Chapter Eight

Enter quickly, leave quickly: If no one sees you, then ghosts will see you. There is always a witness.

—Krio Proverb

As the priest and his bloodied, numb entourage neared Lunsar, a jeep plowed forward recklessly, swerving in and out of ruts, past the rusted carcasses of cars and trucks burned and stripped by the rebels. The road was crowded with refugees from the Northern District, and the driver wove through and around the people walking, the slow-moving carts, and the brakeless bush taxis. The jeep bounced on the rock-hard, crater-filled, dirt road and swerved at the last minute to avoid a collision with the mission’s truck.

Von, the jeep’s driver, said to his black passenger, “Damn these refugees, Biko. They’re going to slow us down.”

Biko waved at the priest and smiled at the priest’s icy stare. The priest’s bandaged arm rested on the edge of the truck’s passenger window. Biko laughed. “The boys, they have been busy now in Kamalu. They be in Freetown soon. The priest-man in the truck, he pray for us, I know.”

As the jeep crossed the bridge over the Seli River, Biko stretched and shivered in the cool, dry Harmattan air. A small outboard motorboat chugged slowly up the river below them. Biko watched a father and son fish. As the man cast his net, Biko closed his eyes and he could feel the net’s line slipping through callused fingers, and a trained hand stopping its journey at the exact best moment. As the man pulled in his net, Biko heard the man and son singing. The fishermen were like ghosts pulling at a little string on his heart.

“Ah. Look. The two be fishing. I love to see this. In my land I love I once fish with my father,” Biko said. “We would sing the fish songs my father taught me. But it be long time since Biko sing such happy songs.”

Von spat onto the dry road. “You’re talking mush now, Biko. I heard you and that woman last week singing plenty loud.” He laughed and popped a cigarette into his mouth. He dug out his lighter, slowed the jeep slightly, and lit the cigarette while holding the steering wheel with his elbows. “You sound like a sentimental grandfather.”

They came upon a bush taxi that had broken down. The driver and a couple of boys were buried underneath the hood of the Toyota truck, arguing about what was wrong with the engine. Twenty or so passengers were scattered along the side of the road. Two RUF soldiers stood next to the truck and eyed the jeep as it approached. Both men wore military fatigues and had AK 47’s slung on their shoulders, machetes hanging from their web belts, and both wore small backpacks.

“I know the soldiers,” Biko said. “They come from Mile 91. The one on the right is an officer. Stop the jeep.” When Von pulled over, Biko laid his Kola nut on the dash, stepped out, and greeted the two soldiers in Krio.

As Biko approached the two soldiers, Von studied the officer. He was middle-aged with eyes black and hard and empty. He saluted Biko smartly. Von guessed the man was of sufficient rank that he could take a road trip, but then maybe not. Deserting? Smuggling? Von guessed smuggling.

When Biko barked a command, the young soldier snapped to attention. Von admired the iron discipline of the RUF. The boy was young, no more than fourteen, and he wore American jeans, Nike tennis shoes, and a dark, Tupac T-shirt. Biko slapped the boy on the head and pointed toward the jeep. The young soldier sat down on the road a few feet in front of Von. His eyes twitched and crossed, and his arms and forehead were pocked with needle tracks and razor scars.

The young soldier slipped his machete from its canvass sheath and thumbed the edge. He glanced at Von, then at the bush-bus passengers. When he waved the machete in the air, one of the children whimpered. Biko strode over, reprimanded him, and slapped him so hard he bloodied the boy’s mouth. The soldier slipped the machete back into its sheath and stared blankly into the bush.

Biko talked with the officer for several minutes, then returned to the jeep.

“Well, Biko?” Von asked.

“It is as I thought. The soldiers carry diamonds from the Kono district and go to the same merchant-man in Forécariah we are to see. The truck is out of petrol, so the driver he makes adjustments to the engine. Soon it will run on natai.”

“I am truly amazed at how these people can find how so many uses for that stinking brown oil from inside a palm nut. Let’s have a talk with them. Will he sell us his diamonds?”

“If Biko say to sell, he sell.”

“Bring him over.”

Biko signaled for the officer to come over. “Show this mon your diamonds,” Biko said. “He want to buy.”

Von laid down a cloth and the man emptied a paper sack onto it.

Von inspected a few of the stones with a loupe. “One hundred dollars,” Von said.

“For each stone? You are American, yes?”

“No, one hundred dollars for the lot.”

“Why you want to steal from me?”

“I’m not stealing from you. On the other hand, you did probably steal them, probably from other RUF officers. Maybe you won them cheating in a dice game.”

The man said, “I did not cheat. My sons, they dig them.”

Von laughed. “There’s probably four-dozen diamonds in this can. That’s a day’s output of your whole district. I know how you obtained them. The monkey works, the baboon eats. No matter how you obtained the stones, I want to buy them. One hundred dollars.”

“You want to cheat me. Two hundred American dollars. A noh de muv.”

“Yes, I know,” Von said. “You are the immovable waterside stone. But I am the wall where pushing stops.”

At times, Von tired of the African negotiation game. Yet, he persisted and finally the officer accepted an offer of a hundred and fifty American dollars, equivalent to over two months’ of an officer’s wages. After thanking Von for his generosity, the officer and his cadre moved to the other side of the road to wait for the next bush taxi to the Kono District. Biko and Von resumed their journey, passing through a RUF roadblock on the Guinea border with ease.

****

In Forécariah, Von and Biko parked outside a cinderblock Internet café owned by a Lebanese diamond trader, a middleman for several diamond buyers in Antwerp. A faded wooden sign above the door read: FORECARIAH DIAMOND BAZAAR: BEST PRICES FOR YOUR DIAMONDS.

The café was furnished with card tables and metal folding chairs. Like every Lebanese trader’s place Von had ever seen, along the walls were stacks of batteries, of cheap Japanese boom boxes, short-wave radios, and Sony Walkmans. An Anglo, probably a missionary, was the only customer. He glanced at Von and Biko, then his eyes shifted back to his laptop. He blew on his coffee and sipped it. “Wireless reception here is terrible,” he said. “Coffee’s all right though.”

“We didn’t come to use the Internet,” Von said. “Is the Lebanese here?”

“He’s in his office I think.”

“I know the way,” Von said.

In the office they sat down in chairs in front of the trader’s desk. A long fluorescent light hung over them. The trader stubbed out a cigarette in the full ashtray and lit another. An oscillating fan and an ancient air conditioner fed by a generator and held together by duct tape hummed, and Von relished the coolness of the air.

After introductions, the trader’s wife brought each of them a cold beer, then the trader spoke. “I am happy, sir, that my cousin in Freetown directed you to me. I am anxious to do business with you, sir, much business.”

“Let him see the diamonds, Biko,” Von said.

Biko opened the coffee cans and poured the diamonds onto the white velvet pad in the center of the table.

The trader gasped. “Sir, you have many diamonds.”

“This is only two days’ worth of digging from commander Biko’s mines,” Von said. “Your Freetown cousin said you would buy them. I can take them somewhere else if you cannot afford them.”

“No, no, sir. That is not what I meant. I just was not expecting this quantity. My cousin said you were men of importance, but I am used to only buying a few diamonds at a time.”

“Well, there are close to one hundred diamonds in our cans. Make me an offer, a fair one. And don’t insult me by offering me less than they are worth.”

The trader used a handkerchief to wipe sweat from his forehead. He spread the diamonds with his hand and inspected selected stones with a loupe. After punching in figures on his calculating machine, he tore off the tape and handed his first offer to Von.

After haggling for nearly half an hour, Von accepted a price in American dollars. It was almost what he wanted, and more than he expected.

As if on cue, the trader’s young wife emerged again from a back room and served them plates of rice and chicken and more beer.

Von contemplated the attractive Lebanese girl, and as she placed his plate in front of him, he said, “Thank you.”

“She does not speak English, sir,” the trader said, “Nor even much Krio, though she learns quickly. She speaks only the crude Palestinian Arabic of an ignorant country girl.”

“So, she is new to West Africa?” Von said.

“My pretty young wife arrived here not long ago from Lebanon. It was not a difficult marriage to arrange. My first wives died from fever you see. I like this one, though I may obtain more wives in the future.”

Von heard voices clamoring outside and glanced at the door. “We have articles of value in the jeep. Will they be left alone?”

The trader set down his plate and stood. “Do not worry about your things. My servant is outside. Excuse me one moment, sir. I will direct him to especially attend to your jeep while we enjoy supper.”

When the trader had stepped outside, Von gestured to a chair next to him and said to the young girl, “Please, won’t you sit and talk with me a moment?”

The girl did not take the chair, but sat down on the floor near Von, modestly folding her legs beneath her. She looked toward the door, then smiled at Von.

Von chuckled and for a moment lost himself in her bold, dark eyes. “Biko, what do you think this man had to pay to get a girl like this as his wife? A mail-order bride. Imagine that. I bet he didn’t tell her family a word of truth about himself or Africa. Do you think she feels cheated? I wonder if he would sell her to me.”

Biko said, “Mon, put this woman out of your head, unless you want we should kill trader-mon. But if you want her, let us kill him and take her. The Lebanese, we take him to bush and he have accident and bring troubles upon himself.”

“Yes, we could kill him, Biko. She’s pretty, but the trader’s probably worth more to us at the present time. Besides, I have a woman coming from America soon.”

“There be too many Lebanese traders already. From cradle to grave, they rob my people. But if you want, we wait and return another time.”

“I think that would be best, but God, Biko, look at her. She is indeed exquisite.”

Biko laughed. “Biko will buy you pretty Lebanese girl when we reach Freetown. There be many such women for sale now.”

“I’ll take you up on your offer, Biko. Yet, I’m still fascinated with this one.” Von held out his plate. When the girl reached out to take it, he slid his other hand under the plate and placed it so that his fingers covered hers, and when she tried to withdraw her hand, he pressed her hand against the bottom of the plate. As the girl’s eyes probed his own, Von whispered, “Just stand there a minute and let me look at you.”

The girl smiled again.

The trader entered and saw his new bride smiling flirtatiously. Shouting an Arabic obscenity, he yanked her toward the door. He viciously backhanded her and then shoved her outside.

“You go outside if you cannot behave as a woman should. We will be finished with our business soon.”

The trader raised his hands as in supplication to God. “I apologize for my young bride’s impoliteness, sir. Women in this age have no shame. I hope she did not offend you. As I said, she is ignorant of many things. I will deal with her later. You must excuse me while I place these wonderful diamonds in my safe.” He raked up the diamonds and took the can to a metal safe behind his desk.

Your bride understands more than she lets on, I bet, Von thought. I know she understood my English better than you, trader-man. There’s some fire in her eyes. Some fire in the bed too, I bet. I wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts your throat one night. And if she doesn’t, I might have Biko pay you a visit and do it for her. Neither you nor your Freetown cousin are indispensable to my plans. I soon won’t need either of you.

The trader returned from the safe and greedily gulped down his beer, then wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “Mr. Vermeer, I hope you will see me again when you have more diamonds. These today are of excellent quality. They are most excellent, sir.”

“Of course.” Von and Biko stood to leave. “Until then.” Von offered the trader his hand. The trader’s hand was plump and soft and limp and sweaty. Von squeezed until he felt the bones in the trader’s hand slip in his grip, but the trader’s face and eyes did not change.

I could break your hand or insult you. I could do anything, and as long as I sold you diamonds, you’d not say a word, Von thought. He despised this Lebanese trader with the pretty young wife. The Lebanese trader would play out his life on the fringe of the diamond business, then one of his descendants or another just like him would replace him. It grated Von’s nerves to think he must waste precious time haggling with this insignificant trader whose ancestors had fled Palestine over a century ago and somehow found their way to West Africa.

Von craved the company and acceptance of the prestigious diamond merchants in Antwerp and New York. Such men rendered allegiance to no nation, recognizing no boundaries set by God or men. The men who ran the diamond cartels had no political agenda other than the desire to be wealthy, and the chain of greed linked them together. They were powerful, and the world paid them attention and rendered the respect that powerful men deserve.

Von intended to be included in their number.

Von’s early months in the diamond business had been in boiler rooms in New York, and since then he had woven many men of influence and power into his web of contacts. Von’s present contacts included men from Unita, representatives of Charles Taylor and Savimbi; gun dealers from Bulgaria; and diamond buyers from Zambia, South Africa, England, and Antwerp. He had made deals with Arab envoys of an insane Saudi prince who were raising funds for their campaign of terrorism, mercenaries from the Ukraine, and even a few expatriate Americans like himself, though most of the Americans were only hustlers posing as businessmen. Most were more than willing to help him smuggle diamonds, and would cook their books, break laws, or lie to government or investors—willing to do anything as long as it increased their personal wealth.

Yet, Von felt he had an advantage over other diamond merchants in Africa, an advantage that would quickly propel him into prominence and position. Because of his fortuitous friendship with Biko, Von had won the ear and support of the RUF, who now controlled all of the diamond mining territory in Sierra Leone. As a result, diamond mining was going on at a faster pace than ever, and Von brokered their diamonds. The ruthlessness, connections, and power of the rebel organization insured Von a cheap and endless stream of gem-quality diamonds. Let the rest of the world be afraid of the RUF and their boy-soldier, machete-wielding armies. Von knew the RUF leaders were corrupt and violent, but he also knew that a wealthy man who used his head and money wisely would be in no danger.

Even more than his rapidly increasing wealth, Von enjoyed his newly discovered sense of power. With the help of his growing network of government officials, he had driven several other Freetown diamond merchants out of business. Vermeer Diamonds would soon do the same in America and his stores provided needed legitimacy for transportation of diamonds to the States.

Von’s thoughts drifted to the diamond exchange in Antwerp. On his business trips there, he had marveled at the slanted prism-like glass ceiling, and the wealth that the dour men in dark suits generated boggled his mind. Von imagined himself moving in this powerful circle, offering dealers his own gentleman’s cachette with his monogrammed initials inscribed on the front. He longed for the day he would have his own office in the Diamond Bourse in Antwerp, where he would meet with representatives from De Beers and New York’s Diamond District. Of course, someday he would also have the perfect wife to share this world with him, a woman of sparkling intellect and beauty. Someone like Caitlin.

These fantasies pleased Von greatly. He had no intention of living and dying in obscurity like a common Lebanese trader.

Von intended to die a rich man.

****

After Von returned to Freetown, he met with an Eastern District government official with close ties to the RUF and in charge of a weapon storage center. Biko’s units needed guns and needed them quickly. After the trip to Forécariah, Von and Biko now had enough funds to obtain the guns directly and immediately, instead of relying on the inefficiently organized and often slow-moving hierarchy of the RUF to supply them.

When Von entered the official’s office, he noticed two Europeans who sat with him. Von extended his hand to the Sierra Leone official. “Abadu Bah, thank you so much for meeting with me.”

The man shook Von’s hand warmly. “Ah, Mr. Vermeer. It is wonderful to see you. May I present Mr. Balev from Bulgaria, and Mr. Van Deusen from Belgium.”

“I am pleased to meet you gentlemen,” Von said. He could hardly believe his luck. Usually, government officials were reluctant to even mention, much less to involve, their contacts in business arrangements. This was indeed fortuitous.

After coffee, the Sierra Leone official opened the discussion. “What can I do for you, Mr. Vermeer?”

Von eyed the other men. “It is a delicate matter I need to discuss.”

“Please, speak. These men are friends of Salone and are supporters of the RUF. All here are friends of Papa.”

Von continued. “Commander Biko’s unit is in immediate need of rifles and ammunition. I understand that you have recently acquired a cache of government weapons. We want them. We can pay you in American dollars.”

“What exactly does Commander Biko need?” Abadu Bah asked.

“Enough AK 47’s for a company, a sufficient amount of ammunition, a mortar, grenades, and two machine guns.”

Abadu Bah whistled. “In view of present circumstances, this is difficult, but it can be arranged. Tell Commander Biko that tomorrow night, very late, he may pick up the weapons at the disarmament center. He may help himself to whatever weapons are there. However, of course, for security reasons, many of the rifles have been disassembled.”

“Biko’s boys can easily reassemble them,” Von said. “The parts for all AK 47’s are interchangeable. Now, might I ask why these gentlemen are here?”

Balev, the Bulgarian, leaned forward. “Mr. Abadu Bah informs me that you are authorized to broker arms and diamonds for Kamara’s armies.”

“I am.”

The Bulgarian took a sip of his coffee. “You are interested in obtaining arms, Bulgaria is interested in diamonds.” He handed Von a folder. “Here is a recent inventory of various materials we have available and could ship immediately, about sixty-eight tons of armaments.”

“How would the materials be delivered?” Von asked.

“The guns will be delivered by a commercial airline to Liberia, then by boat or truck to any location you designate. We would expect half-payment to be sent in advance to Liberia. When you obtain the weapons, we will expect the remainder. Payment may be made in diamonds, of course.”

“I will pass this offer on to Commander Biko and the RUF leadership. I am confident that Papa will approve of your offer.” Von turned his attention to the Belgian. “And you, sir? Why are you with us?”

“Mr. Vermeer, I too have a favor to ask of you,” he replied. “I have recently been appointed as the CEO of a mining company, Diamonds Salone, Incorporated. Mr. Balev and Mr. Abadu Bah are also on the board. Have you heard of our company?”

Von lit a cigarette. “Yes, of course. It’s based in Antwerp, and you made an impressive profit last year. A reported income of about five million dollars if I remember correctly.”

The Belgian continued. “Mr. Vermeer, the Sierra Leone government for many years has granted concessions to my former mining company in the Kono district. However, currently this district is under the control of the RUF, and our mines have not been operative for months. It appears this scenario is likely to last for some time.”

“And what do you want me to do about this?” Von asked.

“Make arrangements with the RUF leadership for a suitable mining concession. We have unsuccessfully attempted to negotiate with them. It is difficult to reach the needed decision makers.”

“This will be an expensive proposition,” Von said.

“We would expect it to be so. What do you think the leadership would ask of us in return for such concessions?”

“A better question is what I will ask for arranging it. I expect to be adequately compensated for my efforts. I make them a great deal of money, so they will listen to me if I recommend you—or if I don’t.”

Van Deusen leaned forward in his chair. “So, what will you ask for your services?”

“An adequate salary and a small share of what is mined. An official position with your mining company. An office in Antwerp and one in America.”

Abadu Bah laughed, then said in Krio, “The porter says he wants long pants.”

Von snuffed out his cigarette and lit another. “Do not take my offer lightly, gentlemen. Yes, I’m ambitious, but so is each of you. The RUF will soon be in total control of Sierra Leone. Without their backing, your mines will remain closed.”

“You ask a great deal,” Balev said.

“Certainly, but I will also prove to be of great benefit to your company. I know how to conduct business in both Africa and America. I am skilled in all aspects of the diamond trade, a government licensed diamond broker, and I have many other invaluable connections—many in America. You would not have made your request unless you had something to offer me.”

“I heard you were resourceful and very determined man. We need such a man to work with us,” Van Deusen said as he extended his hand. “We welcome our new partner to Africa’s newest diamond corporation.”

Von grasped the Belgian’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I shall arrange the concessions with the RUF leadership. Regarding my compensation, I will expect written confirmation of your offer by tomorrow.”