“Murdered?”
“The rumor is they were self-inflicted.”
The head of the Japanese electronics empire nodded at the director of the diamond cartel. “Can you tell us, sir, now that Arthur Dorsett is out of the picture, what the future outlook is for your market?”
The fastidiously attired diamond authority from South Africa returned a genuine smile. “Couldn’t be better. The Russians have turned out to be nowhere near the threat originally predicted. Their attempts to run roughshod over the market have backfired. After selling much of their hoard of rough stones to diamond cutters in Tel Aviv and Antwerp at discounted prices, but still substantially higher than what Arthur Dorsett intended, they have outrun their production. The upheaval of Russian industry has brought their diamond production to a virtual standstill.”
“What about Australia and Canada?” asked the Dutchman.
“The mines in Australia are not as extensive as originally predicted, and the Canadian diamond rush is vastly overblown. They are not showing diamonds of any quality or quantity. At present there is no plan to build a large commercial diamond mine in Canada.”
“Do the sweeping changes in South Africa’s political structure have any effect on your operations?”
“We have worked closely with Nelson Mandela right from the beginning of the downfall of apartheid. I can safely say that shortly he will introduce a new tax system that will be most advantageous to our earnings.”
The sheik representing the oil cartel leaned across the table. “This all sounds encouraging, but will your profits enable you to assist in carrying out the Multilateral Council’s goal of a one-world economic order?”
“Rest assured,” replied the South African, “the diamond cartel will meet all commitments. The demand for diamonds worldwide is rising ever higher, and our profits are expected to soar for the first ten years of the new century. There is no doubt that we can carry our share of the monetary burden.”
“I thank the gentleman from South Africa for his report of confidence,” said the chairman.
“So where does Dorsett Consolidated go from here?” asked the sheik.
“Legally,” replied the chairman, “the entire business passes into the hands of Dorsett’s two grandsons.”
“How old are they?”
“A few months this side of seven years old.”
“That young?”
“I didn’t know any of his daughters were married,” said the Indian real-estate developer.
“They weren’t,” said the chairman flatly. “Maeve Dorsett bore twins out of wedlock. The father comes from a wealthy family of sheep ranchers. My sources say that he is an intelligent and reasonable man. He has already been named to act as guardian and administer assets of the estate.”
The Dutchman stared down the table at the chairman. “Who has been named to handle the boys’ corporate affairs?”
“A name you’re all well familiar with.” The chairman paused and smiled sardonically. “Until the grandchildren come of age, the day-to-day business activities of Dorsett Consolidated and its subsidiary divisions will be managed by the Strouser family of diamond merchants.”
“There’s retribution for you,” said the American elder statesman.
“What plans are in place should the diamond market collapse on its own? We can’t control prices forever.”
“I’ll answer that,” said the South African. “When we can no longer maintain a grip on diamond prices, we turn from natural stones excavated by expensive mining operations to those produced in a laboratory.”
“Are fakes as good?” asked the British publisher.
“Chemical laboratories are currently producing cultured emeralds, rubies and sapphires with the same physical, chemical and optical properties as stones mined from the ground. They are so perfect that trained gemologists have difficulty detecting any distinction. The same is true with laboratory-created diamonds.”
“Can they be sold without disclosure?” asked the chairman.
“No need to deceive. Just as we educated the public into believing diamonds were the only stone to own, so can cultured stones be advertised and promoted as the most practical to buy. The only basic difference is that one took millions of years for nature to create, the other fifty hours in a laboratory. The new wave of the future, if you will.”
The room went silent for a moment as each man considered the potential profits. Then the chairman smiled and nodded. “It would seem, gentlemen, that no matter which way the pendulum swings, our future earnings are secure.”
March 20, 2000
Washington, D.C.
Pitt had been lucky, as every nurse on the floor of the hospital in Hobart, Tasmania, never ceased telling him. After a bout of peritonitis from the perforated colon, and the removal of the bullet from his pelvic girdle, where if had made a nice dent in the bone, he began to feel as if he had rejoined the living. When his lung reinflated and he could breathe freely, he ate like a starving lumberjack.
Giordino and Sandecker hung around until they were assured by the medical staff that Pitt was on the road to recovery, a fact attested to by his requests, or rather demands, for something to drink that wasn’t fruit juice or milk. Demands that were mostly ignored.
The admiral and Giordino then escorted Maeve’s boys to Melbourne, to their father, who had flown in from his family’s sheep station in the outback for Maeve’s funeral. A big man, Aussie to the core, with a university degree in animal husbandry, he promised Sandecker and Giordino to raise the boys in good surroundings. Though he trusted Strouser & Sons’ business judgments in their management of Dorsett Consolidated Mining, he wisely retained attorneys to watch over the twins’ best interests. Satisfied the boys were in good hands and that Pitt would soon be ready to return home, the admiral and Giordino flew back to Washington, where Sandecker received a tumultuous welcome and a round of ceremonial banquets as the man who fought a one-sided battle to save Honolulu from a tragic disaster.
Any thoughts the President or Wilber Hutton might have had of replacing him at NUMA quickly died. Word around the capital city was that the admiral would be at the helm of his beloved National Underwater & Marine Agency long after the current administration left the White House.
The doctor walked into the room and found Pitt standing at the window, gazing longingly down at the Derwent River flowing through the heart of Hobart. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” said the doctor in his Australian twang, pronouncing bed like byd.
Pitt gave him a hard look. “I’ve laid on a mattress a three-toed sloth wouldn’t sleep on for five days. I’ve served my time. Now I’m out of here.”
The doctor smiled slyly. “You have no clothes, you know. The rags you were wearing when they brought you in were thrown out in the trash.”
“Then I’ll walk out of here in my bathrobe and this stupid hospital gown. Whoever invented these things, by the way, should have them stuffed up his anal canal until the strings in the back come out his ears.”
“I can see arguing with you is wasting my other patients’ time.” The doctor shrugged. “It’s a bleeding wonder your body still functions. I’ve seldom seen so many scars on one man. Go if you must. I’ll see the nurse finds you some decent street clothes so you won’t be arrested for impersonating an American tourist.”
No NUMA jet this trip. Pitt flew commercial on United Airlines. As he shuffled onto the aircraft, still stiff and with a grinding ache in his side, the flight attendants, women except for one man, stared at him in open curiosity, watching him search the overhead numbers for his seat.