Dorsett saw Boudicca as a son he had lost. Over the years he had begrudgingly accepted her secret lifestyle, because all that truly mattered to him was that Boudicca was as strong willed and unyielding as he was.
Deirdre seemed to float into the room, poised and nonchalant, fashionable in a simple but elegant claret wool double-breasted coatdress. Undeniably glamorous, she was not a woman who invented herself. She knew exactly what she was capable of doing. There was no pretense about her. Delicate facial features and supple body aside, she had definite underlying masculine qualities. She and Boudicca dutifully sat down in two of three chairs placed in front of Dorsett’s desk.
Maeve followed her sisters, moving as gracefully as pond reeds in a light breeze, and wearing an indigo plaid wool zip-front shirt with matching skirt over a white ribbed turtleneck. Her long blond hair was soft and glowing, her skin flushed red and her blue eyes blazing with anger. She moved in a straight line between her seated sisters, chin up firmly, staring deeply into her father’s eyes, which reflected intrigue and corruption.
“I want my boys!” she snapped. It was not a plea but a demand.
“Sit down, girl,” her father ordered, picking up a briar pipe and pointing it like a gun.
“No!” she shouted. “You abducted my sons, and I want them back or by God I’ll turn you and these two conniving bitches over to the police, but not before I’ve exposed you all to the news media.”
He looked at her steadily, calmly appraising her defiance. Then he called his secretary over the intercom. “Will you please connect me with Jack Ferguson?” He smiled at Maeve. “You remember Jack, don’t you?”
“That sadistic ape you call your superintendent of mines. What about him?”
“I thought you’d like to know. He’s baby-sitting the twins.”
The anger fled from Maeve’s face and was replaced with alarm. “Not Ferguson?”
“A little discipline never hurt growing boys.”
She started to say something, but the intercom buzzed and Dorsett held up his hand for silence. He spoke through a speakerphone on his desk. “Jack, you there?”
There was the sound of heavy equipment in the background as Ferguson replied over his portable phone. “I’m here.”
“Are the boys nearby?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got them loading muck that’s spilled from the cars.”
“I’d like you to arrange an accident—”
“No!” Maeve screamed. “My God, they’re only six years old. You can’t murder your own grandchildren!” She was horrified to see that Deirdre had an expression of complete indifference on her face, while Boudicca wore a look as cold as a granite tomb.
“I don’t consider those bastards my grandchildren,” Dorsett roared back.
Maeve was overcome with sickening fear. It was a battle she could not win. Her sons were in deadly danger, and she saw clearly that her only hope of saving them was to submit to her father’s will. She was achingly aware of her helplessness. Somehow she had to stall for time until she devised a plan to save her boys. Nothing else mattered. If only she had gotten her plight across to the man from NUMA. He might have thought of a way to help her. But he was thousands of kilometers away.
She sagged into an empty chair, beaten but still defiant, her emotions in upheaval. “What do you want from me?”
Her father relaxed and pushed a button on the phone, ending the call. The deep creases that ran from the corners of his eyes widened. “I should have beaten you when you were young.”
“You did, Daddy dear,” she said, remembering. “Many times.”
“Enough sentiment,” he growled. “I want you to return to the United States and work with their National Underwater & Marine Agency. Watch them carefully. Observe their methods in attempting to discover the cause of the unexplained deaths. If they begin to get close to an answer, do what you can to stall them. Sabotage or murder, whatever it takes. Fail me and those dirty little urchins you whelped in the gutter will surely die. Do well, and they’ll live in wealth.”
“You’re mad,” she gasped, stunned at what she’d heard. “You’d murder your own flesh and blood as if it meant nothing—”
“Oh, but you’re very wrong, dear sister,” Boudicca interrupted. “Twenty billion dollars is far more than nothing.”
“What insane scheme have you hatched?” asked Maeve.
“If you hadn’t run away from us, you’d know,” said Deirdre nastily.
“Daddy is going to collapse the world diamond market,” revealed Boudicca as unruffled as if she were describing a new pair of shoes.
Maeve stared at him. “That’s impossible. De Beers and the rest of the cartel will never permit a drastic fall in the price of diamonds.”
Dorsett seemed to bulk even larger behind his desk. “Despite their usual manipulation of the laws of supply and demand, in another thirty days the collapse will be a reality, when a tidal wave of stones hits the market at prices any child can afford from his or her allowance.”
“Even you can’t dictate the diamond market.”
“You’re dead wrong, Daughter,” said Dorsett smugly. “The overhyped prices on diamonds have traditionally depended on manufactured scarcity. To exploit the myth of diamond rarity, De Beers has propped up the values by buying into new mines in Canada, Australia, Africa, and then stockpiling the production. When Russia opened up their mines in Siberia and filled a five-story warehouse with thousands of tons of stones, De Beers could hardly allow them to flood the market. So they worked out a deal together. De Beers makes billion-dollar trade loans to the new state of Russia and is paid back in diamonds, thus maintaining high prices in the best interests of the producers and dealers. Many are the mines the cartel has purchased, then closed to keep the supply down. The American pipe in the state of Arkansas is a case in point. If mined, it has every potential of becoming one of the world’s leading producers of diamonds. Instead, De Beers bought the property and turned it over to the U.S. Park Service, which only allows tourists to dig around the surface for a small charge.”
“They used the same methods with the owners of mining companies from Tanzania to Brazil,” said Deirdre. “You taught us well, Daddy. We’re all familiar with the behind-the-scenes intrigues of the diamond cartel.”
“I’m not,” snapped Maeve at Dorsett. “I was never interested in the diamond trade.”
“A pity you turned a deaf ear to Daddy’s lectures,” said Boudicca, “It would have been in your best interests to have been more attentive.”
“What has all this to do with causing the market to fall?” asked Maeve. “A collapse in prices would wipe out Dorsett Consolidated Mining too. How could you possibly profit from such a disaster?”
“Better you not know until after the event,” Dorsett said, clamping his stained teeth on the stem of the empty pipe. “Unlike Boudicca and Deirdre, you can’t be trusted to keep silent.”
“Thirty days. That’s your timetable?”
Dorsett sat back, folded his huge hands across his chest and nodded. “I’ve had our mining crews working three shifts, twenty-four hours a day for the past ten years. In another month I will have accumulated a stockpile of over $2 billion worth of stones. With the worldwide economy flat, diamond sales to consumers have temporarily stagnated. All of the enormous sums the cartel has spent in advertising have failed to push sales. If my instincts are right, the market will reach bottom in thirty days before it rebounds. I intend to attack when it’s down.”