. Tentatively she held out an olive branch attempting to mollify this unreasonable man.

Basil’s mendacity came to the fore as he conveniently forgot their conversation. You did not tell me anything of the sort. These occasions bore me to tears. I’m not interested in mixing with your jumped up literary hacks.

Colette couldn’t be bothered calling him out on the truth and moved on. Don’t you dare call them that. Furious, she turned on him defending her successful friends. You appeared to like them well enough when we were courting.

Yes, well I made an effort because I liked you. I was willing to let you share my glamorous lifestyle which is far preferable to your middle class aspirations?

Colette started as though she had been slapped and caught her breath. It’s becoming obvious to me Basil that you like being surrounded by snobbery and pretension. It’s a pity you didn’t show that side of yourself to me before.

I thought you were capable of stepping up to the mark, Basil scathingly retorted, as his sullen gaze raked her from head to toe. He liked parading her around, showing off his prize.

Involuntarily stepping back to avoid the feeling of dread that overcame her as she absorbed this cruel taunt, Colette suspected Basil wanted to become proprietor of her soul.

What hypothetical mark Basil? Colette’s dander rose from the depths where it had been quietly snoozing and outed. Some invisible line I cannot see that I have crossed?

Yes, well it is time a line in the sand was drawn isn’t it? Basil was determined to curtail her objections to his demands.

Don’t you dare patronize me. Colette drew herself up to her full height and faced off with the sullen man. So you’re drawing battle lines are you? I’m not interested in spending my life in a co-dependent relationship with a pretentious prick. You told me you admired my independent spirit.

Jesus. Basil hadn’t known she had this in her. Well he could be pretty scathing when he chose and waded back into the fray. I didn’t know you were going to be bloody stubborn over a stupid penny dreadful. How long can it possibly take to write one of those?

Colette stepped back, staring at him in astonishment. What did you say?

Basil realized he had gone too far this time and tried to claw back the insult while reaching out to touch her. I didn’t mean that, sorry.

Colette drew back as though he held a branding iron in his hand, realizing she had made a huge mistake tying herself to this stranger. Don’t touch me. Yes, you did mean that. You’re saying what you’ve thought all along aren’t you? Debasing what I do for a living. Do you think I will let you demean me like this? Colette’s emerald green eyes were blazing. I’ve never seen the real you until now have I?

Too late Basil realized he had unleashed the redhead’s fury from the depths and its face was that of a warrior queen. Sod it, he was not going to back down now so the silly man crossed a line from which there was no retreat. Well it’s hardly a real job is it? My career is far more important and as my wife, I expect you to realize that.

Colette spun on her heel and grabbing her pocket book stormed out of the townhouse into the night, leaving a confused bully in her wake. This line of attack always worked with the fawning sycophants around him in business. What the hell was the matter with her? Feeling slightly bereft, he finally acknowledged the cat was well and truly amongst the pigeons now.

Feeling utterly miserable, she drove up to Cambridge, to weep on her best friend, Ellie’s, shoulder.

I’ve been so worried about this. The concern was evident on her friend’s face as she comforted Colette. I thought at the beginning you lived in completely different worlds. Basil has his retinue of fawning sycophants in the bank and he’s not used to someone standing up to him.

But I’m his wife, Colette protested.

I’m not sure you are more than a glittering trophy to him. Gently Ellie tried to get her friend to look at the truth. You live in different worlds.

Tears spilled over from her friend’s woeful eyes and she looked so wistful, Ellie’s heart went out to her. I’m sorry that was hurtful of me, she apologized, but they had always been strictly honest with each other and she had to get her friend to look at this damaging relationship before it was too late.

No, I need to hear the truth. Colette looked into Ellie’s eyes. "Maybe you can see what I couldn’t. Obviously I had some romantic notion of marriage as a safe harbor to shelter from life’s stormy passages of time. I soon found out the reality is nothing like it.

Feeling audacious and strong, Colette returned to Sutton Place the next day determined to give the relationship another chance. Basil had thought long and hard during the night and decided he should back off in the meantime.

As Colette continued to give her full attention to her writing it did not take long for the atmosphere to grow tense and brittle again.

New demands that she account for her whereabouts, who she would be with, who would be there. Waiting up for her when she arrived home on the odd occasion she went out seeking relief from his presence. In order to defuse situation she tried to ensure she met friends alone when he was away on business trips.

To her complete embarrassment, the situation spiraled out of control when he began telephoning her friends, restaurants where she might have met someone for lunch, appointments with doctors, dentists, osteopaths. An obvious ploy to check up on who she was with.

What is all this about Basil? She wearily challenged him one evening, when he arrived home. Realizing she was sublimating her own needs to avoid upsetting him, she knew this was fruitless and detrimental to her own wellbeing. She wasn’t prepared to go on like this in an endeavor to save a doomed relationship.

Why would I bother to do that? he defended himself, desperately scrabbling around in his warped mind for a way out of the predicament.

Colette was not about to be staved off. Cut the bullshit Basil. Of course you’re doing this. Did you think it would not get back to me? It’s highly embarrassing.

Continuing to be relentless he made matters worse. Well how do I know what you get up to when I’m not with you?

Such petulance was getting on her nerves and Colette bridled. It’s obvious you’ve got enormous issues with trust. I know what you’re up to. Colette wasn’t prepared to put up with his seedy accusations. You’re merely transposing your own morals on to me. Perhaps this is what you get up to under the same circumstances.

Don’t try and make me account for my behavior. It’s your own that’s under question. He glowered and smirked as he delivered the innuendo-laden allegation.

This was like a red rag to a bull. Good old double standards Basil? How do I know what the hell you get up to when you’re on your business trips overseas? Perhaps you’re banging hookers on the Reeperbahn for all I know. Strangely enough, this taunt appeared to hit a raw nerve as Basil hit the roof denying all culpability. For one moment, she thought he would lose control and hit her. Maybe it was time to get out before he did.

Unwilling to admit defeat she believed in giving the relationship one more chance.