DIAMOND RAIDERS
By Bob Curby

Chapter 2


20 years later, Radisson Hotel, Bleuberg Strand, Cape Town, 4:30 a.m.

Analise Van Rensberg sat bolt upright in the darkness, her eyes wide and stark. Beads of sweat rolled down from her brow and dropped off the end of her chin. She glanced at the digital clock glowing beside her, and sighed. The same recurring nightmare she had endured for 20 years had once again thrust its ugly fingers into her restless sleep. Her night had been disturbed as it always was by the vivid images of that awful day in Namibia; the burning car, the fatal bullet in her father’s neck, the repeated raping of her mother, and the gasping for breath as she fought for her own life. Then there was the long bloody wait in the infirmary while police and security staff argued over the events that had taken place. Every time she woke up like this, she vowed she would make SMC pay in some way. The trauma had put her mother into an institution and her into foster care. It was no wonder that at 25 she already had a reputation as a strong willed woman. The years of nightmares had taken their toll, she looked much older than she was and her maturity was evident in her decision making. The terrible ordeal in the Namib had left her with asthma and a weakness in confined areas, but she’s never let it prevent her from building her career.

She threw back the bedclothes and strode into the bathroom, flicking the light switch as she did so. Her body glistened with sweat even though the room was air-conditioned. This was the sweat of a nightmarish fear, of reliving a horror, and believing once again that it was really taking place, right there, right then. She opened the cabinet and took out a bottle, popped the lid and tapped a couple of tablets into the palm of her hand. Filling a glass with water, she downed the tablets in one swallow and returned to the bed, flicking off the light in almost a contemptuous way. She needed to get more sleep. The dawning day was going to be one the most important in her life; she wanted to be on top form.

10:00 a.m., the Mandela Room. Her broken night’s sleep over and a light breakfast despatched, Analise had verified her booking and obtained the key to the syndicate room from the morning receptionist at the Radisson. She placed a notepad and pencil before her on the table as she drew the chair under her, reached down and picked up a leatherette case, sliding it onto her lap, unzipped it and removed a laptop computer from within. She opened the laptop lid and, after pressing the on button, stood up and walked to the window. She looked out across the bay, past Robben Island, Mandela’s prison home for 27 years, on to the distant city centre of Cape Town nestled underneath the huge monolithic Table Mountain. She expelled her breath in a short burst and turned back to the table as the laptop played a little tune, heralding the opening of the operating system. She sat again and fingers speedily moving over the keys, began to open the files and presentation material she was to use that morning.

Meanwhile, in the reception foyer, four people had each in turn entered through the revolving door, approached the receptionist, who, after a brief discussion, had asked them to take a seat. For a few moments they sat in thought. Then they began to examine the pictures on the walls around them, and finally, gave quick glances at the others, trying to size each one up without being too obvious. There were three men and one woman. One man was Kurt Hoeliche, a South African of German parents, a member of the South African elite Security Forces, but only a reservist as his time was served. He was an expert in all things military and had many friends and contacts in important places. Analise was once his lover. Many men had tried to get through her steely exterior and had failed. She wasn't an 'iron maiden' nor a virgin, but she was in control, she decided when and who with. There had been men in her life and she had enjoyed many good times, as her diary would show. Kurt knew why he was there. They had recently met to discuss the very reason he and the others were sitting in reception. Next to him was a young Zulu woman, Margie Makabe, an expert in the grading and cutting of diamonds, she was wondering why she had letter from a senior manager of a City department store asking her to be at a very expensive hotel on a day she’d rather have been scuba diving in False Bay.

Alongside Margie sat a huge man, Rafi Henderson-Villiers, a native of St Helena; he looked uncomfortable as he tried to fit his over-sized frame into a seemingly small armchair. He was an expert in sailing and navigating. No-one knew the waters between South Africa and St Helena better than he did. The fourth person was Tom Botha, the eldest of the group at 31, an expert in radio technology, global positioning satellites, and mobile telephones. Rafi and Tom were both high level graded in martial arts. Margie held certificates in First Aid and emergency evacuation procedures. They had never met before.


Kurt, knowing the reason for the small gathering, but not wanting to spoil any of Analise’s prepared presentation, decided to break the ice and offer some chance for the others to break down the nerve barriers. “So, I assume you guys got letters from Miss Van Rensberg? What do you reckon we’re invited to do?”
“Stuffed if I know, what does she want with me – is she about to buy a whole lot of global positioning satellite equipment, mobile phones or walkie-talkie radios?”
“Well, she might – you’ll have to ask her.”
Kurt looked at Tom and remembered the data he had researched on the man. He didn’t look like the country’s top man in electronic wizardry, but on the other hand he didn’t look like a geek either.
His eyes moved over to the mountain of a man sitting uncomfortably in a chair that was far too small for him. The St Helenan gave him a sort of exasperated look as he gave his answer to the question.
“I just want to know why I could be of any use to a City dweller – me, a deep sea fisherman.”
“And a big one at that.” They all laughed, and Kurt looked at Margie to join in, but for the moment, she said nothing. Her thoughts were still with her love for diving and swimming. He had found out that she was very special, with talents beyond those normally required for her job. She was beautiful too, her pearly white teeth sparkling in the dark coffee coloured skin. He tried to draw her out once more.
“So, what do you do? I mean, we have an electronics guy, a deep sea fisherman and me, well, I’m an arranger, a gofer, - you know, I go for things we need….”
“Me? I’m a diamond cutter.”
“A diamond cutter?” Tom stared in amazement at this gorgeous young Zulu. “What the hell does she want with you? This is very weird!”
“Well, I also dive, I have certificates in dives down to 100 metres – maybe there’s a wreck somewhere.” Margie’s eyes grew bright as her beloved sport suddenly became a possible need. Kurt smiled, he knew that her skills would certainly be of great value to the most daring robbery ever considered in his lifetime.

For several minutes they continued to speculate on why they were there, what was connection between them and how did it all fit together. Meanwhile, Analise was running through the final preparations for what was to be the most important presentation of her life. There was a knock at the door. She glanced up at the sound of it.
“Come.”
There was a brief silence, and the knock came again.
“For goodness sake! Come in will you!”
The door opened and a sheepish face appeared in the opening.
“Well?”
“Ma’am, you said there were five persons for this room, yes?”
“That’s correct.”
“Well Ma’am, there are three men and a woman in reception. They have letters from you telling them to come here. Are you ready for them?”
“Yes, I’m ready, please send them here, all together – and chase up the refreshments would you please.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Oh, and there aren’t enough pens and pads, can you arrange some more too.”
“Of course Ma’am.”
“Thank you.”

Analise was used to giving orders, she was a senior manager in a large department store in the City Centre. It never took anyone long to see her leadership qualities. She was a quick thinker with an eye for detail. The once rampant asthma had now dwindled away and gave her little trouble but occasionally she would still find herself short of breath and so always carried an inhaler just in case. She never smoked and avoided strong perfumes, usually. She had made an exception for the special day and used an expensive French cologne to build herself up for the presentation she was about to make to the four specially chosen people heading for the Mandela room.

There was another knock on the door. Without waiting for her response, it was opened and they came in and stood the other side of table. The last one in, Kurt, closed the door behind him.
“Sit down please.” Analise regarded them over the top of the laptop as they shuffled about and dragged the chairs back from under the table. She smiled warmly to set them at ease.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable, pens and pads are on the way, as are refreshments. Thank you for coming. This won’t take very long and it will be to your advantage, that I can promise.”
She had been looking forward to this for a long time.

She looked hard at the four of them, they had to look away from her piercing black eyes. Each one in turn tried to look calm and cool. They were all churned up inside, yet intrigued by the letter that had invited them to the meeting with her. Only Kurt knew anything about this attractive business woman, and he had already had meetings with her during the week previous. As he sat down almost opposite her he remembered the good times they had shared. Rafi grunted as he struggled to get his huge legs under the table and Tom drew out the chair for Margie, who regarded him with a bit of disdain, then softened and smiled. “Thank you.” Finally, Tom sat and immediately began doodling on a small piece of paper under his hand. He always did that when nervous or on the phone.

Another knock sounded.
“I reckon that’s the refreshments.”
The door opened and two waiters came into the room with trays and a third pushed in a trolley with cups and saucers and a pump flask of coffee.
“Please, help yourselves and come back to the table, the waiters will put water and pens and pads in your places while you do that.”
Coffee and biscuits in hand the four sat down once again.
“I suppose you’d like to know why you are here today?”

You are reminded that all work by Bob Curby is copyrighted and cannot only be reproduced in any form without the permission of the owner. FA©T 2008.