Digging Deeper: An Adventure Novel (Sam Harris Series Book 1) (2 page)

She knew that she did not constitute a threat in her drab outfit and Murphy had told her that Black only liked girls with figures like boys.  Black did not give her a second glance.  She was happy that only her attitude was being assessed.

When he finally finished his call, Black explained his plans for her stay in Tamazia.  He barked orders like an army sergeant major.  There was no pretence at politeness.

‘Okay, you’ll be spending several months in the Kardo Mine, which is located in the north-eastern province of Tunde Norte, learning all about our operations.  For the time being, you’ll work with Jim Hennessy, the manager of Kardo, as a sort of assistant, getting to know the ropes before you can visit the other projects owned by the company.  You can take over for a month when he goes on leave, if you're ready by then.  Once I'm satisfied, you can start the Mondongo job as the Manager of New Projects.’

  Sam was taken aback by this revelation. The relative safety of the capital had been a major factor in the decision to go to Tamazia in the first place.  Wasn’t Tunde Norte MARFO country?

‘When will I go to Kardo?’

‘The day after you arrive in Mondongo.’ 

Sam hoped that the baggage Mr Shah had sent by airfreight from London had preceded her to Mondongo.  Nearly all of her field gear was in those boxes, as she had expected to be based in Mondongo for a while before visiting the mines.

Black continued: ‘You realise, of course, that there is no fucking hope of the Tamazians following any orders you give them?  The combination of African and Portuguese cultures is a fucking train wreck and they have no respect for women.'

Sam remembered the advice given by both Mr Shah and the awful Murphy and she did not comment.  Gemsite had never had a woman in senior management before, so Black could have no real idea what the reaction to a woman would be.  The fact that he had hired her at all suggested that he thought she would be able to do the job despite any prejudice she might encounter.

Sam had plenty of experience of people’s fixed opinions about life.  When she went to work in South America, rumour had it that Latin workers would not work for a woman either, but she had never had any problems with the locals.  Expatriates were another matter.  It was a constant fascination for her to watch the reactions of the incumbent white male population to her arrival at a project.

They fell into two groups: those who told her to her face that they thought women should not be allowed in mining camps and those who burbled on about how nice it would be to have a woman around.  After two weeks, the former would have overcome their prejudices and be working with her, and the latter would have realised that she was more competent than decorative and would be looking for ways to stab her in the back.  She had no doubt that Gemsite would follow this pattern.

Black had not finished his diatribe.

‘I want to make it crystal fucking clear that things will be done my way only, no matter what bleeding objection or doubts you may have.  You are not entitled to any opinions in your first six months.  If that doesn’t suit you, you can fuck off now.’

Sam understood why Mr Shah had warned her about Black.  This relationship could get rather interesting considering how opinionated she was.  She nodded.

‘You have only one boss. That’s me, and you will report directly to me and to no one else.  You will report everything that goes on including any dissent or rebellion amongst the staff.’

‘Okay.’  He won’t know if I don’t tell him everything.  I have no intention of being a spy.

‘You will have lots of attention from the white men in camp.  Most of them haven’t had any contact with a woman for six months so they’re not fussy about who they’ll sleep with.  They replace sex with alcohol and get pissed a lot.  Can you deal with that?’ 

Sam ignored the insult. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ she murmured.  

Sam knew that all mining and exploration camps had their quota of bitter drunken misfits whose wives ‘didn’t understand them’.  She was not at all sure about the change of venue but the chance of running diamond production for the first time was too tempting to turn down.  I can leave whenever I want to if it gets too dangerous.

‘Okay, so tomorrow you’ll go to Mondongo.  Jorge Ramos, the mining engineer and a new metallurgist, Dirk something, will be on the same flight as you.   You’ll meet them when you land in Mondongo as you’ll travel to the company offices together.’

When he had finished talking, Black gave her a brief nod of approval and Sam was glad that she had managed to hold her tongue.  She would find a way to communicate with Black on another occasion.  After the interview, Black drove her back to her hotel at high speed ignoring the traffic lights.  Whether this was to avoid muggers or because Black was tanked up, she did not know. 

‘You can’t leave the house in Mondongo by yourself and you have to bring a guard with you everywhere.  The police over there mug people in broad daylight.’

‘At least you can spot the muggers by their uniforms,’ said Sam. 

This fell on stony ground. She got the distinct feeling that Black did the jokes. 

***

Back at his flat, Black got ready for bed.  Marybelle hung up his clothes and made sure he was packed for his trip to London.

‘What did you think of Sam?’ he asked her.

‘She’s pretty ordinary looking, isn’t she?  Did you see what she was wearing?  What a frump.  She certainly hasn’t got any dress sense.’

Black grunted irritably.

‘That’s not what I meant.  What did you think of her as a person?  Did she leave any impression on you?’

‘She’s quite clever, I think.’

‘But she didn’t say anything.’

She smiled. ‘That’s what I meant.’

***

Back in the hotel Sam thought about her parents’ reaction to her taking the job.  As the date for leaving England drew near they became more nervous.  They seemed calm on the surface but Sam could tell that they had been talking about her and it was obvious that her mother was concerned.  Matilda Harris was from a generation of women who had worked as secretaries in the hope of marrying the boss.  It wasn’t easy for Sam to explain why she needed more than that to a woman who had been happily married for forty years and saw no need for women to be ‘liberated.’ 

‘Why don’t you get a nice secretarial job in London, darling?’ asked her mother.   ‘I can’t understand why you need to go rushing off to Africa when you could have a perfectly good job at home.’

‘Mummy, I know you're worried but being offered such a good position in a producing company is a first for me and I can’t turn it down.  They are going to pay me really well and you know that I need the money to save for a deposit on a flat.  I’m pretty sure I’m ready for a job like this.’

‘I’m sure you are ready.  But none of your other jobs have been in such a dangerous place.  Your father and I worry about you.’

‘You don’t need to worry.  I’ll be fine.  I’ve had some tough jobs in remote places but I get to see some really amazing things.’

‘But there are amazing things to see in London; theatre, ballet, cinema.’

‘How could a job in London compare to this?  Could you imagine me in an office?  I won’t be a prisoner in the new job.  I can leave if it gets too dangerous.’

Her mother threw up her arms in despair.   Sam knew she had won this battle. 

Sam kept her departure as low key as possible.  She received a stiff hug from her mother and a warmer one from her father before she got into the taxi to the airport.  She still felt guilty for worrying them but not enough to stop her from going.

Sam was up at dawn to go to the airport.  She loaded her luggage into a hotel taxi and the driver set off in the soft light through the already busy streets.

As with her arrival, check-in was uneventful.  She spent a pleasant hour before her flight drinking tea and reading the newspapers in the upper class lounge. 

  There were several Europeans waiting for the same flight as her, some of them older women in Laura Ashley flowery dresses. A lot of her apprehensions melted away.  There was something reassuring about these unflappable colonial relics from another era.  These expatriate wives turned up all over the world and organised drinks parties and Hash House Harriers, more drinking but with running, for the expatriate communities in remote or developing countries.  The flowery dresses looked old-fashioned.  She wondered if these women were the only customers that Laura Ashley had left.

The flight to Mondongo took about three hours. This was the first time that she had travelled in business class.   It was quite different to her usual cramped experience in the back of the plane. She slept all the way and woke refreshed on landing.

She made her way through immigration, baggage collection and customs.  Again she had expected serious bureaucracy and procrastination, but none materialised.  Coming out into the bright arrivals hall, fighting her wobbly trolley, she squinted in her effort to find her welcoming party.  To her surprise there did not appear to be anyone with a Gemsite placard there to greet her.

After walking up and down the inside of the arrivals hall twice, she checked outside in case they were parked and could not leave their car.  Stepping through the airport doors, she was hit by a wall of heat and laser-bright sunshine.  She could not see anything for a minute and fumbled around in her rucksack for her sunglasses.  There did not appear to be anyone to meet her there either.  Trying to disguise her nerves and keep an eye on her luggage, whilst being jostled by the taxi drivers desperate for a fare in dollars, she approached a security guard.

‘Um, excuse me sir,’ she asked in her rusty Portuguese, ‘Do you know Gemsite?  They are supposed to meet me here.’

‘Ah yes, Gemsite.  The driver has gone to eat.  He will be back soon.’

Taken aback by this news, Sam sat disconsolately on her luggage outside the terminal.  She did not think much of the driver’s casual attitude.  Here I am arriving in a war zone, and no one has bothered to meet my flight.

The Gemsite driver turned up half an hour later.  He found her still sitting on her suitcase.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Sam. ‘I was getting really worried that you had forgotten me.’

‘I am sorry.  They should have warned you.  I was taking lunch to some of the airport staff.  We need to help them if we want them to help us, you know.’

Sam had misunderstood what the security guard had told her.  It was a good reminder of how rusty her Portuguese was.

  The driver showed her to the Gemsite minivan.  He gave her some brochures to read from a loony Christian sect advertising for members and donations.  He disappeared back into the airport looking for Jorge Ramos and the new metallurgist who was also expected on the same flight but had not appeared yet.

They had been delayed by a piece of missing baggage and emerged blinking into the bright sunlight an hour later.  By then Sam was sure she did not want to join the church of Saint John of the Virgins or contribute any of her hard-earned cash to their cause. 

It was over forty degrees in Mondongo.  She could feel the damp waistband on her trousers digging into her stomach.  Her t-shirt clung to her back, and her bra straps were too tight in the heat.  She shook hands with the two men.

‘Hello, you must be Sam,’ said the older one. ‘I am Jorge Ramos.  I work at Kardo with Jim Hennessy.’  He took her hand in his brown, calloused one.  She was struck by his open honest manner.

‘Hi,’ said the other younger man. ‘I'm Dirk Vetter.  This will be my first shift at Gemsite.  I will also be working at Kardo.  Where are you based?’  He was blond with a lantern jaw that did not detract much from his handsome face.  He held on to her hand just a fraction too long.  He was very attractive and far too young for her. She banished all impure thoughts.  ‘I’ll start at Kardo and then later on I’ll be based in Mondongo head office.  Is it your first time in the country?’

‘No, I’ve been here before.  I’m from South Africa.  I did my national service in Tamazia.  Our brigade fought with MARFO and formed bonds with them.  What’s strange is that they are now the enemy of the legitimate government and us as well.’

‘I had no idea that MARFO were once the good guys, 'said Sam. ‘You must feel ambivalent about that.’

‘Yes, it’s really weird but I told Black and he doesn’t mind.  He needs a metallurgist.  He doesn’t care about politics or wars.’

She could believe that.

The minivan was finally ready to go and they drove into the centre of Mondongo along roads packed with traffic.  Most of the roads were in various stages of repair or abandon.  The resulting road works created traffic jams that belched black smoke and emitted a cacophony of horn blasts.

   Mondongo was smelly.  It reminded Sam of the Medieval London Museum where tourists travelled in little carriages through a large building full of different smells through time to the present day.  It smelt of sewerage and coffee and cooking and pollution.  The pollution by the traffic was mitigated by the fact that most of the cars were new.  However, public transport consisted of ancient Hi Ace vans spouting acrid black fumes, which stopped and started at every corner, causing chaos behind them and making other irate drivers sound their horns in fury. 

It took over an hour to get to their destination, a combined caravan compound and garage in the centre of town. It was on a derelict site one block from the offices of Gemsite and acted as a staging post for people returning to and leaving the mines in the Tunde Norte province.  The compound consisted of a row of ancient trailers parked parallel to a long breeze-block building housing, a workshop and the storerooms where the food and spares were kept in Mondongo before they were shipped out to the projects. A second floor, that looked as if it had been added later, contained the staff canteen, and the technical office where Sam would eventually be based, up a separate set of stairs with metal gates at the top and bottom with huge padlocks on them.  It appeared to be empty and disused.  Everything looked old and shabby, much like the city itself.

When they arrived at the compound, they were greeted by the accommodations manager, who allocated Sam a room in one of the six trailers lined up on a bank above the main compound building.  There was less than half a metre between the tiny bed, which stretched from end to end of the ‘room’ and the wall.  There was no space to swing her arms, let alone the proverbial cat. The room was mosquito-infested and only a trickle of water came out of the taps. 

She left her bags in the trailer and was shown to the canteen where she would have all her meals in Mondongo.  It was a horrible, grimy room with Formica tables and a dirty floor.  From the look of the kitchen behind the counter, the quality of the food would match that of the room. She had an awful cup of coffee and was then escorted down the street to the Gemsite office to hand in her cash and valuables and to sign her contract with the office manager, an Englishman called William Collier.

‘Call me Bill,’ he said.

‘Why do I need to hand in my valuables?’ asked Sam.

‘Employees are not allowed to have cash on site in Kardo to reduce the incentive for the locals to rob them.  Also it prevents any Gemsite staff from buying diamonds.’

‘Buying diamonds?’

‘Yes, it's illegal to buy diamonds in Tamazia.  Local miners try and swap diamonds for money, crates of beer, or any electrical goods going.  The penalties for being caught with an illegal diamond in Tamazia are draconian.  We fire anyone who gets caught buying one and hand the culprit over to the police.  I wouldn’t recommend a stay in a Tamazian jail.  They are dangerous and overcrowded.  Even so, there is always some idiot who thinks they can get away with it.’

‘I don’t like diamonds,’ said Sam. ‘I am very unlikely to be tempted.’

‘Excellent decision.  Can you read and sign your contract, please?  You must do this before you fly to Kardo.’

Despite several attempts to obtain a copy of her contract before she travelled, this was the first time she had seen it. She reviewed the document before signing it as a matter of course.   After her conversation with Black, she was not that surprised to see that the conditions of service did not match those she had been offered in London. 

‘Bill, can I ask you some questions about my contract please?’

‘Sure, what’s the problem?’

‘Well, it says here that due to the shortage of suitable accommodation in Mondongo, I will be sharing living quarters with other people.  This is not what I agreed to in London.’

‘Ah yes, unfortunately our London office is about as much use as a condom in a nunnery.   Tamazia has been at war for twenty years.  There are almost no habitable buildings still standing and none that are available for rental.  We are building an annex at the Villa Alice staff house for you that should be ready in about six months.  Until then you'll have to share the house there with the other expatriate staff.  You’ll use whatever bedroom is free as they are all taken by other staff, but there’s always one person on leave, so you should have a bed.  Anyway, I understand you're going to Kardo so this shouldn’t be a big issue for you, right?

‘And my car?’

‘One of the purchasing agents is using your car.  But you won’t need that yet either, will you?’

Sam was flummoxed at the casual ‘take it or leave it’ attitude but there was a feeling of inevitability about the arrangements.  She added a note to the bottom of the contract saying that as senior management, she had been offered private accommodation in Mondongo, but that under the circumstances, sharing accommodation for the first six months would be acceptable.  She worried that both her job relocation and her downgraded accommodation meant a lower status in the company but it was probably sensible to wait and see what transpired before making any decisions about staying.  She signed the contract.

‘By the way,’ said Bill. ‘You're leaving for Kardo tonight.' 

‘Tonight? I thought I was due to fly out tomorrow.'

‘No, you are leaving tonight.’

Sam remembered her airfreighted belongings.  ‘Have any boxes arrived for me’?

‘When did you send them’?

‘Mr Shah sent them two weeks ago.’

‘Ha. Not a chance.  They’ll take that long to clear customs.  We’ll let you know when they arrive.’

‘That would be great.  Thank you.’

‘No problem.  By the way, staff members at the Gemsite camps are given soap, toothpaste and toilet paper once a month, which has to last until the next consignment.  Sometimes, the projects in the field run out of these and other basics, like tea, coffee and rice, and the staff have to wait for the next shipment from South Africa before they can have any more.  Have you brought any supplies from home?’

   On the advice of Mr Shah, and knowing from experience that most mines only stocked the most basic provisions like harsh soap and dandruff shampoo, she had packed lots of shampoo, moisturiser and other nice treats in her boxes.  She also knew from her travels in various countries worldwide that as a coffee drinking nation, Tamazia was unlikely to have drinkable tea.  So there was about a year’s supply of tea bags in her luggage and freighted boxes. 

‘I could open a shop,’ she replied.

‘Excellent.  You should get ready for your lift to the airport.  Good luck.’

‘Thanks.  I have a feeling that I’m going to need it.’

As evening fell, Sam left for the airport with Jorge and Dirk who were also going to Kardo. Despite her uncertainty, she felt excited to be setting out.  It was like one of those old Hollywood films where the stars go off on safari.  She half-expected Clark Gable to get on the flight with them and drink dry martinis.  The speed of events was startling, but she was glad after all that she did not have to hang around in Mondongo.

When she got to the airport, the feeling of anticipation evaporated and was replaced by anti-climax.  A very tall, dark, good-looking man called Pedro was in charge of the flights and the cargo.

‘Hi guys,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid that the flight had been cancelled and the flight crew has gone home for the night.’

‘So there is no chance we’ll be flying tonight?’ asked the driver.

‘No chance.  I’ll advise the office of the new plans around midday tomorrow.’

They drove back to the compound through the glacier-paced rush hour traffic.

‘Does this happen often?’ asked Sam.

‘All the time,’ said Jorge.

She hung her mosquito net over the bed in her tiny caravan and went to sleep without eating.

***

The next morning, breakfast was early.  It was not very appetising.  The bread could have been used as missiles for MARFO.  Sam dunked her bread in her tea and hoped that this was not an example of the general standard of Gemsite cuisine.  She hung around with Dirk and Jorge all morning waiting for news of their flight to Kardo.