A Carrion Death & The 2nd Death of Goodluck Tinubu Page 6

  “We had an arrangement,” Cecil said. “A final arrangement. It didn’t involve any more consulting. I’ll be seeing my nephew shortly. Once he’s thirty, he will have the shares to call the shots in the company, and the trust will be his and his sister’s. I will need their support to continue running the business. I can’t afford any more consulting.”

  “Cecil, I expect that my input will be of great value. I think they’d be very disappointed to hear about the things we have worked so hard to conceal.”

  Cecil abandoned all pretense of politeness. “Look, you filthy scum, I’ve paid and paid for what happened all those years ago. I won’t give you another thebe. Now get out of here.”

  Kobedi gave the knife a twist. “You’re forgetting how much I did for you, Cecil. Everything you’ve got is because of that. I’ll be very disappointed if you forget how much you owe me.”

  Cecil’s voice rose. “You did nothing for me, Kobedi. You did it for yourself. Roland saw right through you from the start. You were finished. If you hadn’t killed him, he would have seen to it that you rotted in jail. Roland knew what your so-called consulting involved. You were dead.”

  “Oh, yes, Cecil, we were both dead. That’s why you wanted him out of the way. You told me that. That’s why I did it. Because you told me so.” He gestured at the luxurious office. “And you ended up the main man as a bonus. Did you think you could pay for all this with a handful of pulas and have a few fucks thrown in? You make me sick, you ungrateful bastard. You’re worried about your nephew? I’ll deal with him for you. Why not? I’ve done it for you before. You should be worrying about me. Accidents happen, you know. Not only to planes.”

  Cecil was so angry he stood up. “I never want to see you again, you stinking blackmailer! I’m warning you, accidents don’t only happen to Hofmeyrs. Now get out of here.”

  Kobedi just laughed. “You’re threatening me? You haven’t got the guts, Cecil, or your nephew and I would have been history long ago. Leave that sort of thing to me. It’ll cost you, but so what? Money is no object, is it?”

  He got up. “It’s nice to see you again, Cecil. Still a good-looking guy, even at—what’s it now?—fiftyish? Maybe we could have a drink together some time? What do you think? No extra charge. Just make sure the check for the twenty’s in the mail, as the saying goes.” He walked toward the door. Before he opened it, he turned back to Cecil.

  “I think you’ll be needing quite a bit more of my services, actually. We may have to negotiate an increased rate. Inflation’s bad, you know. And the lousy exchange rate! You’ve no idea what decent Scotch costs in town these days.” Without waiting for a reply, he opened the office door, left it open, and waved cheerfully to the secretary on his way out.

  His recollection of the meeting brought the anger rushing back to Cecil.

  “I’ll see you in hell first,” Cecil said aloud to himself, the anger giving him courage to get back into bed and face sleep. He no longer thought of himself as a religious man, but he instantly regretted the phrase. With a sudden chill, he thought it might yet turn out to be literally true.

  Chapter 9

  Cecil came down to breakfast at nine o’clock. He still felt tired, although the rest of the night had been undisturbed by nightmares. He always took breakfast on the patio next to the pool unless the weather was bad, which was seldom. There was toast and croissants with various accompaniments, and scrambled eggs and bacon on a covered hot tray.

  Dianna was already lying in the sun on a recliner next to the pool, her white one-piece swimsuit showing off a respectable tan. Her skin seems to remember the Botswana sun after all the years in England, Cecil thought. But of course it had had the sun of the Riviera and the Adriatic to remind it, as well as her occasional hunting trips back to Botswana. She sat with her legs crossed, a plate on her lap. On the plate were a fruit knife and a green apple peel carefully removed in one long spiral. She was eating the crisp white fruit.

  She had a good figure, which she worked at—she’d probably been in the basement gym before her swim—and an interesting rather than pretty face, the planes and features of Roland’s face softened to a feminine incarnation. Very much her father’s daughter, Cecil thought. Not much evidence of her prissy society mother.

  “Hello, Uncle Cecil,” she said. “You’re up late this morning.”

  “I didn’t sleep very well. How are you today? Was the bed comfortable? Didn’t miss your fancy hotel suite? Where’s Angus?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I slept very well. Glad I didn’t battle back to the hotel after the party. Angus left early to pack up at the Grand Palm and catch a plane to South Africa. He’s attending that Botswana trade seminar in Cape Town. It seems he doesn’t expect to find it too demanding—he took his golf clubs and tennis racquet. Talked about going diving too.” She said this with a mixture of anger and irony. “He’ll be back just before the cocktail party next week.”

  “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Cecil helped himself to some toast and carefully covered it first with butter and then jam. “I thought he wanted to visit the Maboane mine again?” he added carefully.

  “Yes, I think he was impressed with the manager, Jason.”

  “Jason Ferraz.”

  Dianna nodded. “They got on well together when Jason took him around. Jason promised to show him some of the archaeological sites in the area and to take him hunting gemsbok if he came again. I suppose he’ll fit that in after he gets back from the coast.”

  Cecil didn’t reply, but took a bite of his toast.

  “You know, Uncle Cecil,” Dianna continued, “I need to get my brain engaged again.” She put the plate carefully on the side table next to her and turned toward Cecil, leaning slightly forward. “The whole world changes in about six weeks when Angus and I turn thirty, and he takes control of the trust. I think I should get to understand BCMC’s businesses better. I’m particularly interested in the resources side of the business. Did I tell you that one of my master’s projects was on the role mineral resources will play in African development? And that when I worked as an analyst, it was in the resources area?”

  Cecil digested this with another mouthful of toast, chewing slowly. He wasn’t quite sure how to react to this approach. Dianna was obviously a bright young woman—her success at the London School of Economics was proof of that—but she had never shown any direct interest in the company nor in the trust. In fact, this was the first time that their thirtieth birthday had come up in conversation. His instincts told him to tread warily, but he felt this could be an opportunity to sense which way the wind was blowing. The office could wait.

  “How do you think Angus feels about the company and the future? Which way will he want it to go, do you think?”

  For a moment Dianna said nothing, concentrating on the last scraps of fruit around the apple core. “You’re actually just like Dad, aren’t you, Uncle Cecil? I’m the one with an MSc in economics at LSE, but it’s Angus’s opinion you care about. He read arts at Oxford, majoring in rugby and rowing.”

  She has flashes of Roland’s temperament too, Cecil thought, hearing the bitterness in her voice. “Actually I care much more about your opinion than I do his,” he said, trying to make it sound sincere. “You know that I’ve been in control up to now, but your father’s wish was that Angus would take over when he turned thirty. It’s Angus who’ll have control of the trust. After his birthday, he’ll be able to say how the trust votes its forty percent of the BCMC stock. The government always votes its ten percent with the trust. So, with fifty percent of the company stock in his pocket, Angus will be able to do what he wants.”

  “Aren’t you hurt that Daddy left you only twelve and a half percent of the trust, Uncle Cecil?” she asked, still ignoring his original question. “After all, you’ve managed the trust for fifteen years for us all, and you’ve been chairman of BCMC for almost as long.”

  Cecil was quiet for a few moments. Careful to keep his voice neutral, he said, “Whe
n your father set up the trust, he expected to be alive when Angus turned thirty. He was generous to include me at all.”

  She shrugged. “You want to know how Angus will react? Angus doesn’t really care about any of this. He cares about his sports and his friends and, of course, his women—of which there are plenty, by the way. He’ll be more than happy to leave you to run BCMC, provided the money keeps flowing. What do you want to see happen?”

  “I thought the two of you should be appointed as nonexecutive directors. I could carry on as executive chairman for the next few years until Angus knows the ropes and is ready to take over. I thought you might be interested in an executive position, perhaps the financial director’s job in due course.” He watched to see how she reacted to this carrot. God knew that someone smart would have to keep financial control with Angus running the show, if he were really as casual about it as she suggested.

  “I’ve been accepted for an MBA at Harvard. That’s one possibility I’m considering. But I think it would be good to have hands-on experience here before I go.”

  Cecil helped himself to fresh coffee. Could it really be this easy? If Roland’s heirs were willing to keep out of his hair for, say, five years, he was sure he could repay his loans from the trust and turn the business over to them in good shape. By then the diamond-mine situation would be resolved as well, leaving him extremely wealthy, if Jason knew what he was talking about. He could retire as the faithful steward who had husbanded BCMC for the next generation. With an impressive pension and the block of equity he’d get from the trust, he could enjoy himself for the rest of his life. And after all, why should Dianna and Angus care about their father’s company? Roland had been dead for fifteen years, and their mother had taken both of them back to England to be educated and have the roughness of what she called “the colonies” polished away. Dianna had returned often because she loved the African bush, but Angus had not been back until a few weeks ago. Even with its recent setbacks, as Cecil preferred to call them, the trust would generate more than enough money to satisfy them.

  Dianna watched him while he poured the coffee and selected a chocolate croissant for dessert. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Uncle? You want us to get on with our lives and leave running BCMC to you, don’t you? It’s your baby now, isn’t it? You really are just like my father. Control is what it’s all about.”

  Cecil looked at her. “I think you and I could work well together, make a lot of money for the company, and enjoy doing it. I’m not sure that would really interest your brother.”

  Dianna moved over to the pool and sat on the top step with water up to her calves. She turned her head toward Cecil. “Well, it’s in the bag, isn’t it? Angus will vote the trust shares in your favor, and you’ll get the support of the government directors with their ten percent. You’ve made quite sure of that.”

  “You seem well informed,” said Cecil carefully.

  “As you just said, Uncle Cecil,” Dianna murmured, “whoever controls the trust controls the board.” She stood up and said brightly, “Are you going to have a swim? The water’s lovely.”

  “I’ve got to get to the office. Actually, I’ve got an appointment with Jason Ferraz at eleven about Maboane.”

  Dianna stretched and walked to the deep end of the pool, ready to dive. “There’s the answer to my question that you’ve been avoiding, Uncle,” she said, glancing up at him. “As a future director, I can start getting up to speed on BCMC’s resource interests. Why don’t you invite Jason to dinner? Let me know. I’ll come over from the hotel.”

  Cecil wasn’t sure he wanted the young geologist’s charm turned toward Dianna, so he muttered something noncommittal. He’d better get going, or the morning would be wasted. Rising, he meant to say good-bye to his niece, but she was already back in the pool, swimming underwater toward the far end.

  Chapter 10

  Arriving at the office, Cecil warmly greeted Jonny, his secretary, and accepted some freshly percolated coffee. Fifteen minutes before his appointment with the geologist, he extracted a brown envelope from his desk drawer and carefully reread the contents. Satisfied, he put the letter back in the envelope and into the drawer. He ran his hands over the leather inset on the top of his desk as though smoothing it, enjoying the feel of the well-used antique. It had been Roland’s desk. He had changed nothing in the office when he took over as chairman.

  He didn’t bother to rise when Jason entered, waving him to a chair and exchanging the usual pleasantries. Jason was of average height, heavily tanned, and sported a thick black beard. He wore the ubiquitous khaki shirt and slacks—with shoes, however, not boots. He asked how Angus was getting on with his orientation trips and then said how much he had enjoyed Dianna’s company. Cecil decided he might as well follow the preferences of the two young people and invited Jason to dinner with them that evening. After all, Jason was pleasant enough and kept a bottle of whisky good company. Jason hesitated and then accepted. But he seemed more relaxed after this promising beginning.

  Cecil turned to business. “Let’s talk about the Maboane mine. Is it still producing the same level of gems?”

  “Actually, even better. We will be comfortably in the black this quarter, at least on the mine operation itself. Exploration costs have gone up, though.”

  Cecil could have done without the qualification, but he nodded, waiting for Jason to continue.

  “We’re in a very rich part of the kimberlite. We’re now pulling out diamonds of multiple carats as well as the smaller ones we’ve been getting all along. It confirms what I’ve always suspected: that De Beers missed the gradated development of the ore body and walked away from what you might misname a gold mine.” He chuckled at this perennial joke, but Cecil wasn’t pleased to be reminded of the joint venture with De Beers. It was supposed to make their fortunes, but when the diamond giant rejected the prospect as not commercially viable, it had left him seriously out of pocket. Since then he had been less susceptible to the geologist’s enthusiasm and less gullible about his claims. And now there was the letter to add to his concerns.

  “The thing is that we don’t know how far this rich section will extend,” Jason continued. “For the moment we have a mine that’s going to make a substantial profit, but it’s the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the iceberg is in the surrounding kimberlite pipes. That’s where the real mine is.”

  “De Beers also knew about those pipes.”

  Jason shook his head. “No, they found the kimberlite dyke swarm, but they didn’t identify the surrounding pipes. They aren’t magnetic, so the De Beers magnetometer survey missed them completely. We picked them up with a ground gravity survey. I’ve had Aron supervising it, and he’s done a careful job. Look at this map showing the anomalies.”

  He unrolled a map on Cecil’s desk, pushing papers out of the way. The map showed the range of gravitational attraction, with indigo representing regions of low density and thus low gravitational attraction, red representing regions of high density and thus high attraction, and a rainbow of colors in between as the values changed from one extreme to the other. A number of substantial, roughly elliptical indigo areas were easily visible even to Cecil’s untrained eye. Kimberlite, the magic host rock of diamonds, had a low gravitational signature. So the low-gravity ellipses could well be a swarm of new kimberlites around the mine. If they were diamond bearing, it represented a huge increase in the value of the ore body.

  Jason could see that Cecil was impressed, and he pointed out the relative sizes and positions of the anomalies. In spite of himself, Cecil was excited. Could it be that his white elephant was the real thing after all?

  “Cecil,” Jason said, dropping the “Mr. Hofmeyr” he affected when things were going less well, “these pipes are almost certainly part of the same kimberlite extrusion we are mining, and we know from the existing mine that they will be diamondiferous. We need to do some initial work proving that these anomalies really are kimberlite. Then we get in one of the major mining
houses. The obvious one is BCMC itself, of course, but if you’re not comfortable with your company taking all the risk, we could bring in another major with diamond expertise and do a joint venture. Once we are into developing this mine, it will be much too big for the two of us. But we’ll keep a decent interest and sell out the rest for a fortune. I think it will be an impressive sum of money even by your standards.”

  He looked at Cecil, carefully gauging his interest. “I think that Angus is pretty interested, too. He may want to take the whole thing over for BCMC.”

  Jason realized at once that this had been the wrong thing to say. Cecil didn’t want to be reminded about Angus’s approaching control.

  “Yes, that all sounds wonderful if it works out,” Cecil snapped. “But these kimberlites can’t be close to the surface, or De Beers would have picked them up with sampling. They must be too deep to show. We’ll have to drill them. That’s very expensive. Where’s that money going to come from?”

  “We’ll have to put in a million dollars, say, to get it to the stage where a major will start drooling.”

  Cecil snorted. “That’s the opposite of the royal we, isn’t it? In this case it means me, doesn’t it? You don’t have that sort of money.”

  “Perhaps we can leverage the money from the mine’s operations?”

  “How much profit do you expect from it this quarter?”

  “Perhaps a hundred thousand dollars.”

  He’s a dreamer, Cecil thought. He believes all this—and, to be fair, he has some good science to back it up. But one prospect in a hundred produces an ore body, and only one in a hundred of those becomes a really worthwhile mine. Am I looking at one of that tiny percentage here, or is this gravity map a picture of a black hole into which my money—the trust’s money, he corrected himself uncomfortably—is disappearing at an alarming rate?

  “Mr. Hofmeyr, this could be the start of a whole new diamond province. We’ve got a really big prospecting lease too. If we do a deal with BHP, they can fly their Falcon aerial gravity system over the area. We could end up with a world-class mine! Remember that the richest diamond mine in the world is at Jwaneng, less than sixty miles away as the crow flies.”