‘Get him out of here.’
Mani rubbed his jaw with a trembling hand, then bent down and lifted Takata to his feet. The old man was light, his flesh parchment-thin on birdlike bones. Takata was fifty-three, but his body was older, too old to be down here. His sons and grandsons all worked in the mine. So had his daughter, for a time.
Looping one arm around Takata’s waist, Mani half-carried him along the uneven path, ignoring the fiery pain in his own ribs. The tunnel widened. Cones of light criss-crossed through the blackness as other miners spilled from their own tunnels into the belly of the mine.
‘You should not have done that.’ Takata’s voice was low.
‘I should have let him kill you?’
Mani felt Takata shrug. He guided the old man towards the lift shaft.
‘Your daughter would not thank me for letting you die,’ Mani said.
Another shrug. ‘Asha, she knows I will not live for ever.’
Mani didn’t answer. Together they trudged alongside the metal conveyor that carried the ore to the crushers. It creaked and rattled, hauling thousands of tonnes through the tunnels. The dust here seemed paler but just as dense, whipped up by dry ore on the move. Dry drilling was the rule in the Van Wycks mine. Dust-suppressing water sprays would have cleaned the air, but were forbidden in case they harmed the kimberlite.
Mani pushed into the lift along with Takata and a dozen other men. Daylight bled down through the shaft, and all around him the miners hacked out their damp, rattling coughs.
The ancient crate groaned upwards. Inch by inch, the darkness thinned, the air grew warmer, until finally they broke through the surface. Mani squinted against the sunlight and the blizzard of dust. The lift clattered to a halt, and Takata hobbled out, following the other men. Mani trailed after them, his mask still in place.
The throb of diesel engines filled the air. Tractors and dumper trucks lumbered around the open pit. The men on the ground, mostly black, guided the heavy machinery with yells and hand signals. None of them wore a mask.
Mani flicked a glance at the tonnes of ore piled in the waste pits a few hundred yards away. There were diamonds in those discarded mounds, if you knew where to look.
‘I’m watching you, kaffir.’
Okker was so close that Mani could feel the heat radiating from his white flesh. He slid his gaze away and shuffled behind the other men, keeping his eyes on the ground until Okker had moved away. Then he turned to stare again at the stockpiles of kimberlite ore. Dust caught in his throat, and he coughed like the other men, pain slicing his lungs like slivers of glass. His eyes watered, blurring his focus. His gaze drifted beyond the waste pits to the shadowy Kuruman mountains in the north. The mountains they called the Asbestos Hills.
Diamonds and dust.
He wondered which would kill him first.
Harry yanked open the vault door and scrambled inside, Beth pushing in behind her. Outside in the hall, the front door slammed.
Harry’s eyes raked along metal shelves, her heart pumping. Together, they groped through them. Stacks of small coloured envelopes covered every surface. No sign of a laptop.
‘What the fuck?’ Garvin’s gravelly voice echoed in the hall.
Harry whipped around, but they were still alone. She turned back to the vault, craning to get a view of the top shelf. Blood drummed in her ears.
A second voice spoke, lighter than Garvin’s. ‘Move inside. Now.’
Harry frowned. Garvin hadn’t sounded like a man to take orders. Then her brow cleared. In the corner of the top shelf was a slender black shape.
‘Got it!’ she whispered. She stretched up, grabbed the laptop and shoved it into her case. ‘Come on, let’s go. He can’t take on both of us.’
She checked on Beth, one hand on the vault door. Beth was on her knees, stuffing blue and white envelopes into a black duffel bag. Why wasn’t she moving?
Ratchet-snap. Harry spun round. The spring-loaded action had come from the hall. When Garvin spoke, his voice was shaking.
‘You can’t shoot me,’ he said.
Harry’s eyes widened. Behind her, Beth had stopped moving.
‘Someone will hear.’ Garvin sounded close to tears. ‘There’ll be witnesses.’
‘I never leave witnesses.’
Harry’s hand flew to her mouth. She ducked back into the vault and swung the door to, leaving it open a slit.
‘The light!’ Beth pointed at a button on the door jamb.
Harry pressed it, keeping her finger down, and like a fridge light the bulb went out. She peered through the crack.
A heavy-set man was backing into the room, hands in the air. Crescents of sweat stained his shirt under the arms.
‘I’ve got money,’ Garvin said. ‘Take whatever you want.’
He stumbled against a chair and whimpered, his shoulders sagging. A middle-aged man in a baseball cap followed him in. His hands were clamped around a blocky pistol trained on Garvin’s face.
Harry swallowed. Her fingers felt slippery with sweat. Beside her, Beth had frozen.
The man gestured with the gun. ‘Face the window.’
Garvin swivelled obediently to his right, like a child anxious to please. Harry could see his profile: the trembling lip, the puffy face. The other man scanned the room, his gaze sliding towards the vault. Harry shrank back, pressing up against the shelves, her finger still on the light switch. Beth had flattened herself against one wall.
Metal snapped and clicked. Harry flinched, waiting for the shot. When none came, she inched forward and peeped out through the slit.
Garvin’s hands were handcuffed behind his back. The man jabbed the gun into his shoulder blade.
‘Kneel.’
Garvin dropped to his knees, making small mewling sounds. The man with the gun touched the elongated barrel to the back of Garvin’s head.
‘Any last requests? Sorry, too late.’ Phut-phut. The muffled shots spat into Garvin’s skull. He jerked once, then crumpled to the floor.
Harry gasped. Her finger slipped, and light flooded back into the vault. The man in the baseball cap whirled round and for an instant they locked eyes. Then he raised his gun to her face. Harry screamed, slammed the vault door shut. Bullets zinged against metal, and the door’s automatic bolts clanked home.
Harry backed away, her heart pounding. She could hear Beth moaning in the dark.
‘Who is he?’ Harry whispered, but Beth didn’t answer.
The door handle rattled, and Harry held her breath. She cocked her head, straining for more sounds. Nothing.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark. Beth had slid to the floor, knees up, hands over her ears. Harry had a sudden image of Garvin’s bulk, towering over Beth with a broken chair. She hugged her arms across her chest, and tried to be glad he was dead.
She squinted into the gloom. The only source of light was a small red dot blinking on the door, the twin of the light on the security panel outside.
Harry stiffened. The keycard! Had she left it in the slot? She couldn’t remember. But she’d dropped the wine gum to the floor, hadn’t she? Even if he found it, he couldn’t possibly guess its purpose.
Unless she’d left it on the sensor.
Dammit,