line of business: security in the infected shitholes of the world.
“How’d you like to make an extra fifty grand?” said Baz, from behind his desk in the gaudy but luxurious suite.
“Sure,” said Higgins. “So long as it’s not a hit.”
“No, no,” said Baz, “that’s not my style. Do I look like a Russkie to you?” He uttered his trademark cackle. “Ker, ker, ker.”
“What do you need?” Higgins knew Baz was going to pull something out of his inside top pocket. Baz always did. Whatever it was, the job would be tricky, lucrative and definitely bent.
Baz pulled out a map of the Democratic Republic of Congo and flattened it on the table. There was a big ring on the map up by the Rwandan border. “I want you to get me some rough diamonds from here. Nice ones, nothing too big or too small. All from the same deposit but it must be a wacky mine, nothing official – a local-talent dig. Don’t care if they’re blood diamonds, whatever, just not out of any commercial mine.”
Higgins nodded. “OK.”
“Also, I want gold, four or five ounces, two or three minimum. Must be from the same area or thereabouts. Not the same hole but from the general region. No grinding up old wedding rings, it must be out of the ground here.” He stabbed the ringed area on the map. “And copper ore, if youcan get it – but that’s a bonus, not a must-have. Likewise, if there’s any funky-looking rocks offered you by the locals, grab them for a few bucks. Pick up anything that looks like a chunk of ore.”
“Sure,” said Higgins. “I’ll take about a month.”
“Fine,” said Baz. “But no longer, mind.”
“That’s plenty of time – no way I want to hang around out there.”
“Ker, ker, ker.”
“You know, Baz, that’s a mighty fucked-up location to find a mine.”
“As luck would have it,” Baz rejoined. “Now, I’m wiring you twenty thousand euros to buy the stuff with. You can keep the change but don’t be greedy.”
“Don’t worry, boss, I learnt my rough diamonds the hard way. I’ll get you value for money.”
Baz looked over the sea towards Iran. “Fancy a drink?”
“Do pigs shit in the woods?” said Higgins.
Baz hesitated. “No, mate, pigs don’t. Bears shit in the woods but pigs are different. Pigs like shit.”
Briefly Higgins was perplexed. “Yeah, you’re right. Bears shit and pigs fly.”
“And like shit,” added Baz.
Baz was one sharp bastard and her-indoors would love this news of the job. Fifty grand would go down a storm. “Yeah,” he mused, “I could murder a drink.”
Sebastian Fuch-Smith rolled the shard of broken windscreen in his palm. It was a funny square pyramid shape, about the size of a large grain of sugar. He’d never held a rough diamond before.
“Keep it,” said Baz. “We’ve got a load of them the locals stumbled on, panned straight out of the stream.”
“Really?” said Sebastian. “Thank you. May I ask you a rude question?”
Baz’s broker sat impassively at his side, practically asleep. He said nothing.
“Of course,” said Baz. “Go ahead.”
“If this stuff’s just lying around, why don’t you dig it up and fund the mine that way?”
“Good question,” said Baz. “I wish more people would ask it. You see, the play for us is to map it out, then flog the property to a major mining company. That way we don’t spoil the picture. If we start digging it up big-time, the world and his wife will show up and make life bloody difficult. This way we keep the lid on what we’ve got and when we get all the data sorted we sell the hole and pocket a couple of billion with no mess and no hassle. If we start spitting out tens of millions of dollars in rocks, it’ll get hairy.”
“Right,” said Sebastian. “How do we keep a lid on it?”
Baz smiled. The guy had said “we”. What a greedy shit-for -brains he was. He was already imagining he’d bought into the mine. “We park a couple of hundred Congolese soldiers on the
“How’d you like to make an extra fifty grand?” said Baz, from behind his desk in the gaudy but luxurious suite.
“Sure,” said Higgins. “So long as it’s not a hit.”
“No, no,” said Baz, “that’s not my style. Do I look like a Russkie to you?” He uttered his trademark cackle. “Ker, ker, ker.”
“What do you need?” Higgins knew Baz was going to pull something out of his inside top pocket. Baz always did. Whatever it was, the job would be tricky, lucrative and definitely bent.
Baz pulled out a map of the Democratic Republic of Congo and flattened it on the table. There was a big ring on the map up by the Rwandan border. “I want you to get me some rough diamonds from here. Nice ones, nothing too big or too small. All from the same deposit but it must be a wacky mine, nothing official – a local-talent dig. Don’t care if they’re blood diamonds, whatever, just not out of any commercial mine.”
Higgins nodded. “OK.”
“Also, I want gold, four or five ounces, two or three minimum. Must be from the same area or thereabouts. Not the same hole but from the general region. No grinding up old wedding rings, it must be out of the ground here.” He stabbed the ringed area on the map. “And copper ore, if youcan get it – but that’s a bonus, not a must-have. Likewise, if there’s any funky-looking rocks offered you by the locals, grab them for a few bucks. Pick up anything that looks like a chunk of ore.”
“Sure,” said Higgins. “I’ll take about a month.”
“Fine,” said Baz. “But no longer, mind.”
“That’s plenty of time – no way I want to hang around out there.”
“Ker, ker, ker.”
“You know, Baz, that’s a mighty fucked-up location to find a mine.”
“As luck would have it,” Baz rejoined. “Now, I’m wiring you twenty thousand euros to buy the stuff with. You can keep the change but don’t be greedy.”
“Don’t worry, boss, I learnt my rough diamonds the hard way. I’ll get you value for money.”
Baz looked over the sea towards Iran. “Fancy a drink?”
“Do pigs shit in the woods?” said Higgins.
Baz hesitated. “No, mate, pigs don’t. Bears shit in the woods but pigs are different. Pigs like shit.”
Briefly Higgins was perplexed. “Yeah, you’re right. Bears shit and pigs fly.”
“And like shit,” added Baz.
Baz was one sharp bastard and her-indoors would love this news of the job. Fifty grand would go down a storm. “Yeah,” he mused, “I could murder a drink.”
Sebastian Fuch-Smith rolled the shard of broken windscreen in his palm. It was a funny square pyramid shape, about the size of a large grain of sugar. He’d never held a rough diamond before.
“Keep it,” said Baz. “We’ve got a load of them the locals stumbled on, panned straight out of the stream.”
“Really?” said Sebastian. “Thank you. May I ask you a rude question?”
Baz’s broker sat impassively at his side, practically asleep. He said nothing.
“Of course,” said Baz. “Go ahead.”
“If this stuff’s just lying around, why don’t you dig it up and fund the mine that way?”
“Good question,” said Baz. “I wish more people would ask it. You see, the play for us is to map it out, then flog the property to a major mining company. That way we don’t spoil the picture. If we start digging it up big-time, the world and his wife will show up and make life bloody difficult. This way we keep the lid on what we’ve got and when we get all the data sorted we sell the hole and pocket a couple of billion with no mess and no hassle. If we start spitting out tens of millions of dollars in rocks, it’ll get hairy.”
“Right,” said Sebastian. “How do we keep a lid on it?”
Baz smiled. The guy had said “we”. What a greedy shit-for -brains he was. He was already imagining he’d bought into the mine. “We park a couple of hundred Congolese soldiers on the
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