Diamonds Are Deadly

By Ted Smith

The West African diamond mining industry makes a good setting for this adventure mystery.

Nigel Ballantyne works for the diamond mining company, WADMINCO. His job is to stop the rampant illegal digging of diamonds which goes on in the WADMINCO lease area. But he finds this is difficult in the pervading political climate.

Some of the illegal miners are financed by a shadowy figure known as Mama Sia. Nigel swears he will close her operations down.

But as the story unfolds we sense that Mama Sia is gaining the upper hand. One of the main mysteries is to her identity. Who or what is she?

From the begining Nigel realizes he is fighting a losing battle against the illegal miners? One of the main reasons is there is a ready market for their diamonds. How do you tell if a diamond has been mined legally or illegally?

Intertwined with some violent events is a romance between Nigel and a Sierra Leonean named Rose Dunway.

The story illustrates how dificult it is, in an economically poor country, to extract diamonds without suffering a high level of criminal activities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 9, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469112220

Ted Smith

Ted Smith is a senior human resource and organisational development consultant, currently working as MD at UKHR.com Ltd. Ted has a degree in science, a diploma in HRM, and has held positions at Glaxo, Nielsen, Vernalis, the Medical Research Council and Wellcome Trust. He's worked in Europe, USA, Africa and Asia at executive and board level, and is currently chair of the Ideas Foundation (a charity). Ted is the author of The Train Blog: Odd and Weird People-Watching (2020), and has published several children's stories for charity, including The Exploding Turnips, Arthur Ramsbottom and the Dinkle Donkle, and the Willie the Hippo series.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1.

Nigel Ballantyne was bored and uncomfortable. He had been confined to the office all day except for an hour when he had lunch at his house, up the hill. His starched shorts were cutting into his crotch and he kept wriggling to get a more comfortable position. The wooden chair he was sitting on was not large enough for his 6-foot-2 inch frame and his legs felt cramped under the table. He had been reading reports most of the time but now was looking at an old Readers Digest he had discovered in one of the filing cabinets. The building was made of wooden clinker planks and contained three rooms. It didn’t have a toilet. Nigel and Ben had the large end office, the middle room was the radio room and George Smith had the small end office. The radio operator also did any typing which was necessary.

Ben Plumb had a large desk and chair at one end of the office. Nigel had a chair and table under one of the two windows. Ben had photographs of his wife and two teen-age sons on his desk. The room was full of metal filing cabinets and the walls were lined with large scale maps of the area and a large map of Sierra Leone.

The weather over the last week had been terrible. Sheets of rain, driven by gale-force winds, had turned the roads into quagmires limiting operations on the WADMINCO diamond mine. The drumlike noise of the heavy rain on the aluminium roof had almost driven him out of his mind. But looking through the window, today he could see steam rising from the rapidly drying earth. He hadn’t expected to feel such a stranger, after his years in Kenya. But sitting in this office and not going outside was making him regret his decision to work in West Africa.

The bad weather had meant he had not been able to lead his security men on operations to limit the illegal digging of diamonds. This was one of his main jobs. Also he wasn’t used to being in a subordinate position and was looking forward to having a unit of his own.

Except for the last three years in London he had spent all his thirty six years in Kenya. He had enjoyed his thirteen years in the Kenya Police Force and had only reluctantly gone to England when his father had.

He was finding it difficult to make friends here. The night he had arrived he stayed with the Assistant Chief Security Officer, Rhys Bowen and his wife, Perys. It had been a very pleasant experience but he had not been invited elsewhere since then. He had been impressed with the layout of the main camp when Rhys took him on a tour. The heavy steel entrance gates gave a feeling of permanency. On one side of the gates a small security office was open 24 hours per day. The 18 hole golf course, in the centre of the fenced enclosure, was surrounded by buildings and recreational facilities. The main office buildings were near the main gates. Along the road was the main club building with a swimming pool, the provision store stocked like a UK store, a visitors guest house, the general manger’s house and houses of other senior managers. Farther on standard houses, of different sizes, were positioned either side of the perimeter road. By the size of the building one could guess the occupant’s position in the company. The whole camp exuded an air of neatness and discipline compared with the haphazardness of Africa outside the gates.

Last weekend he had eaten the traditional curry lunch at the club, chatted to some of his fellow expatiates but no-one had invited him to their home. He wondered if it was because of his Kenya background. When he had his own unit he would give a party. He wasn’t used to the heat and humidity after the mild English weather. The overhead fan creaked and groaned as it circulated the air. He decided to take a walk down the other end of the building to see George Smith. George had a small office which had once been a storeroom He would work with Nigel when Ben Plumb, the present Security Officer in Charge, went on leave to England, in three weeks time.

Nigel had sat next to George, on the plane from London. They had got on well together possibly because of their common police background. They also did not fit the normal pattern for expatriates on the mine. George considered himself Sierra Leonean but by education was American and Nigel, being born in Kenya, did not consider himself an ex-colonial policeman.

Nigel heaved himself out of his chair, opened the door and went outside. The hot air hit him as though from a blast furnace and he started sweating profusely. The searing sunlight temporally blinded him. When he entered George’s office he realised it didn’t have a fan.

God, it’s hot today, George.

Yes. Though I’m glad the rain has stopped.

I’ll be pleased when we get a real job to do. We’ve been here two weeks doing nothing. Ben doesn’t seem to exert himself.

I imagine he’s worn out and just waiting for leave.

Nigel was impressed with George’s tolerance considering Ben was always rude and abrupt towards him and made it clear he preferred working with fellow expatriates. Nigel hated bigots.

Let’s walk down to the lake and see if anyone has been washing there recently. Nigel said. Most nights some of the young illegal diggers start their careers here by washing some of the old plant tailings. We’ll look for new heaps of quartz gravel.

Yes, I could do with some air.

The two left the building and walked down the gravel road towards the large lake at the bottom. Except for their color the two were very similar in stature though George was slightly taller. He aquiline features and bronze coloring reminded Nigel of American Indians he’d seen in films.

This area had been one of the first to be mined. The original plant, which had been cannibalised for parts and steel plates, still dominated the horizon. At night, in the moonlight, its eerie skeleton of girders, topped by hoppers, reminded Nigel of nightmares he used to have of Dracula’s castle, when he was a child.

The two walked along, side by side, with the assurance of fit, disciplined men. On this side of the hill there were old orange trees and tall grass which hid the concrete foundations of buildings. Their houses above the office were surrounded by trimmed grass and a few flowers. On the other side of the hill the ground was polluted with patches of old engine oil, diesol and grease. A few thistles and wiry flowers grew between the patches of rusting electric motors and pieces of old sizing screens.

The security men’s camp, surrounded by a steel mesh fence was on this side of the hill. The camp site had been levelled with a bulldozer and now consisted of stamped down clay. The men and their families lived in barrack-like concrete buildings with aluminium roofs. Cooking, bathing and laundry were done in communal buildings. Toilets were positioned throughout the camp. They consisted of dished concrete slabs with a hole in the centre inside wooden structures. Plumb’s large, old-fashioned stone house was on the far side of the slimes dam at the bottom of the hill.

The two men continued down the road to the lake edge. The water was shallow here and the road continued across the dam wall to Plumb’s house. They did not see any recent signs of washing. So they turned to return to their offices. Before they reached the office block, a Landrover arrived there and they hurried back. Ben Plumb slowly climbed down from his vehicle. Nigel suspected he had been drinking. He was tall, but his former athletic figure had deteriorated due to too much boozing and overeating. Now he was gross, with sweat running down hie red, moon-like face. He was breathing heavily on this humid day. His tight uniform constricted his bulging stomach. He spoke to Nigel, ignoring George.

Nigel, I’ve an interesting job for you. Come into the office.

They went into the main office and George walked along to his own office.

On Saturday you’re to go to Freetown with the diamond shipment. It should have been shipped before but the weather has been so bad. Be ready by 7 a.m. and I’ll take you to Yehenama Airport. After giving this message he collapsed into his large chair behind the desk.

Are we issued with weapons?

No. There’s never been any trouble. Colonel Steward wants you to go because he wants new men, who haven’t been before, to try a new method of delivering the diamonds to the Freetown police. Take an overnight bag. You’ll be staying the night at the Paramount Hotel.

Nigel had met Colonel Steward, who was the Chief Security Officer, when he first arrived on the mine. He had not met him since but he had heard he was very fair but liked doing things his own way.

I’m going to my house now, Ben said. You and George can run things here. But don’t tell him about the shipment. I may go and have a look at Block 124 this afternoon.

Nigel suspected Ben was going to get a beer and have a rest. He didn’t like Ben mainly because he treated George Smith, who was the same grade as Nigel, as though he was a servant. He had been given the tiny office, which had once been a storeroom, at the far end of the building. George had not mentioned or retaliated against his treatment. Nigel presumed he was waiting for Plumb to go on leave in two weeks’ time. But he wished George would protest because Ben’s racist attitude annoyed him.

However, when Ben invited him for supper he thought it diplomatic to accept. He walked from his house, down the hill and across the dam to a large stone house surrounded by a large garden. He arrived at 6 o’clock just as it was getting dark. He was intrigued to see Saa, Ben’s fourteen-year-old gardener, coming out of the kitchen. He was well-dressed and his left arm sported a very new, expensive-looking watch. He was walking towards the servants’ quarters at the end of the garden. Nigel walked around the front of the house on to the verandah where Ben was sitting. The verandah was wide and on the outside enclosed by mosquito netting. There were several armchairs and small tables scattered along it. Sit down, Nigel. Would you like a beer? There were two beers already on the table in front of him. He had them open, almost before Nigel had replied, Yes. Ben opened the beers with an opener on his key chain and poured his. Nigel poured his.

Cheers, Ben said.

Cheers, echoed Nigel.

I hear you spent most of your life in Kenya?

Yes, I was born there and spent thirteen years in the police. My father was a settler from after the First World War. Our farm was one of the first the government took over just before independence.

The company employs government pensioners because they know if we are convicted of stealing diamonds, a felony, the pension can be stopped. I did ten years in Rhodesia before coming here in 1965. My wife was born there. But she doesn’t like this bloody place and doesn’t come very often.

They drank another beer each. Then Michael, Ben’s cook, came in to ask if they were ready for dinner.

Good evening, Michael, Nigel said. He knew Michael because he employed his brother, Francis.

Good evening, Mr. Ballantyne.

Yes, Ben said and led the way into a small dining room. They has a very good meal followed by slices of local pineapple. After dinner Ben suggested, Fancy a trip to Edwa?

What’s there?

A few good bars, and a very expensive casino, Ben said. We’ll go and watch the Lebanese diamond dealers play poler.

OK, said Nigel, it sounds interesting.

Nigel thought they had drunk too much alcohol but having said yes, didn’t want to change his mind.

The trip to Edwa in Ben’s Landrover was uneventful. But he was interested to see the contrast between the richer and poorer areas of Edwa. Near the mining compound the road was very wide and the laterite surface well maintained. But as they approached the town it narrowed and became a potholed tarmac road.

Edwa was on a hill and at the bottom of the hill there was a swamp with a turgid river flowing through it. Soft moonlight illuminated a scene of human despoliation. Derelict junk cars lined the sides of the road and the overwhelming smell of human excrement was everywhere. Large bulrushes grew around the pools of fetid water which overflowed the road. A smog covered the area and it was stinking hot. Piles of excavated rubble created the idea of a lunar landscape. Two stooping figures sorted through the rubble with their bare hands. A bloated crocodile slumbered by the side of one of the larger pools.

What a stink! exclaimed Nigel. How can people live in this?

Diamond digging is not very glamorous, is it? said Ben. But these two know they could become rich overnight just by finding one stone. Notice the crocodile. The locals believe it’s their tribal protector, a sort of ally of Mama Sia. Some of the men have a crocodile tattooed on their backs.

They carried on into the main part of the town. Here there were many banks, bars, stores and dozens of hotels. Nigel noticed the bank buildings had huge pits in the grounds, presumably dug by the illegal miners.

As they went up the hill the road changed. It now had a good tarred surface and was lined with flowering shrubs and a paved sidewalk. The diamond dealers’ houses, wither side, were large, well-kept, and surrounded by gated walls and beautiful gardens.

At the top of the hill a sign pointed to the Edwa Casino. They had arrived. Ben parked the vehicle in the parking lot, away from the building, and they strolled into the club. On the way Ben glanced at car license plates but did not see any Freetown ones. He noticed Nigel looking at him. I look for the cars of diamond dealers from Freetown, to see who’s in town.

Nigel thought, Not entirely a social visit.

A Casino Security guard recognised Ben. Evening, Mr. Plumb.

Evening, Mohammed, busy tonight?

We’re busy every night!

The casino was a small, well-built stone building surrounded by flowering shrubs. They walked into a large, well-lit, air-conditioned room, went up to the bar and Ben ordered two Heinekens. Turning to Nigel he said, This is made here and is better than the cheaper Star beer.

The barman brought the beers in ice-cool glasses and placed them on counter mats.

Nigel noticed that Ben was not asked to pay. "They keep a tab here for security officers.