The Blue Diamond

By Drew Lindsay

Ben Hood is an ex Police Detective and currently a VIP protection agent. He’s not prone to taking crap from anyone. If a job has to be done, he’ll do it and he’ll do it his way even if rules have to be broken. Very different women are having dreams about the most expensive Blue Diamond in the world. Ben has his own particular dream about this diamond. Parts of dreams begin to weave a fabric of credibility as to the current location of the Blue Diamond and this attracts the attention of those who would stop at nothing to have the diamond as their own. One of the very attractive female dreamers has gone missing...believed kidnapped. Ben’s assignment is to find her. It takes him from Sydney to Port Macquarie in northern New South Wales and thence to the watery grave of the S.S. Yongala, over 50 metres beneath the sea off the coast of Townsville in Far Northern Queensland. There Ben has to deal with the ghost of a teenage girl who died on board the Yongala in 2011. His contact with that long dead teenage girl is his key to finding the Blue Diamond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Lindsay
• Release date: May 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370266142

Drew Lindsay

Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

Book preview

If an object is priceless…that usually means it cannot be bought or sold or exchanged for any kind of goods, promises or favours. That priceless object remains in the custody of the person who originally inherited it for whatever reasons until those with envious, evil eyes covert it for themselves and set in motion a plan to acquire it…and clutch it exclusively at any cost.

****

CHAPTER ONE

The first Prime Minister of Australia was Sir Edmond Barton. He was born in Sydney on the 18th of January, 1849. He spent a wonderful day of well deserved opulence at the Hydro Majestic Hotel in Medlow Bath in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney on the 7th of January 1920. He had sipped a cocktail in the Cat’s Alley while watching the sun set over the magnificent Megalong Valley. He had chatted with friends and associates. Later that evening, he soaked in a hot bath. Life was grand. He had faced numerous fierce political battles in the past. He didn’t get to be the first Prime Minister of Australia by sitting on his bum doing nothing. He was a highly qualified law professional, barrister and eventually a Judge in the High Court of Australia. He had a loving wife and 6 wonderful children…four boys and two girls.

On the evening of the 7th January, 1920, he stepped out of his bath at the Hydro Majestic Hotel and began to dry himself with a large white towel. Then he fell heavily to the tiled bathroom floor and died. Apparently a heart attack. All that work and all those amazing academic qualifications and achievements down the drain in a few moments of time. A wife without a husband and 6 children without a father. How sad. The entire circumstances surrounding his death will never be known. All the details have been locked away in a rusting metal safe somewhere. Edmond was eventually buried in the Waverley Cemetery at Vaucluse.

Horton Street, Port Macquarie has always run north to west from the Hastings River, back through the town ending abruptly at a cemetery where many bodies interred there are no longer identified by a headstone and are long forgotten. Boot makers, dress makers, tanners, builders, fishermen, soldiers, convicts, hunters…many of them were buried there but their crude gravestones eventually fell over or were stolen to be cut up for building construction. Thankfully, some of the more important dead people had their headstones preserved and are there to this day…their headstones that is.

Ben Hood needed to reflect on a few things. He needed to reflect on what had happened in his life since he left the New South Wales police force as a Detective Sergeant 6 years ago. He needed to reflect on the work he had undertaken since then as a personal bodyguard, private investigator, protector of those in need, assassin. No…not assassin. He may have killed but he wasn’t an assassin. Each killing was necessary…completely necessary. If he had killed anyone without proper cause, he would be in prison and clearly, he wasn’t in prison. He was in Port Macquarie and staying in the penthouse suite at The Observatory Hotel…overlooking a park and the now rather ancient dome building which housed an even more ancient telescope which only occasionally pointed at the stars. Rain was about to lash down and the onshore wind was strong. Huge ocean waves crashed onto what was usually a peaceful Town Beach. The sun had set behind menacing black clouds in the west.

Ben’s mobile phone rang softly. He picked it up. ‘What do you want?’

‘So you made it up there okay?’

‘I don’t like you much,’ said Ben.

Rodney Reid owned and operated the VIP protection agency which Ben had maintained a rather dubious relationship with since he left the police force. Rodney and Ben maintained a fairly rocky relationship for a variety of reasons. There was little doubt in Rodney’s mind that Ben was his best operative by far. He considered Ben out of control most of the time but always seemed to get the job done…one way or another. ‘You love me,’ said Rodney.

‘I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve almost got me killed,’ said Ben.

‘I give you jobs,’ said Rodney. ‘If you almost get killed, that’s your problem. You are the field operative. You manage the field in a way that is less likely to get you killed.’

‘Are you listening to yourself?’

‘I can hear what I’m saying if that’s what you mean,’ said Rodney.

‘Very often you do not provide me with all the relevant facts.’

‘That’s because often I don’t know them damn it. Look at all the fun you have at my expense?’

‘What!’

‘The women. Oh my God! You couldn’t fit all those women in a damn truck.’

‘Why would I want to put them all in a truck anyway?’ asked Ben.

‘It’s a bloody expression you idiot. I’m talking the volume of women I’ve given you access to. I’m talking a big truck here.’

‘I’m telling Rose.’

‘You leave my wife out of this,’ said Rodney.

‘Well someone needs to keep you under control,’ said Ben.

‘I’ll worry about my life if you don’t mind. Now as a minor side issue and the reason I paid for you to fly to Port Macquarie and stay at one of the most expensive hotels in the place…have you been to the hospital to interview our client?’

‘No,’ said Ben.

‘What do you mean no?’

‘I haven’t been out to see her yet.’

‘Are you treating this job as a bloody holiday?’

‘Sort of,’ said Ben.

‘Why did you book the damn penthouse?’

‘Because it was the most expensive suite in the hotel,’ said Ben. ‘Did you know that this suite has three bedrooms and three bathrooms as well as a huge kitchen and two lounge areas?’

‘What the hell are you going to do with all that space?’

‘I might arrange a middle aged swinger’s party.’

‘In your dreams!’ Rodney almost shouted at him.

‘Then I’ll come home,’ said Ben. ‘Rae pushed me into this assignment. You put her up to it.’

‘That’s totally untrue.’

‘Stacked is the word she used. The woman is stacked.’

‘That’s by the by,’ said Rodney. ‘She needs your help and that is why you are in Port Macquarie.’

‘You and Rae set me up.’

‘Will you just get your shit together and go and see her?’

‘I’m not comfortable with this job Rod. I’m not comfortable at all. I have no real idea what you are dumping me into this time.’

‘Well neither do I to tell you the truth but that makes it all the more exciting for you.’

‘What!’

‘You know…the unexpected. The element of surprise.’

‘You’re out of your damn tree,’ said Ben.

‘She will pay big money but she wants you involved.’

‘And she’s stacked.’

‘More or less.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ asked Ben.

‘The photo we have of her was taken 10 years ago. It was a professional shot…in a studio. I gather you refused to look at it.’

‘I’m sick of you and your bloody female client photographs.’

‘She was very hot.’

‘Does that mean she’s not hot just now?’ asked Ben.

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Rodney. ‘She does however, need our help and in particular, your help.’

‘Rae is in deep shit,’ said Ben.

‘Rae senses that this woman is in a lot of trouble,’ said Rodney. ‘Isn’t that good enough for you?’

Ben didn’t reply.

‘At least you flew up there,’ said Rodney. ‘Now what the hell are you waiting for?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ben.

‘The meter is ticking mate. Get a move on.’

‘I need to reflect a bit,’ said Ben. ‘I need to go for a walk and have a think about a few things.’

‘At whose expense?’

‘Yours.’

‘How long is this walk going to take?’

Ben disconnected the call and turned off his mobile phone.

It was twilight when Ben reached the large timber bench in the park at the end of Horton Street, facing the Hastings River. The much larger than life bronze statue of Edmond Barton sat comfortably on the seat. The statue was well bolted down. Thieves will attempt to steal just about anything these days. Edmond was looking out over the rush of the outgoing tide. The statue was there to remind visitors of the deeds of this great man. Most visitors, who sat beside him to have their photograph taken, especially the Japanese and various other foreign visitors and would be residents, had no idea whatsoever who he was and cared even less. One hundred years before they had plonked themselves down on the seat next to this great man, it is highly unlikely that he would have let any of them into Australia.

The rain continued to threaten but the wind roared through the Norfolk pines. The park facing the Hastings River was deserted as Ben sat down next to the bronze statue of Edmond Barton. He felt somewhat weird. The recent rain water from the park bench penetrated his jeans. He needed to talk to someone but this oversize statue of Edmond Barton suddenly felt as far away as Mars. Barton had died in the Blue Mountains in 1920. That was a damn long time ago. His seated bronze statue felt cold. His carefully carved bronze eyes saw nothing.

‘He won’t dance with you that is for damn sure.’

Ben looked up. Her voice came from behind.

‘His dancing days are over. He wasn’t much of a dancer anyway.’

Ben turned around. The Horton street lights made her long silver windblown hair look as if she had emerged directly from witch-land. She walked slowly around the end of the timber bench and sat down on the other side of Edmond’s statue. She was wearing tight blue jeans, long leather boots and a white top that seemed to flow in all directions at the whim of the wind. Her face was partly in shadow.

‘You shouldn’t be out in the dark,’ said Ben.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s dangerous. Port Macquarie isn’t the place it used to be.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ she replied.

‘Do you live here?’ asked Ben.

‘From time to time,’ she replied.

‘You seem to know a fair bit about Edmond Barton,’ said Ben.

‘Yes. I know quite a lot about him actually.’

‘So do I,’ said Ben.

‘So it would appear. You’re Ben, aren’t you?’

‘How could you possibly know that?’

‘I’ve seen you on the Internet I think.’

Ben nodded. ‘Can’t escape the Internet these days…can you?’

‘I do,’ she replied. ‘You won’t find my photograph on the Internet.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Ben.

‘Leila.’

‘Leila who?’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Leila. She stood. Ben noted her curvaceous body. She wasn’t all that tall, perhaps around 5 feet 9 inches. Her thick, long silver hair cascaded around her shoulders. ‘I’ve got to be running along.’

Ben stood. He towered over her. ‘Would it be rude of me to ask for your telephone number?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ben.

‘So you should be. We’ve hardly met.’

‘Do you need a lift home? I have a car parked close by. It’s only a hire car. I just flew in today. It’s a small car.’

‘What brand of car is it?’ asked Leila.

Ben hesitated. ‘I don’t know actually.’

‘Does it have a rear view camera?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Those things are just so fascinating, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t use them.’

She shook her head slowly. The sea breeze whipped up strands of her long silver hair. Ben caught a glimpse of bright red lipstick. There was also a hint of a perfume he had never encountered before. Deep musk with something else…rich…woody…erotic. ‘Surely you have these gadgets in your Aston Martin?’

‘You are well researched,’ said Ben.

‘And you are not,’ said Leila.

‘Pardon me?’

‘You are here for a very specific reason and yet you won’t get on with it.’

‘Do you know Rodney Reid?’

‘I know of him,’ said Leila.

‘He’s hired you to keep tabs on me, hasn’t he?’

‘I’m not available for hire Ben.’

‘I didn’t particularly want this job,’ said Ben.

‘You have no idea what you are getting into…do you?’

Ben didn’t reply.

‘Curvaceous women. Danger. Just your style.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Just a dream…that’s all.’

‘Then you seem to be well ahead of me Leila.’

Leila laughed. It was the kind of laugh that reached deep into Ben’s soul. It made him smile in spite of himself. She stood, turned and began to walk away. Ben noted the gentle sway of her generous hips.

‘So?’ he said rather loudly. ‘What now?’

Leila stopped and turned to face him. ‘She’s in the Port Base Hospital. You know that anyway I expect. I would suggest that you get your arse down there first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘You have been speaking to Rodney Reid, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ said Leila as she turned and walked underneath a street lamp. Ben closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. The rain began to fall and the on shore wind drove it into his face in what felt like tiny stinging wet bullets.

****

CHAPTER TWO

‘Who is she?’

‘Is that Ben Hood?’ asked Rodney. ‘Is that the Ben who has developed the totally annoying habit of turning off his mobile phone and not telling the man who puts bread and butter on his table where he is and what he is fucking well doing?’

‘You know exactly where I am. You sent me here.’

‘And then you turn off your bloody phone! Who does that?’

‘I do,’ said Ben. ‘I’m not into bread and butter these days by the way. ‘I’ve developed a taste for caviar served over light rye toasted in sesame oil.’

‘What?’

‘Sesame oil with a gentle sprinkling of sesame seeds to complete the overall taste.’

‘You’ve had a complete breakdown, haven’t you?’

‘Who is Leila?’ asked Ben rather firmly.

‘Leila who?’

‘Don’t screw with me Rodney. ‘Who is Leila?’

‘I’ll bite. Who is Leila?’

‘You sent her to make sure I went ahead with this job, didn’t you?’

‘Your paranoia may be written up in medical journals one day,’ said Rodney. ‘You have very special paranoia.’

‘She’s got long silver hair,’ said Ben. ‘She met with me tonight.’

‘Long silver hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did it cost?’

‘Pardon?’

‘To meet with her.’

Ben disconnected the call and switched off his mobile phone.

The Port Macquarie Base Hospital was carved out of bushland south west of Port Macquarie when the original hospital on the hill overlooking the town and ocean became inoperative. Administrative restrictions and occasional dubious medical staff placements didn’t help the reputation of the new base hospital. The alarmingly rapid expanse of residential growth in the Port Macquarie area together with a very high influx of elderly people with their associated health issues had little impact on those who determined what should be an adequate level of care for the area. Complaints about hospital care and the level of medical competence continue to flood in. No one seems to have done anything to fix the problems. Words are thrown all over the place and promises made. It is alleged that many patients continue to suffer unreasonably in the Port Macquarie Base Hospital due to a variety of reasons. The buck always stops at the top. Those at the top will always pass the buck down the line. What a dilemma. It has been suggested that it might not be a good idea to get really sick in Port Macquarie.

‘Who?’ asked the mid to elderly aged receptionist.

Ben leaned forward. Perhaps the woman behind the reception desk had a hearing disability. ‘Donald Duck.’

The woman with grey hair in a bun looked up at him. ‘I have better things to do than play silly games with you sir.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Ben. ‘Her name is Janeve.’

‘Janeve who?’

Ben opened a small notebook. ‘Ban.’

‘Are you a relative?’

‘I’m her uncle,’ said Ben.

‘How come you have to refer to your note book in order to recall her surname? Don’t know her surname?’

‘She married some Chinese guy. It wasn’t a popular decision within the family. They tried to ban her from marrying him. Sorry about the pun.’ Ben was struggling to hold back a smile.

‘You think this is funny, don’t you?’

‘No,’ said Ben…his face sombre. ‘She’s quite ill.’

‘She’s got a broken hand.’

‘Well that’s ill…isn’t it? How would you like to have a broken hand? You’re not supposed to be telling me this anyway.’

‘She’s Chinese,’ said the receptionist. ‘You don’t look Chinese to me.’

‘I had an operation,’ said Ben, wishing instantly that he had kept his mouth closed.

‘You look suspicious,’ said the receptionist. ‘We can’t just let anyone in here. I’ve seen you before somewhere.’

‘I’ve never been here in my life,’ said Ben. ‘Actually that’s not true. I visited my uncle here when he was dying but that was a long time ago.’

‘I’ve worked here since the hospital opened,’ said the receptionist. ‘I have a photographic memory.’

‘I’m sure that is one of your best qualities,’ said Ben.

‘I’ve seen you somewhere else,’ said the receptionist. ‘The Internet perhaps?’

‘I have popped up on the Internet from time to time,’ said Ben. ‘Could you please give me my nieces’ room number?’

‘She’s under police guard.’

‘Why?’

‘If you are her uncle, you should know why.’

‘I’ve just flown into town from Sydney,’ said Ben. ‘I can’t use my mobile phone on the plane.’

‘She’s been in hospital for two days,’ said the receptionist. ‘Damn slow plane eh?’ The receptionist pushed her thick lens glasses further on her nose and looked up at Ben. ‘Why don’t you just go away for a little while and come back to visit your…’

‘Niece.’

‘Yes…that’s it. Have a chat to the police and get some proper authority to visit your…’

‘Niece.’

‘Yes.’

‘I was told she was in the west wing,’ said Ben.

‘Well someone got that right,’ said the receptionist. ‘I can’t give her room number to you sir. Goodbye.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ben. ‘You have been less than helpful.’

‘I do my job Mr. Hood.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ Ben walked past her and towards a large corridor which swung left from the main reception area. ‘Toilet,’ said Ben as he pointed to the men’s and woman’s toilet signs. ‘Won’t be a sec.’

A family approached the reception desk and distracted the receptionist. Ben turned the corner and headed towards the operating theatres. What he needed would be piled up in large white canvas bags hung on light aluminium frames with wheels. He wasn’t disappointed. Large baggy green scrub pants with shirts to match. Some of the surgical clothing had blood splashed on them. Ben avoided those. Green shoe gloves and green surgical caps. He walked out of the small scrubs disposal area looking every bit like a surgeon. The green surgical jacket smelt of after shave. Ben didn’t like the smell much but it was the only jacket that would have even remotely fitted him.

‘Are you the visiting surgeon?’

Ben turned quickly. There appeared to be no one there. He looked down and into the face of a very short young nurse clad in green surgical scrubs. Her long black hair had been tied back in a bun. There was a grim look on her pretty face. The top of her head was about level with his navel.

‘Yes.’

‘Doctor Casey?’

‘Yes…that’s me,’ said Ben.

‘Alfred Casey?’

‘Of course.’

‘She’s ready for surgery. I’ll be your scrub nurse and Doctor McLaren will be assisting.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Ben. ‘Doctor McLaren is very good. He’s one of the best I’ve heard.’

‘Yes she is.’

‘She…I meant she. The best in her field.’

‘You are supposed to be the best in your field Doctor Casey.’

‘I don’t like to boast’ said Ben. ‘I don’t even have a bow tie.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Never mind.’

‘She’s drowsy. She would like to talk to you.’

‘Doctor McLaren? She shouldn’t be operating if she’s feeling drowsy!’

‘The patient…Doctor Casey. The patient has been given her pre op. Are you okay?’

‘I have a little gas,’ said Ben. ‘It will pass.’

‘Time is the essence,’ said the nurse. ‘It’s a fairly bad gunshot wound. It could have been worse.’

‘Shit,’ said Ben softly.

‘Top of the left lung involved

‘Damn,’ said Ben.

‘Pardon me?’

‘I’m a bit out of practice with lungs. Large intestines are no problem. They’re big so you can dig in there and fix the problem.’

‘You’re confusing me Doctor Casey.’

‘Quite so. I’m a little confused myself. What’s your name?’

‘Lucinda.’

‘What a beautiful name,’ said Ben.

‘Into the scrub room with you and good luck,’ said Lucinda, pushing Ben towards the operating theatre. ‘Mrs. Ban would like to speak with you before you operate.’

‘Mrs. Ban?’

‘The patient.’

‘I thought she had a broken hand or something?’

‘Oh no. She’s been shot.’

‘Where?’

‘I just told you.’

‘Janeve Ban?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucinda.

‘Where did this shooting happen?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Lucinda. ‘Somewhere in Port Macquarie. Everything is very hush hush and the place is swarming with police.’

‘Of course,’ said Ben.

‘It’s all just so dreadful,’ said Lucinda.

‘I’m sick to the stomach,’ said Ben.

‘Janeve is in the operating theatre and she is asking for you. She is quite sedated.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Ben.

‘You should know,’ said Lucinda. ‘You ordered her pre-op medications.’

‘Yes.’

‘Fairly strong in my opinion,’ said Lucinda. ‘What do I know?’

Ben’s blood pressure had elevated considerably. ‘I should talk to her before surgery.’

‘Yes,’ said Lucinda. ‘She wanted that.’

Ben and Lucinda walked past three young uniformed male police officers who were hurrying along the hallway. Lucinda guided Ben into the pre-op area. The woman lying on the trolley had an anaesthetist in attendance and a male nurse fussing over the surgical dressing on the left upper side of her body. The patient had long silver hair. She partially wore a white surgical gown. These hospital garments had obviously been designed by men who enjoyed the view that semi naked voluptuous women provided when