A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Read online

  Part Four

  PRICKING THUMBS

  By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

  —SHAKESPEARE, MACBETH, ACT 4, SCENE 1

  January and February

  Chapter 19

  Despite its relatively small size and attempts to avoid excessive environmental damage, the Maboane diamond mine complex interrupted the arid vista like a scar. It was an open-pit mine that corkscrewed down, following the kimberlite host rock into the depths. Nearby, the crushing, washing, and sorting plant stood waiting. A galvanized, corrugated iron construction, it glared hotly, its unpainted walls dulled by sandstorms and the sun. Heavy-duty ventilation fans could not alleviate inside temperatures usually reserved for Hades.

  Aron Frankental was standing on a small ridge, where the rough dirt road started winding down the side of the pit to the mine’s current floor. He was puzzled. He had a problem, and it was occupying much of his time despite his boss’s apparent lack of interest. Aron was a geologist, and a good one. He had a degree from the University of Erlangen near Nuremberg and had come to Africa to pursue his interest in diamondiferous kimberlites. He had hoped that Maboane might be a stepping-stone to De Beers. The diamond giant probably did more research on kimberlite geology than all the other mining companies and the local universities combined. That hope had been shattered when De Beers pulled out of the Maboane joint venture.

  Recently, however, Maboane had started producing some much higher-grade gemstones, and it seemed as though De Beers had made their decision prematurely. But the good gems came in bursts, and therein lay the puzzle. Aron wanted to know why the stones were not more uniformly distributed. If he could find the answer to that question in the geology, he felt sure that he could use it to direct the miners to the right locations to keep those good stones coming. He turned this over again in his mind as he watched the sun sink to the horizon and swell into a huge crimson ball. He loved the fantastic Kalahari sunsets, made garish by the dust from the mine.

  If he had ever met Kubu, they would have discovered that their minds worked in similar ways. An exploration geologist needs to be a good detective. He (and it is usually a he out in the wilderness, with a four-wheel-drive vehicle and only rocks for company) follows surface clues to try to determine the structure and nature of the rocks below. Still more important is to understand the development of those rocks and structures, for that will offer pointers to what valuable gems or ores may lie hidden, and where best to look for them. Diamonds are amazing. Kimberlite pipes start life deep in the earth’s mantle and thrust upward, picking up carbon that, at huge temperatures and pressures, crystallizes into the gems. If the conditions are just right, those crystals will be large, but most of the time the process is too fast, and only tiny valueless micro-diamonds result. So the new flush of gemstone-quality diamonds from the mine suggested a different geological past from that of the smaller and much less valuable stones the mine had been producing before.

  Kubu would have found this approach familiar. He, too, followed history and tried to understand background structure and development. Clues were pieces of information that led to facts, and the facts needed to be placed in the context of human behaviors and motivations. Only the time scales and motives were different. Geology makes no deliberate effort to confuse; the eons take care of that.

  Aron’s current theory postulated two kimberlites: a hasty one that had rushed up, allowing the development of small diamonds, mostly of commercial rather than gem quality, and a slyer, slower one that had husbanded its resources, allowing the formation of wonderful gems. Somehow the second had intruded into the first, mixing their very different prizes. The puzzle was that he was unable to pin down the geology that would allow that to happen. But there were strange alteration patterns in the country rock around the mine that could have been caused by some such event.

  The sun sank below the horizon, and there would be no twilight in the desert. Aron turned away from the mine and headed to his vehicle. It was time to go home.

  Aron was one of just seven professional staff. Management costs had to be kept down at the marginal mine. He and his boss, Jason Ferraz, were the two geologists. There was the mine supervisor, the mechanic to maintain the machinery and vehicles, and the security officer—Jacob Dingake. The two administrators—the Devlin sisters—dealt with the accounts and the cumbersome red tape around the production of gem diamonds including the Kimberley Process.

  The Kimberley Process was the procedure that assigned to each batch of stones a document that was a cross between a pedigree and a passport. The KP document accompanied a diamond in coddled safety to the ultimate consumer, who could thus be assured that it was what it said it was, that it came from where it said it came from, and that its background was free of the horrors of civil wars and the human suffering that certain diamonds had so liberally financed in the past—the notorious “blood” diamonds.

  The seven lived in a block of small units some distance from the main mine complex, in a different part of the compound from the miners. Aron entered his unit and immediately switched on the window air conditioner, which labored into life. He no longer noticed the sudden temporary dimming of the lights brought on by the greed of its aging motor at start-up. He walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, where he kept a couple of beers during the day to guard against the high summer temperatures and the occasional power outages caused by the mine’s intermittent diesel generator. A really cold beer in the evening was a necessity.

  He opened one of the bottles of Windhoek lager, deep-chilled. He was thankful for the German heritage of neighboring Namibia, which had produced a decent local beer. Although he quite liked the taste of Botswana’s St. Louis beer, the 3.5 percent alcohol content was too low for a real drink. He poured the beer into a pewter mug, which had also been stored in the freezer. He disliked the local habit of drinking straight from the bottle. Sitting at the dining table, which doubled as a work area, he put the tankard on a blotter so that the moisture would not damage his papers, and started to review his work.

  Each month the complete details of the diamonds and their weights were published. This was as much for tax considerations as for the Kimberley Process. But Aron needed much more detail. He wanted to know where each batch of the larger gemstones had been found. He did that by checking the production records against the locations where the miners had been working. He had developed a graph covering the last three months showing by weight the number of larger stones found each day. The graph showed peaks of five or six days, separated by troughs that might be weeks in length. The mine plan marked the locations where the diamonds had been found. It wasn’t encouraging. There seemed to be three main areas where the larger diamonds had occurred, but he had been unable to determine a significant distinction in the geology at those sites or even a convincing relationship between them. He had spent most of the day in the pit trying to do just that. However, the geology was complex, and he felt that he might be missing something important. The previous week he had performed an experiment. He had carefully collected some of the rock still attached to the larger diamonds and compared that under a geological microscope to the rock collected from the smaller ones. Both were kimberlite, of course, since diamonds are rarely found in other rock types, but he felt that the trace minerals were sufficiently different to support his double-kimberlite theory. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be sure without more detailed analysis.

  In common with many geologists, Aron was a loner. He liked to have a sense of a solution before he shared the problem with others. He felt he had enough to intrigue Jason, and had tried out his theories over lunch one day. The response had been abrupt and discouraging. Jason had been dismissive and uninterested, going so far as to suggest that this sort of speculation was not part of Aron’s job, and that in any case all kimberlites had an uneven distribution of gem quality. Aron had been hurt, but not discouraged. He had heard some disturbing rumors about Jason, and although he only belie
ved what was proved to him, he felt uncomfortable with the situation.

  Aron wasn’t very hungry because he had eaten lunch at the mine. The mine workers were served a meal of chicken or beef each day with the ubiquitous pap. Aron had developed a taste for it and felt that he should not be overcritical of the mine food until his own cooking improved. But he did feel the need for a sandwich and another beer.

  He returned from the kitchenette after a few minutes with a new beer in a fresh chilled mug, and a springbok fillet sandwich smothered with mustard and canned sauerkraut. He glanced at his maps, plans, and graphs, and went so far as to push away the graph of gem quality per day before he gave up trying to make a place for the plate. Paper is winning this war, he thought wryly. The other side of the table was clear, and he settled himself there with his sandwich and beer. The maps and plans blurred a little because of his shortsightedness; only the graph was now close enough to be clear. He took a big mouthful, careful not to spill the sauerkraut out of the edges. As he chewed, he looked at the graph. Something struck him as different, new, surprising. Of course—it’s upside down, he thought. The peaks have become troughs, and the troughs have become peaks.

  That change of perspective changed the meaning. He stopped chewing, the meat untasted in his mouth. His mind churned. All along, until now, he had tried to discover what was causing the peaks of good-quality gems. Suddenly he thought of it in the converse: Why were there times when there were fewer good-quality gems? He immediately rejected geological reasons. Any event that would destroy the bigger stones would also have destroyed the smaller ones. It was people who must be removing the good gemstones—men stealing them for their own gain. He had no idea how that might be done, but suddenly he felt sure that it was happening. He remembered that his mouth was full of food and swallowed. As it hadn’t been properly chewed, he needed to wash it down with several generous swigs of beer.

  Now Aron was faced with a different problem. Who was stealing the gems? A few disappearing here or there would mean a failure of their substantial and expensive security system, but it would be possible to blame the miners or team bosses. But Aron mentally calculated that if the peaks of gem production were the norms, then upward of half of the larger stones were being stolen. That required a very different type of scenario. Aron found this new type of puzzle exciting. There are seven suspects, he thought. Well, six, since I’m not the culprit. Intriguing as it was, he felt this was a matter for the boss, and that was Jason. But he didn’t trust Jason. He might be in real danger if the thief was Jason himself.

  He rummaged in a cupboard and took out his journal. It was a hardcover notebook that filled the dual roles of diary and record book. He carefully entered his new theory and the logic behind it in longhand. Then he turned on his laptop computer—same vintage as the air conditioner, he thought wryly—and typed a careful letter to the mine’s owners in Gaborone. While he accused no one of anything, he set out all his scientific work and summarized all his concerns. He felt disloyal to his boss, but he also felt that he needed the letter as insurance. He printed two copies and tucked one into the journal. The other he signed and sealed in an envelope addressed to Mr. Cecil Hofmeyr at BCMC in Gaborone.

  Jason was in Johannesburg buying some equipment for the mine, so Aron had a few days of grace. He didn’t have to find the thieves, only confirm beyond any reasonable doubt, as the lawyers would say, that Jason was not one of them. Motive isn’t an issue in geological puzzles, so this was new territory for him, but obviously no one would commit such a serious crime if there was no personal gain. So he considered the case against Jason.

  Jason owned a share of the mine, so in part he would be stealing from himself. Obviously if Jason could take the diamonds and sell them for much more than his normal share, then he would be doing extremely well. But he would be lucky to get half the value for stolen diamonds—probably more like a quarter, with the Kimberley Process making stones harder to move on the gray market. Then there would be accomplices to pay. It made no sense. However, there was one issue to check.

  The next morning Aron shaved for the first time in several days, dressed as though he worked for De Beers rather than Maboane, and made his way to the administrative offices. He presented himself to Shirley Devlin—an attractive Welsh girl he had chatted up once or twice.

  “Hello, Shirley,” he said, his nervousness bringing out his German accent. “I need some help from you this morning.” She gave him a smile, but mentally noted that he had had plenty of time since their last meeting to follow through if his intentions had not been honorable. She wasn’t particularly interested in honorable intentions.

  “I need to check all the KP records against the individual gems we have reported to the Botswana revenue office for the last three months.” Aron didn’t expect this request to go down at all well, and had prepared what he hoped was a plausible explanation.

  She looked at him as if he were crazy. He was suggesting a great deal of work, and moreover it was right in the middle of her territory. And it was pointless. Everything balanced because it was her job to make it balance. The only point of checking would be to suggest that she was either dishonest or incompetent. It was not a good way to start a conversation with her, and she told him so in no uncertain terms.

  “No, no!” Aron protested. “There is a query, and I need to follow it up. They are concerned about a possible discrepancy between the number of carats we declare for tax and the number we declare for the KP. It’s just a check to make sure all the taxes are declared. No one is suggesting that you have not done your job. But everything has to be cross-checked and double-checked. They’re concerned that we are declaring more diamonds on the Kimberley Process than we are declaring for tax purposes.”

  “It’s impossible for there to be a discrepancy. The diamonds are classified in the sorting room and weighed in batches. Then they are brought here and weighed again and described for the KP document. Mr. Ferraz signs off on both numbers and also checks the mine returns.”

  “But suppose extra diamonds were described for the KP, but not weighed at the plant?”

  “I just told you that Mr. Ferraz does that check. In case I’m not trusted.” She seemed to regard the last question as doubly insulting.

  “That’s the concern, Shirley. The government now wants us to check the mine records themselves directly against the returns. The easiest way will be to check against the KP records.”

  She threatened to refer the issue to Jason Ferraz. His shrug suggested that she had that choice. Then he just stood and waited. Eventually she told him what he could do with all his red tape, but then settled down to help.

  By lunchtime it was done. Every diamond was accounted for, every KP certificate linked to a declared diamond for tax and thus for production. Whoever was stealing the gemstones was not getting a KP certificate for them. That had been the only possible way in which Jason could get the real value for the stones. Aron was satisfied. To thank her for the help, he invited Shirley over for a drink that evening, which perked her up a bit.

  It looked as though Jason was in the clear. But perhaps he had missed something. He stood outside the administration office, unsure what he should do. Despite the morning’s work, he couldn’t bring himself to trust his boss entirely. At last he went back into Shirley’s office.

  “Shirley, I forgot to ask before. Would you kindly put this letter in the outgoing mail for me?” He handed her the letter to Cecil Hofmeyr, hoping she wouldn’t notice the address.

  She nodded, barely glancing at it. Then she made it clear that she needed to catch up on her real work.

  Chapter 20

  After Jason’s return from Johannesburg, Aron gave him a day to settle down and then went to see him. Jason kept him waiting for half an hour. Aron was nervous by the time Jason arrived and waved him into his office. Jason, however, seemed to be in excellent spirits. He had managed to acquire the needed equipment at good prices and for quick delivery. He listened to Aron’s new
idea with concentration and seemed to consider it carefully before he spoke.

  “You are suggesting that the mine would normally produce the sort of diamonds we’ve been getting in patches? But that someone has been skimming off the cream?”

  “I thought there might be sorters who are in on it,” Aron said. “They select some gems and hide them in the plant. Then they smuggle them out afterward.”

  “What about all the security?” Jason asked. “The video cameras in the sorting room? And you can’t get in or out of the processing plant without going through the scans. There’s a security guard on duty there at all times while the plant is operating. After work the plant is locked and secured, and only Dingake and I have override keys. No one else can go in or out without setting off one of the alarms. So how do these hypothetical thieves get the diamonds out of the plant?”

  “Yes, I thought about that quite carefully. You and I aren’t involved.” Aron didn’t mention that he had checked that. “There’s one other person who could manage to get the stones out of the plant.”

  Jason thought for a few seconds. “Jacob Dingake?” Aron nodded. Jason leaned back in his chair and looked at Aron steadily.

  “You understand that you are making a very serious accusation against one of our trusted colleagues?”

  Aron shook his head and said quietly, “I am proposing a theory. You are coming to the conclusions.”

  They sat in silence for what seemed a long time. Then Jason laughed. “I don’t know, Aron. I still think there are other possibilities, including the idea you suggested last time. I’m quite interested in that. I think we should keep all these options open. Perhaps I’d rather mistrust the geology than old Jacob. I think he’s a bit too thick to pull off something like this.” He laughed again.

  “Let’s have a couple of beers at my room tonight. Bring over your stuff. Let’s go through the geology again. Maybe we can find your second pipe. That would certainly tip the balance on the new exploration with Mr. Hofmeyr.” Then he added, “In the meantime I’ll keep a close eye on our Mr. Dingake.”