Blood Stones (14 page)

The Englishman was coming for a second interview. He had sensed a very deep anxiety in the man. He was a senior and practised negotiator. Dimitri had researched him long before their first meeting. He knew every detail of that disastrous encounter five years earlier, and his near expulsion from the country. Ray Andrews had no reason to think of the Russians as easy targets for a capitalist giant like Diamond Enterprises.

He had shown no evidence of a grudge. He was composed, outwardly confident in the preliminary stage, and Borisov had been as coldly non-committal as possible, without being openly hostile. He was setting the scene for what might be a very tough round of negotiations. And he had already determined the final price. It would be high indeed.

Ray Andrews was shown in at exactly four-thirty. Borisov was a punctual man who never forgave it if he was kept waiting. His interpreter was beside him.

They shook hands, and the Englishman said, ‘Thank you for bringing our meeting about so quickly.'

The interpreter translated. Borisov smiled. It changed his expression dramatically. Some men smiled and it meant nothing but a grimace. Andrews saw a man of humour and even warmth for that brief moment. The translator said, ‘Would you like a glass of tea? Or some coffee?'

‘A glass of tea, please,' Ray said. ‘I got a taste for it when I was here last.'

Borisov spoke. The translator said, ‘That can't have been a happy experience for you.'

‘No,' Andrews admitted. ‘But, under the circumstances, your reaction was quite understandable. It did make my position rather difficult in London.'

‘I am sure it did.' He was startled by the voice. Dimitri Valerian Borisov had spoken in English. He said a few words to the interpreter, who said to Andrews, ‘Tea will be brought to you, Mr Andrews. My services aren't needed.'

‘I wondered,' Ray said, ‘whether they were really needed the first time we met.'

Borisov shrugged. ‘I learned English at university.' He offered no explanation. ‘It's a difficult language for us. I'm told Russian is also difficult for you.'

‘I don't speak it, I'm afraid. I have fluent French, because it's a second language in some parts of Africa, where I've spent a lot of time over the years. But for some reason, the English have never bothered to learn other languages. I think it's a great mistake.'

‘Why should they, when half the world spoke theirs?'

‘I suppose so. Your English is extremely good. You've never been to England?'

‘No. One day perhaps.'

Andrews said pleasantly, ‘We'd be glad to invite you.'

‘I'd be glad to come. One day, when I have a little time for a holiday. I can't think when that might be. We have so much to do, Mr Andrews, to reshape our country. Our problems are enormous. Our economy has been mismanaged and allowed to drift into chaos. Slowly and painfully, we are trying to get it right. Here is our tea.'

A blonde girl in a white shirt and black skirt brought them two steaming glasses, topped with lemon slices. Andrews noticed that she had fat legs.

Borisov sipped. ‘I have made enquiries into the … er … rumours you mentioned,' he said. ‘First, I will explain our position. Our previous dealings with Diamond Enterprises … your trip here five years ago to negotiate a concession for the mine at Archangel – they did not leave a good impression, Mr Andrews. The man who was prepared to sign away our rights to manage our own diamond mines was a criminal; he had accepted large sums of money for other deals connected with mineral rights. We have no doubt that a bribe was going to be paid to him when he went to London to sign that agreement with you. He is still serving a long prison sentence. Since then we have developed our own resources without Western help. And very successfully, as Archangel proves. We faced great difficulties. To say it was an environmental nightmare was no exaggeration. And a mining nightmare, which was even worse. We had to exploit a 700-metre mud pile of water-saturated unconsolidated Cambrian sediments. That water had to be pumped out, using the open pit method, from an excavation of a final diameter of 9 kilometres. This outflow would have contaminated the local fish spawning grounds. Also dust and leached material would cause widespread pollution. Our local population, educated in the dangers of destroying the environment, were much opposed to any mining operation in the area, where swamps and huge forests would suffer as a result.'

He paused.

Andrews said, ‘Nightmare is the only word.'

‘We solved our problems,' Borisov said. ‘We found our own solutions. We didn't need Diamond Enterprises or any other Western expertise to bring that mine and other smaller mines, into production. We chose to use wider-diameter bore holes in a grid of 4.6 metres or 6.2 metres into the diamond bearing pipes, and removed the debris in solution for treatments. There has been no ecological disaster at Archangel, and we have one of the biggest mines, yielding some of the rarest diamonds in the world.' He smiled. It was triumphant. ‘How appropriate that those diamonds should be red.' There was a pause, and then he said, ‘I went to the area three months ago. I saw the diamonds in the rough. And some polished stones. Have you seen a sample?'

Andrews nodded. ‘Yes. A five-carat flawless red stone. It was breathtaking. Unique. I must say how much I admire your achievements in bringing that mine into production in spite of such horrendous problems. I take your point about doing it without Western technology. Now, I'd like to make a few points explaining our position, and why we wanted the concession in the first place. Will you give me a fair hearing?'

‘Why would you expect otherwise, Mr Andrews?'

‘Because …' Ray had decided to gamble with this man. Gamble on honesty against his suspicion of Diamond Enterprises, and of Western motives towards Russia. ‘Because I get the impression you don't like us. Or trust us.'

There was a flicker of surprise. ‘That won't influence my judgement. I told you the first time we met, I am only concerned with what benefits my country. If you can show me a benefit, I will listen to anything.'

‘Thank you,' Ray said. ‘I came out here five years ago to get the concession to develop and run what our geologists believed was a mine to rival the biggest diamond fields in the world. Our motive wasn't to own a diamond mine, however important. Diamond Enterprises isn't a greedy little firm, fighting over a mine concession. What we're protecting is the diamond industry as a whole. We control the distribution and sale of diamonds throughout the world; we keep the prices pegged at the right rate – not too high, not too low. There was a time when the price of diamonds fell to next to nothing in the early Thirties, because the industry was killing itself by price cutting and infighting for power. Jan Heyderman stopped all that. All the wealth that comes from mining diamonds is concentrated and safeguarded by the organizational methods we've built up over the past fifty years. Now Karakov wants to go outside it. He wants to market his goods direct. If this mine is big enough, that could and will undermine our authority. The system will begin to break down. In the end everyone will be the losers, including your country, Mr Borisov. Nobody benefits in these wars. I'm not a mining engineer, and I know damn little about diamonds, but I do know something about economics, and if we can't stop Karakov, then the red diamond that I saw in London means one thing: the death of the diamond industry. That's the truth. That's why I'm here.'

There was a silence. He had spoken with fierce conviction. He had been honest and because of it he had shown that Diamond Enterprises was vulnerable.

‘The stability of the market in diamonds is just as much in Russia's interest as it is in ours.' Ray Andrews spoke more calmly. ‘You have a vast natural resource which is only just becoming near its potential. Gemstones aside, the demand for industrials is enormous with the opening up of Eastern Europe and the need for advanced technology in countries wanting to compete economically with us and the world as a whole.

‘You would have a bottomless source of foreign currency which your country needs. You need foreign investment and favourable foreign loans. I am authorized to recommend both from our Chairman and Board of Directors. If the vanity and short-sighted policy of Ivan Karakov is allowed to disturb the fine balance of our hold on the price and distribution of diamonds, then everything goes down the bloody drain.'

He searched in his pocket and brought out a packet of filter cigarettes.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?'

‘I'll join you, Mr Andrews. We're not so paranoid about tobacco as you are. We have too many other things killing us to worry about cigarettes. When I went to Archangel, I met Ivan Karakov. He came up on a very private visit. He presented me with one of the red stones he had cut in Paris as a sampler for our government. He suggested I give it to my wife.'

He smiled slightly, mocking the old man's attempts at a bribe.

‘I don't have a wife. I presented it to our Gemology Institute. You know he has offered us a guaranteed outlet to the Middle East market? Exclusive rights in those red stones, making their value incalculable since we will be the only source and he the only agent. And for the other coloured stones – fancies, you say in the trade. Green sapphire, blue … very clear deep cinnamons. And, of course, the quality of the blue whites, the normal stuff of the diamond trade … they seem to be exceptional, too. We have an agreement between Russians, Mr Andrews. We are partners and brothers in this enterprise.'

There was something about him that tempted Ray to take a greater risk.

‘With all due respect to you, Mr Borisov, that's bullshit.' He looked Borisov in the eye, and he grinned. ‘I can't claim to know you, but I've still made a judgement. I think you're a patriot. You'd drop Ivan Karakov right in the middle of that pit if I offered you a better deal. And I can offer you whatever you want. So long as it isn't the Chairmanship of Diamond Enterprises!'

Dimitri Valerian Borisov laughed.

‘A pity. I might have asked for that. I have been thinking. There are some options I might recommend. For your Board's consideration.'

Andrews controlled his excitement. Negotiations had begun.

‘Try them on me,' he said.

‘I love this apartment. It's great!'

‘I'm so glad you like it,' Elizabeth said. The move was over. Their personal luggage had been unpacked, and the sofa and armchairs she'd ordered were delivered and in place. She and James had shifted furniture, trying to make the salon more informal, and to some extent they had succeeded. He had praised everything, been full of enthusiasm for the apartment, and christened the bed by making love to Elizabeth the night they arrived and bringing her breakfast on a tray the next morning.

‘I love you,' he said. ‘We're going to enjoy all this and I know I'm going to bring it off!'

Elizabeth had convinced herself that the apartment was less impersonal than she imagined and they would make their mark on it. She was deliberately untidy for a start. James didn't comment, but simply picked the magazines off the floor and arranged them neatly on the marble-topped coffee-table. He knew his wife liked to kick off her shoes and curl up in comfort.

He said they needed a maid. She stared at him. ‘Don't be silly, I've got a cleaning lady. Your office fixed her up for me. I don't want a maid.'

‘We're going to have a lot of parties,' he explained. ‘She'll open the door, take the coats, pass the drinks round when we have just a few people. Caterers can cope with the big flat warming. Darling,' he said patiently, as she started to argue, ‘I know you think it's a load of crap, but the French are the biggest snobs on earth and Karakov married his daughter to a Romanian prince just so he could tell people she was a princess. He's been keeping the husband ever since. Ring the agency this morning and get someone. And I've asked the Wassermans round for a drink this evening. They're staying at the Crillon. He's going to make the introduction. Be very nice to them, sweetheart. They're only here to help me.'

‘Of course I'll be nice,' she promised. She was surprised that he asked her specially. She was always nice to guests in her own home. Even if it did look like a Hollywood stage set for
Marie Antoinette, the movie
.

‘What a nice apartment,' David Wasserman said. He paused and looked round, noting the furniture, appraising the value and authenticity of the pieces. He was quite an expert on French eighteenth-century furniture and porcelain. He loved porcelain and had a small but rare collection.

‘It's a bit stiff,' Elizabeth apologized. ‘Not really a place to put your feet up, but we'll manage.'

She had shaken hands with them, and done her best to be friendly. She couldn't explain it, but she had got no response from the old man and positively bad vibes from his wife. Now, Clara Wasserman followed her husband in gazing round the room.

‘Pity about the soft furnishings,' she remarked. ‘They spoil it. Couldn't you get rid of them?' she asked Elizabeth. ‘They don't go with the feel of the room at all.'

It was a chance shot, because she saw the sofa and chairs were brand new and felt sure the Hastings girl had ordered them. She stared at Elizabeth with dark eyes, bright with dislike. She didn't like the English, and she especially disliked that type of English woman with her plummy accent, giving off charm and being gracious.

‘Not really,' Elizabeth said. ‘I bought them. I can't bear sitting on hard-arsed chairs.' Irritation made her spit out her father's description of what he dismissed as bloody awful spindly French rubbish. ‘Anyway, do let's sit down, and James'll get us all a drink. What would you like, Mrs Wasserman?'

‘Martini,' Clara said. ‘No olive, just a twist of lemon. David'll have the same.'

‘I'll get them,' James said, trying to be flip, ‘I mix a mean Martini, or so I'm told.'