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Authors: Madge Swindells

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BOOK: Hot Ice
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It’s well past nine a.m. by the time Chris steps out of the lift on the sixth floor. She pauses…hears the lift doors close…the hum of its descent… Something’s wrong. There’s a difference. It’s the silence, she realises, as she hurries across the marble foyer, past the empty desk to the passage. First on the right is the secretaries’ open-plan office. She sees Jean is sobbing into a tissue. Mary Frampton, Rowan’s secretary, is standing beside Jean’s desk looking distraught. Their ten typists look pseudo-sad, like mourners at a funeral who don’t know the deceased sufficiently well to grieve. Chris hovers in the doorway wondering if she should interfere. Then the boardroom door opens and three men emerge. Rowan hovers behind them. Chris steps into the office as they pass.

‘Rowan left a message on your desk. Ben has died,’ Jean says. Her mumbled words end with a high-pitched sob. Moments later she is holding a
handful of tissues over her face, while Mary tries to comfort her. Her words knock Chris headlong into another kind of reality, a state of mind where emotions are banished and cold, hard reason takes over.

‘How did he die?’ she asks.

‘How can you be so cool?’ Jean snaps accusingly.

Mary looks shocked. ‘Rowan called Ben’s brother-in-law. He was found hanging under a bridge. At first the FBI were talking about suicide but now it’s murder. The men leaving now are from the US Embassy.’

Ben…dead… It was inconceivable. Insane! Chris feels unreality crowding in on her, yet her mind is racing from point to point as she goes through Ben’s last call. Ben had been about to meet Moses Freeman. He’d been prepared to go to Liberia if necessary. Did Moses Freeman kill Ben?

She’s about to hurry after Rowan and tell him this, but she hesitates. If she reveals her suspicions to Rowan, he’ll take her off the investigation, but she’s not going to let him do that, there’s too much at stake. She has a compulsion to find out who killed Ben. And then there’s Sienna captured by those thugs when she should be on her honeymoon…or is she already dead, too?

She is right about Rowan. A sealed envelope lying on her desk contains an official letter from their managing partner, relating details of Ben’s death and his regrets, ending with the words:
A new
 
investigation has landed on my desk concerning the fashion industry. It’s for you, so please return all data concerning the diamond laundering investigation, including your latest report, no later than noon today.

Chris feels fury mounting until she can’t think straight. She slams her door, cancels all calls and forces herself to think rationally about Rowan’s decision, but as her head clears, her anger sharpens. Reaching a sudden decision, she calls Jean.

‘Is Rowan alone?’

‘Hang on, I’ll ask Mary. Yes. Look, I’m sorry, Chris. After all, as Mary says, you’ve only been here for a few days, not long enough to get to know Ben.’

Long enough to love Ben, Chris decides grimly as she murmurs the appropriate words of condolence and replaces the receiver.

 

Black despair grips her and that’s something that she fears. Only fury can disperse her mood. She strides into Rowan’s office, ignoring his glance of frustrated impatience and rips his letter down the middle. Dropping the halves into his bin, she glares right back at him. ‘Forget it, Rowan. I came here to work on the diamond laundering investigation and until it’s finished it’s my baby.’

‘OK. Calm down. Let’s talk about it. Want some coffee?’

She feels like a deflated balloon as her anger evaporates. ‘It’s like this…’

‘Save it…count to ten…or ten thousand…I have to read this and phone someone. Sit tight and wait for coffee. You need to learn to handle tension.’

For God’s sake, it’s not tension, it’s murder and kidnapping, but she keeps her retort to herself. Right now she needs FI and she needs Rowan.

Coffee comes. Chris ladles in three spoonfuls of sugar, hoping the carbohydrates will stoke her fury. Anger brings courage, a quick tongue, a sense of invincibility and sweeps aside all opposition. At last Rowan pushes the pages aside and calls through to Mary. ‘Tell him we’ll go ahead,’ he grunts.

‘Ben called me,’ Rowan begins deceptively softly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at the time. He said he had a bad feeling about the investigation and he asked me to take you off it. In a way you could say that it was Ben’s last request, so you might see my decision a little differently. I wasn’t suggesting you’re not capable…’

‘Let’s not start that again,’ she interrupts him.

So Ben had wanted her off the case. He cared. Chris can feel sorrow taking over, clogging her mind. What could be more ludicrous than a sobbing woman in a man’s world. She stands up abruptly and walks to the window. It’s a while before she can risk talking, so it’s lucky that Rowan is saying much the same thing all over again.

‘What choice do I have?’ he’s bleating, but she can see that his heart isn’t in it. Finally, in the face
of her determination, he caves in and actually looks relieved.

‘For God’s sake take care. We don’t charge danger pay to our clients. We’re not supposed to be taking risks. Believe me, I don’t have anyone else keen to take this case over, but naturally I’m worried about you. Worried sick, to tell the truth. Have you had any problems? Any threats or warnings?’

‘No,’ she lies. Now is not the time to tell him about her stalker and the white Ford Fiesta. Then there is the curious fact that Husam knew about their investigation and knew that Ben was missing. It’s like playing blind-man’s bluff and she’s the one who’s blindfolded.

‘I have to go to New York. Moses Freeman is our only lead.’

‘That’s out of the question. Are you harbouring some sort of a death wish…?’

She quells him with a scathing look. She’s beginning to suss him out. Rowan is a weak man, playing a strong man’s role, relying on brains and cunning. She says: ‘Perhaps Ben was murdered because he stumbled on to something that would shed some light on this investigation. That’s the only possibility that makes any sense. I mean…there has to be a good reason.’ Her voice is rising ominously, so she makes an effort to calm herself.

‘Did Ben have any success? Did he find anything?’

‘Ben had a hunch that al-Qaeda is behind the diamond laundering. I’m not so sure. Ben’s murder was dressed up to look like suicide.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You told Mary. Mary told me. Let’s face it, this isn’t the way those guys do things. They murder with a flourish, preferably on television, with the intention of circulating their horror story to kids’ mobiles.’ She shudders. ‘Surely the fact that the murder was disguised as a suicide tells us that the person or persons we’re looking for are vulnerable to any publicity or probing.’

‘We have no proof that Ben’s murder is connected with this investigation.’

‘Ben is not the type to get mixed up in anything murky. You know that.’

Rowan nods. ‘True! And what about the Provident Trust. Was that a total waste of time?’

‘I’m not sure. Prince Husam Ibn al-Faisal is a deeply spiritual man and he has a vision. He sees himself galloping on his white Arab stallion to slay ignorance and poverty. He told me he longs to drag Africa into the twenty-first century. But yes, he does buy illicit diamonds. Masses of cash pass through his hands as aid for various African countries and it’s gleaned from all over the Middle East. I have dozens of his projects on file, but there must be many more.’

Rowan watches her curiously. ‘I can see that he’s impressed you.’

Ignoring his inference, Chris stands lost in thought for a few seconds. ‘Just one thing bothers me…’ She breaks off.

Why tell Rowan of Husam’s dealings with Freeman. He’ll try to pull her off the investigation again and he’ll block her passage to New York.

‘You were saying…’ Rowan prompts her.

‘Let’s not forget Mohsen Sheik,’ she improvises. ‘His daughter’s kidnapping tells us something. My view is that Sienna is being held hostage to force her father to purchase the more inferior grades of blood diamonds.’

‘Why him?’

‘Because India is the only market for tiny, lowgrade rough diamonds. They are polished and exported to brighten cheap jewellery. In the past these roughs had industrial uses, but nowadays the industry uses synthetic diamonds. Indian workshops provide the only market for this socalled diamond waste. Mohsen Sheik controls most of the country’s polishing workshops…he supplies them with roughs and exports the polished stones.’

Rowan glances sharply at her. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘At school I shared a dormitory with his daughter. By the way…I meant to ask you…the police should have this information. Shall I…?’

Rowan was scribbling in his notebook. ‘Write it down and give it to Mary. I’ll pass it on. It’ll save you time. All police collaboration normally goes
through me, unless they specifically want to see you. Anything else I should know?’

‘Well, yes, there is something. I didn’t mention that I cabled our Bombay office. I asked them to send us a review of Jewelrex Company’s past weeks’ cash transactions, and that we’re looking for large cash payments.’

Rowan stands for a while with his back turned, as if deep in thought. ‘Good thinking Chris, but be careful. I know I should relinquish the investigation, but it’s at government level, so I’m reluctant to throw in the towel. At least not right now.’

‘I won’t let you,’ Chris whispers to herself as she stands up and makes for the door. ‘It might help me to know who our clients are.’

‘Believe it or not, it’s the Republic of Congo. They feel they’re suffering from unfair prejudice. They want the facts before they appeal.’ Chris tries not to show how startled she feels. ‘Dave Marais claims to be deputising for our client.’

‘Yes. He’s acting for this government in an advisory capacity.’

She sighs with relief. ‘Then I’ll be getting along.’

Rowan sends one of his rare, twisted smiles her way. ‘Keep away from Moses Freeman. That’s an order.’

As Chris hurries back to her office she considers her options. Despite Rowan’s advice, her top priority is Freeman, but it might be wiser to do
without Jean’s help in booking a flight to New York. Chris hasn’t yet decided whether or not she can trust her. The last thing she wants is Rowan breathing down her neck again.

Chris closes her office door and calls her travel agent. Fortunately there’s a cancellation on the six a.m. flight the next day. She has only just replaced the receiver when Dave bursts in unannounced. Jean follows hard behind him looking flustered.

‘It’s all right, Jean. This is Dave Marais from Trans-Africa. David, meet Jean, no longer a disembodied voice on the telephone.’

‘Damn woman wouldn’t let me in,’ David grumbles the moment the door closes behind her.

‘Guests are supposed to sit in our conference room where they get coffee or tea with biscuits…even lunch if the kitchen is warned in advance.’

Dave ignores her. ‘I can’t believe what happened to Ben. It’s a bloody nightmare.’

So he knows. The word has got around fast. Chris nods, unable to speak for a few seconds.

Suddenly Chris feels Dave’s hand pressing hers. She looks up, startled by the gesture and by the strangely intent look in his eyes. She stares at his hand. He has long, strong brown fingers and there are thick blond hairs around his wrist. This would be great if she felt the need for a masculine shoulder to lean on, but she doesn’t. She sets about extricating her fingers.

‘I feel useless and frustrated,’ Dave is saying in a husky voice. ‘Ben was a close friend…one of the best. This investigation…well, let’s say it’s dangerous…best left to the police. There’s too much money involved. I want you out of here. I can’t let you come to any harm, Chris. I think you know how I feel about you. Women always know.’

Chris stems her irritation and persuades herself that Dave means well. He’s a man you can trust, even if his views are a little passé. A tough, reliable, clever man and for reasons which she doesn’t understand, he seems to be trying to impress her. He’s probably pushing fifty, but he’s sexy, suntanned, lean and athletic, but she’s not paid to waste time in office hours. She decides to cut short his visit.

‘You’re wasting your valuable time, Dave. I’m not leaving. I’ve just had the same argument with Rowan.’

‘Do you see yourself as some sort of a bionic woman? Invincible perhaps?’ He subjects Chris to a keen, searching appraisal, from her feet to her hair.
It’s disconcerting and Chris guesses that his intention is to throw her off guard. She doesn’t bother to answer.

‘Look here, Chris. I understand that you crave adventure enough to throw up a brilliant career, but don’t you think this detection work is beneath you…with your brains?’ He smiles indulgently.

What can she say? You have a flattering turn of phrase, David, but I’m not falling for it. Or…I owe it to Ben and Sienna. Or how about…mind your own bloody business, Dave. Wisely she says nothing at all, which doesn’t phase David because clearly he has other matters on his mind.

‘Come clean, Chris. You haven’t found out a damn thing, have you?’

‘Too true,’ she replies with a brittle smile.

‘So what have you been up to? You’ve been out of the office for days.’

Chris glances sharply at him. ‘I’ve been doing the rounds of retailers…getting to know the marketing side of the diamond business.’

‘Anyone helping you?’

‘Not really. I took your advice and pretended to be writing a book on diamonds.’

‘Have the police contacted you?’

‘No. Why should they? I was in London.’

‘But I expect you know who Ben saw in New York. He must have told you.’ He glances anxiously at her.

‘No. Unfortunately not. No doubt his sister will
send his notes back to us when the police return them to her.’

‘That could take some time.’ Dave looks up from studying her desk. His large, grey eyes scan her cautiously. ‘Do you reckon you’re any nearer to finding the culprits?’

‘No, but you’ve just joined the list of suspects, David.’ She laughs at his studied indifference.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘All these questions.’

He stands, as if deep in thought. How on earth is she going to get rid of him? ‘I have another appointment, Dave, and a great deal of work to do,’ she says gently.

‘Listen,’ she adds hastily noticing his hurt expression. ‘I appreciate your concern. OK, so you’re a bit chauvinistic. Out of tune with the times, I would say. It’s your colonial upbringing that’s to blame, but you care and I thank you for that.’

At last she’s got through to him. He grabs her arm and gives her a slight shake.

‘Don’t be frivolous. This isn’t a frivolous matter. Listen to me, for God’s sake. Hear me! You’re like a little buck in the forest, still wet behind the ears and stumbling around in the dark. These masterminds are putting away millions in Swiss banks. Their transactions are almost impossible to trace, but just suppose you do discover one of the laundering routes…they’d put out your light…just like that…just like they did to Ben.’

Suddenly she’s grasped in a bear-like hug that almost knocks the wind out of her.

‘I can’t allow you to get hurt. You’ve got to give up this business.’

‘Dave…please…this is my office.’

He pushes her away and strides out without saying goodbye.

So what was that all that about, she wonders after he’s gone. He didn’t ask her out to dinner after all.

 

It was past eleven before she managed to see Rowan again.

‘Mr Marais has been on to me. He wants me to replace you with a man.’

‘Dave’s the ultimate male chauvinist pig,’ she snarls.

Rowan looks embarrassed. ‘I told him we’d be open to a sex discrimination claim.’

‘Good for you. Listen, Rowan, I need to check on one of Prince Husam’s African ventures, namely the diamond cutting workshops in Liberia. Husam has shed a lot of cash there. Seven workshops are supposed to have been set up and there should be large cash payments for wages, for instance, office expenses and so on. I need to know if these workshops really exist, or if they cover for his cash payments, which could really be for buying blood diamonds. Do we – or does our head office – have a man in Liberia?’

‘There’s a team nearby investigating an oil scam,’ Rowan replies without hesitation. ‘I can ask them to look into it.’

‘Thanks. Here are the details.’ She lays her memo on his desk.

‘It may take a couple of days.’

‘Sure.’

 

Jean waylays her in the passage. ‘The public relations officer of the diamond trading organisation has only just called to ask why we haven’t replied to their invitation to a diamond exhibition. I told them we didn’t receive one, so they’ve sent one round by hand.
Diamonds through the ages
. All the nobs in the diamond world will be there. Plus, four top fashion houses are combining with a number of European jewellery designers to show jewels and gowns in a fashion show. What shall I tell them?’

‘When is it?’

‘It’s tonight, I’m afraid.’

Just as well or she’d have some explaining to do.

‘Tell them I’ll be there. Thanks Jean. I wonder how they know we’re into diamonds? Oh, by the way, I’ve been waiting for a call from Bombay. Did it come while I was talking to Rowan?’

‘Not since I’ve been here.’

‘Please call our Bombay branch and tell them I’m waiting for a reply.’

‘Will do.’

‘I’m going to be busy in the IT room for a couple of hours. You can put through my calls.’

‘Will do.’

 

As usual, Janice is tied up with some mysterious task which suits Chris perfectly. It’s simple to hack into Husam’s home PC. She has all his details. She runs through recent ‘Sent mail’ and finds a note written to Moses Freeman about half an hour after she left the apartment that morning.

Be advised that Ben Searle is a partner and director of the London branch of an American financial investigation company. (FI Inc.). They are currently investigating diamond laundering. For the time being, I’m cancelling all future diamond purchases. I’ll keep in touch on this matter

Prince Husam Ibn al-Faisal.

The full title. Wow! What on earth is the connection between these two men? Is it quite as altruistic as Husam would have her believe? She sits deep in thought, leaning back on the chair rest, gazing at the ceiling. Husam claims that he has established seven workshops in Liberia to create the kernel of a diamond cutting industry. Lately he has sent two and half million dollars to Freeman. So Freeman must be running the show.

‘You need help?’ Janice’s words cut short her train of thoughts.

‘Thanks, but no. I’m just thinking of what I should say.’

‘Fine.’ Janice was soon clicking away at the keyboard.

After some thought, Chris types in the email address of Moses Freeman used by Husam and, using the prince’s PC as a base, types the following message.

To: Moses Freeman. Be advised that my PA, Christine Winters, will be arriving in New York tomorrow evening on my instructions. She’ll contact you soonest in order to relate a certain message which I cannot trust to the Internet. At this stage we had better communicate via Winters. Our commercial arrangement is too sensitive to be broadcast to those with ultra-modern technology.

Prince Husam Ibn al-Faisal.

‘Oh…beautiful! Beautiful! Beautiful!’ Chris manages a faint smile, despite her sadness.

‘What is it?’ Janice pushes her screen glasses up over her head and stretches.

‘I’ve had a sudden brainwave…well, part one of a brainwave. Part two will have to come a little later. Perhaps tonight. I’m going to a boring diamond show.’

‘Good luck.’ Janice gets back to the screen.

Checking her ‘In Box’, Chris finds a reply from their Bombay office. She has time to write a note to Rowan.

M
EMO
T
O
R
OWAN
M
ETCALF
Investigator:
Chris Winters

 

I’ve just received this email (copy below) from our Bombay office. Their managing partner requires your authority to put a man into the plant.

Large parcels of roughs recently purchased by Jewelrex Ltd are keeping Mohsen Sheik’s staff on overtime. Two days after Sienna Sheik was kidnapped, Mohsen transferred a total of twenty million dollars to a Geneva bank from various bank accounts in Surat and Bombay, held in his and his brothers’ names. We feel sure that any ‘unusual’ cash withdrawals or payments would be
ex-Switzerland
for confidentiality.

Recent analysis of some of the roughs procured and brought to us by our informer shows that they were mined in Angola.

We are continuing our investigation into this matter.

Back in her office, Chris hums to herself as she deals with the mail and locks away her files. She decides to send a request for an interview with Mohsen Sheik, but she won’t hold her breath for a reply because he’s probably being watched.

Well, that’s that. There isn’t much more she can do in that direction. It’s up to him now. Chris glances at her watch. Lunchtime. She could do with a walk in the park to clear her head. It’s a habit
she’s picked up from Husam. She buys a brisket sandwich and a bottle of water and dines on a bench in St James’s Park, before walking around the lake. Some of the leaves are turning gold, she notices with a pang of regret. Surely this is too early. She watches the ducks squabbling over bread thrown by a little girl and wishes she’d brought some with her.

It is then that her tears come…inexplicably and without warning. An image of Ben appears in her mind’s eye: Ben with his caring smile, the way his face lit up when he made a smart quip, the way he ruffled his hair when he sorted out his thoughts. If only she’d spent more time with him. If only he hadn’t gone to the States. She should have stayed the night and cared for him while she had the chance. All those tears that she hadn’t been able to shed when she heard the news surge up from some unknown depths of her mind. It is as if Ben is sitting there beside her. ‘Ben…oh, Ben…’ she sobs. Blinded by tears she stumbles over a clump of grass and makes her way to a nearby bench. Aware of being surreptitiously watched, she dries her eyes, fumbles in her bag for sunglasses and moves on.

‘I shall miss you, Ben,’ she whispers. Abruptly she decides to cheer herself up by shopping for a cocktail dress. She has absolutely nothing suitable to wear to tonight’s diamond show.

BOOK: Hot Ice
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