Counterpoint (15 page)

Max drove the truck into the garage, by
this time they were both exhausted, filled with diamonds or not,
they left the wheel on the pick-up truck, until 10am the next
morning.

Manuel grew impatient. The two brothers
he hired to dive on the wreck, and take the wheel from Max, still
had not called him. Their air supply would be exhausted by now, so
what had happened?

He slipped back into the darkness of
the cabin and told his girlfriend, Atsoo, to call him if the
brothers showed up. He was going round to their house to see if
they had gone back there, or if anyone had seen them.

One hour later Atsoo phoned him, one of
the brothers, Rafael, had returned; he was injured. Having lost
Jose, Rafael swam all the way back from the marker buoy. Manuel
hurried back to the cruiser, and Rafael told him all he knew. The
two of them were ascending the dive line, to catch the man and the
girl at the decompression stop, when he was struck on the head,
losing consciousness for a short while. When he came to, he was
floating on the surface and could not see the buoy, the boat, or
Jose, so guided by the distant shore lights; he swam back to the
harbour. The old man and girl must have got away with the
wheel.

Manuel was furious; he guessed the boat
and truck he saw earlier had the wheel on board, the timing was
right. He had let the diamonds slip through his fingers. In
hindsight, he should have waited for the man to get it ashore and
then steal the wheel. At the time, though, he doubted the old man
and his bimbo girlfriend would manage to recover the wheel, after
all, they were total novices at diving. No, he wanted them to
locate the truck and then grab the wheel. With the man and girl
dead there would be no witnesses, that way nothing could go wrong,
or so he thought at the time.

The three sat in the dim cabin, not
speaking for some time. Atsoo knew better than interrupt Manuel
when he was thinking, Rafael flopped out on a bunk, too exhausted
to think or speak.

Manuel figured Max would leave Cyprus
the next day, at the earliest, almost certainly by plane. He knew
them by sight, so he would go with Atsoo and Rafael to the airport,
and wait until Max checked in. He would know what flight they were
on and would try to get on the same plane. If not, he would kidnap
the girl, or both of them, and make them hand over the diamonds. It
would be safer, though, to follow them to where they were staying,
and deal with them, in a less public place.

Skipping breakfast Max and Carla were
keen to view the diamonds. Their first attempt to cut the tyre with
a hacksaw failed, because of the steel cords under the rubber. The
only way they could see to get inside the tyre, was to undo the
bolts that coupled the two halves of the wheel. This was not easy
because of the corrosion. After exposure to air, the metal wheel
was practically flaking away with rust before their eyes, so they
sheared off the studs with their special tool. Then, with the
application of sheer brute force, they hammered the two halves
apart.

The inner tube was still intact and
held air. The hole, through which the packets of jewels had been
inserted, was sealed with a large rubber patch. Eagerly they split
open the tube and opened one of the 12 large cloth packages.
Inside, interleaved layers of black velvet separated the many
hundreds of stones. This packet contained diamonds, each layer
graded to a different size, some cut and some uncut.

“We’ve done it” Max exclaimed, “We’ve
got the bloody lot, now we have to do something with them.”

“First stop is the good old bank
deposit box,” replied Carla “Then we can decide what best to do
with them.”

“We must also get some money to George
Bryan’s family, straight away.” added Max.

It was the following evening that Max
and Carla checked in for the flight home to Malé in the Maldives.
They had planned to meet up with the Ocean Raider, there. Manuel,
Atsoo, and Rafael also managed to get on the flight, so the waiting
game had started.

Max was eager to find the location of
the bug, he and Mark Goodliffe had secretly placed in the box,
containing the statuette. Mark had made the bug for him, in case
the box was stolen, before it was handed over to Stephen Jackson,
the buyer’s agent.

Back on board Ocean Raider, Mark showed
Max how to work the direction-finding receiver. Next, Max
personally hired a small aeroplane and arranged to fly towards the
southern tip of India, in the direction of the radio signal. Max
then told Carla he was going on a mission on his own for a few
days. She could not understand why he would go without her, and was
extremely upset and bitchy.

“Whilst you are away, I will see if I
can catch up with Amy, and stay with her and David.”

Max replied, “Are they likely to want
you cramping their style?”

“Who knows, perhaps David can satisfy
two girls at a time,” she hit back.

Max shut up. He knew better than
escalate an argument with any woman, let alone her.

Max set off the next day in the light
plane, with the pilot, to travel the same heading as Stephen
Jackson. The pilot kept a constant height of 500 metres as Mark had
suggested for good reception, clear of most obstructions and
interference, but also achieving good directional reception.

As the miles slipped by, the faint beep
and tick of the directional receiver got stronger, always at
20-second intervals from the time datum Mark had set. The signal
was still too weak to take accurate bearings, but the direction was
obviously right. It was within 50 miles of southern India,
according to the latest fix. The heading was still optimal, a few
degrees either side, the signal was weak, but equal.

“Keep on this course pilot,” instructed
Max.

They were now flying over the jungle,
and the signal was still growing in strength, so Max changed
aerials to a tighter and more selective type. Max gradually reduced
the sensitivity of the receiver to tighten further, the directional
properties. Max then instructed the pilot to fly 10 miles northwest
after noting the current heading as a line on the map. At the new
location, Max took a new bearing, and a new line was drawn, that
intersected the first line, about 10 miles ahead of where they
turned.

“I think we’ve got it,” exclaimed Max,
“let’s circle in this region,” he added, pointing to the
intersection.

The pilot tapped in the new coordinates
and altered course.

Circling around, the pilot pointed out
a small opening in the otherwise unbroken canopy of foliage
below.

“That must be what I am looking for,”
said Max, excitement showing in his voice. “Can we go a lot
lower?”

The pilot obeyed and circled over the
hole.

“Something glinted down there,” Max
exclaimed, the pilot agreed.

“What is the exact position then?”
Queried Max and wrote down what the pilot had said. Max also
checked the instruments, and it all tallied.

"Better go home to the ship now," said
Max rather frustrated at the find. So near yet so far, he
thought.

High above them whirled a large
helicopter equipped with long-range fuel tanks. Its pilot also
noted the position of the circling aircraft below him, and later,
when Max was out of sight, he moved in for a closer look.

Philippe had organised his own search,
hundreds of miles away, but was curious about another aircraft
circling in this remote area. As usual, his intuition paid off. How
the other pilot had found the crash site was academic, this was all
Philippe needed.

Within minutes of landing at
Thiruvananthapuram International airport, a team of men was
boarding another helicopter to fly to the drop zone. They had full
jungle survival training and many resources aboard, should they
need them, to get down to the jungle floor and possibly back up.
Their rewards would outweigh any risk on this mission.

The large Sikorsky was well on its way
when a sudden and severe storm warning was issued. Much to
Philippe’s frustration the mission was cancelled until it cleared,
three days later.

Affected by the same storm, Max
prepared his plan. Whilst the Ocean Raider sailed back to
Trivandrum, Max built a special platform, near Thiruvananthapuram
International airport. Four long bamboo poles were arranged like a
noughts and crosses grid. This grid, with a secure platform in the
middle would be lowered onto the treetops and be roughly supported
by the branches. The helicopter he proposed to use, could carry it
to the hole in the treetops, and then disconnect the line. A rope
ladder could be lowered from the platform so Max could get to the
ground and back up again, without fear of the helicopter line
snagging trees.

By standing on the platform,
effectively above the trees, Max could be lifted off again when he
wanted.

It took two days to organise the
helicopter and build the simple grid frame, deck the centre and
load the equipment. As soon as the storm cleared on the third day,
Max was flown to the crash site with the grid dangling below. The
journey was extremely slow because even though a sort of tail was
fitted to stop the frame from spinning, the drag was particularly
significant.

After relocating the hole in the tree
canopy, the frame was lowered onto the branches and the line
released. Only the platform was visible as the light bamboo frame
sank slightly into the foliage. Next, with the help of a member of
the helicopter crew, Max was lowered by harness onto the platform
and released. The helicopter then flew off for refuelling.

It was a strange feeling, standing on
the small platform in the middle of a vast green carpet of
treetops, spread out around him. The air was clean and fresh, the
fragrance of the foliage wafted around him in the brilliant
sunlight. In just a moment, beads of perspiration oozed from him,
causing his loose clothing to cling to his wet skin, in the
scorching heat.

Max unpacked the rope ladder tied to
the deck, and lowered it onto the wrecked helicopter below. Then he
descended on to it, amid the up current of dank, moisture-laden
air, below the canopy. A quick search in the gloom of the wreckage,
revealed the box containing the statuette, securely strapped in and
undamaged, with its thick polystyrene case and bubble-wrap around
it. With the aid of a rope and a large canvas bag, just the box was
hoisted up to the deck. It was hard work in the oppressive heat,
but Max was getting quite fit these days.

Whilst waiting for his helicopter to
return, Max decided to go back down to the ground and see what
might have happened to Stephen and the pilot, of the crashed
helicopter.

The noise of birds calling and
creatures moving stealthily through the dense undergrowth grew
louder as he descended to the jungle floor. The leaves had filtered
out the brilliant sunlight above the canopy, leaving the fetid
interior, dark and gloomy. Occasional thin beams of blinding
sunlight stabbed the gloom, illuminating the rising mist as it
curled up from the ground. The strong smell of the rotting
vegetation and hot, humid air trapped down there, added to a
feeling of foreboding. This was not a good place to be lost.

After a few minutes, Max’s eyes became
accustomed to the poor light, and he moved cautiously through the
narrow openings between bushes and vines. Then he froze at the
sight of the remains of a rotting corpse.

Judging by the clothing that remained
near parts of the skeleton, this was Stephen Jackson.

Max continued to search for ten minutes
hoping to find the pilot’s remains, not knowing Stephen had tossed
him to the sharks.

By scuffing a rough trail in the ground
as he went, the way back to the wreck should have been easy.
Somehow, Max lost the trail, and although no more than twenty
metres away from the ladder, there was no way to see that far in
this wild tangle of plant life.

A sickening fear swept through him as
he realised he was lost. What should he do? Turn around and go back
was the obvious answer, but after turning 180 degrees, which way
had he come from? Without moving any further, Max examined every
leaf and twig around him until he saw freshly broken plants and
vines. He moved forward, placing a fresh green leaf on the ground,
pointing behind him. Progress was very slow; he had to be certain
the trail was his before committing the next step.

What if his helicopter returned, and he
hadn’t reached the platform? He might never hear it down here, with
this high background noise of insects and creatures. How long would
they wait for him, and if they went, would he be able to stay alive
until they sent help?

With so much going on in his mind, he
took a wrong turn and had to back track picking up the leaves as he
went.

Half an hour later, drenched in sweat
from the humidity and fear, he broke through into the small
clearing under the ladder.

“Thank God, ” he said to himself, and
braced himself against a tree until he recovered.

Without venturing far, Max took a photo
of the skeletal remains and the wreckage and went back to the rope
ladder. So wrapped up in his thoughts about Stephen, he walked
right up to the large snake, blocking his path. Its head was
lifted, and it was coiled about to strike.

When Max saw it, he froze on the spot,
one foot in front of the other, mid stride, only a foot away from
the evil swaying head. Very slowly, he raised his hands and took
off his peaked cap (Carla said he looked younger in it, so he wore
it whenever appropriate). Gradually he lowered the cap and dropped
it to the left side of the snake. The snake struck it as soon as it
fell level with its head, and before it could re-strike at Max’s
leg, Max had leapt back and away.