Rough Cut- Diamonds to Die For, page 1
part #1 of Charlie Robertson Series
ROUGH CUT
Copyright © Peter Gray 2018
Peter Gray has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing, of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Front Cover & Maps designed by Patrick Lucy
ISBN 978 0 64 837850 1 (paperback)
ISBN 978 0 64 837851 8 (e-book)
Find out more about the author and his other books at:
www.peteragray.com.au
www.rough-cut.com.au
“Brilliant Cut” is the Second book in the Charlie Robertson series
“The President’s Cut” is the Third book in the Charlie Robertson series
Thrillers – Fiction. 2. Australia & UK – Fiction. 3. Pink Diamonds – Fiction.
“I never hated a man enough to give him his diamonds back.”
Zsa Zsa Gabor
“Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.”
Confucius
Characters
London, 1940:
Charlie Robertson A Cockney boy growing up in London in WW2
Ethel Robertson Charlie’s mother
Henrietta Robertson Charlie’s Aunt Hett, and Ethel’s sister
Mr & Mrs Burge Old couple who live in the flat upstairs in Charlie’s terraced house in London
Australia:
Rebecca Gordon Charlie’s first wife, becomes Rebecca Robertson
Sandra Gordon Rebecca’s mother, Charlie’s mother-in-law
Jim Gordon Rebecca’s father, Charlie’s father-in-law
Andrew Robertson Charlie’s Son
Sarah Robertson Charlie’s Daughter
Mrs Marjorie Jones Sells the land at Jasper’s Gap to Charlie
Robert Sonderstein Jewish Jeweller in Perth – aka Viktor Lazaroff a Russian criminal and businessman
Jack Foster Charlie’s lifelong friend – aka ‘Anton’ bodyguard to Viktor Lazaroff
Tommy Anderson Charlie’s other lifelong friend
Ben Goldman Accountant at Robertson Mining in Perth
David Perkins Manager of West Australian Mining & Engineering Consultants based in Perth
Jacob Spitzer Manager, Resources Financing Division, Commonwealth Bank, Sydney
Anne Receptionist at Robertson Mining in Perth – aka ‘Ivana’ Russian blonde bombshell with Viktor Lazaroff
Richard Pratt Director, Western Australian Mines Department
Damien Reynolds Minister for Mines, Western Australia
South Africa:
Jan Kruger ‘Enforcer’ for Hartog Diamonds, South Africa
Marius Botha Offsider to Jan Kruger – solves problems with violence
London, 1980 - onwards:
Isaac Galinsky Jewish Jeweller in Hatton Garden – Robert Sonderstein’s cousin
Sir Alan Kingston General Manager, Groots & Co, Hatton Garden
Susan Philips Sir Alan Kingston’s Secretary
Jeremy Braithwaite CEO of an Investment Bank in the City
Sebastian Smyth CFO of the Investment Bank and Braithwaite’s friend
Dr Adrian Sutcliffe Senior Registrar and Trauma Surgeon at St Thomas’s Hospital, London
Susan Harrison Senior Nurse on the Intensive Care Ward, St Thomas’s Hospital, London
Catherine Walker Chief Concierge, Savoy Hotel
Simon Fiddler Assistant Concierge, Savoy Hotel
James Davidson Manager, Savoy Hotel
Konrad Lubbe Ex-Stasi Colonel, now a major criminal living in London
Contents
Characters
Chapter One
Fetter Lane, London 1980
Chapter Two
London Under Attack 1940
Chapter Three
Leaving England
Chapter Four
Kalgoorlie & Rebecca Gordon
Chapter Five
Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers
Chapter Six
Mr Pringle…err…Mr Fingle?
Chapter Seven
City Beach & Fruitcake Hill
Chapter Eight
Lamproite Pipe
Chapter Nine
Sarah Robertson
Chapter Ten
Drilling Exploration
Chapter Eleven
Robert Sonderstein
Chapter Twelve
Diamonds to Market
Chapter Thirteen
London
Chapter Fourteen
Isaac Galinsky
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine Walker
Chapter Sixteen
Aunt Hett
Chapter Seventeen
An Astonishing Day
Chapter Eighteen
Dinner with Catherine
Chapter Nineteen
Background on the Bank
Chapter Twenty
Braithwaite & Smyth
Chapter Twenty One
Sir Alan Kingston
Chapter Twenty Two
Groots & Co
Chapter Twenty Three
Breakfast with Catherine
Chapter Twenty Four
Perth, Western Australia
Chapter Twenty Five
Robertson Mining
Chapter Twenty Six
Dinner with Jack & Tommy
Chapter Twenty Seven
Getting the Ball Rolling
Chapter Twenty Eight
Richard Pratt
Chapter Twenty Nine
Getting the Mine Established
Chapter Thirty
Office in Perth
Chapter Thirty One
Le Petit Château
Chapter Thirty Two
Sydney
Chapter Thirty Three
Jan Kruger & Marius Botha
Chapter Thirty Four
Murder
Chapter Thirty Five
Mt. Robertson
Chapter Thirty Six
Catherine
Chapter Thirty Seven
London Apartment
Chapter Thirty Eight
Charlie & Andrew in London
Chapter Thirty Nine
The George Inn
Chapter Forty
Flawless
Chapter Forty One
Recovery
Chapter Forty Two
Christmas Together
Chapter Forty Three
Christmas Night
Chapter Forty Four
Catherine
Chapter Forty Five
Dinner and Groots & Co
Chapter Forty Six
Femme Fatale
Chapter Forty Seven
The Sting
Chapter Forty Eight
St Thomas’s Hospital
Chapter Forty Nine
The Wedding
The Sequel: Brilliant Cut
Chapter One
New York
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Extras
To Charles Frederick Gray
Dad, I will Always remember your Birthday
Chapter One
Fetter Lane, London 1980
Diamond:
A pure form of Carbon in an octahedral
structure – the hardest naturally occurring substance.
The oversized knuckle duster dislocated his jawbone like a freight train flicking away a Mini stuck on a crossing. The shock of the pain was immense, but he forced himself to kick out and landed a solid blow to his assailant’s groin. But there were two of them...
Sometimes a split second makes all the difference. A split-second faster, and the back of his head would have missed the swinging crowbar wielded by the second assailant. The pain had slowed his reactions only a fraction – but it was a fraction too long. The steel bar landed a sickening blow, tearing skin, fracturing bone, and compressing the back of his delicate cerebrum. He fell forward, knees crashing into the hard pavement before his face followed suit ripping lips, smashing teeth, and crushing fragile nasal cartilage with a mechanical crunch. His briefcase went flying and he felt painful blows to his torso, to his back and to his legs. He managed to turn his head to see two thugs standing over him, kicking him with all the energy they could muster.
“Muzzer fucka!” one of them yelled in an eastern European accent before letting fly with another vicious kick into his mid-section. He tried to stand, but it was impossible, the blow to the back of his head meant he was fighting to retain consciousness. The only thing he could do was try and curl up into a foetal position as he listened to the sound of his bones being dislocated and broken. The pain was excruciating and he knew he was about to pass out.
&
People had started to gather to see what was going on and one burly man shouted, “Oy, leave ‘im alone you bastards!” and rushed towards them, and was soon joined by a few others. The two thugs thought that they’d done enough, turned and ran off.
Two women rushed to the unconscious man, one a nurse, and turned him on his side to make sure he’d be able to breathe and wouldn’t choke on his own tongue, or on his own vomit. She checked his pulse which was still strong although there was blood everywhere.
The blaring sirens of an ambulance could be heard less than ten minutes later, by which time a police car had already arrived, and two policemen were taking statements from eyewitnesses. The ambulance paramedics rushed over to check the victim’s vital signs and got a quick summary from the onlookers who said he’d, ‘just had the shit kicked out of him,’ which wasn’t a strict medical definition but was pretty close to the truth.
Sirens were wailing in the blackness. Urgent Voices. Sears of pain throughout his body with every jolt and every bump. And then he faded deeper, much deeper, but the sirens were still there broadcasting danger.
Chapter Two
London Under Attack 1940
Diamond:
Has the highest thermal conductivity of
any material – five times higher than copper.
Charlie Robertson knew he must be dead because he could feel his mother next to him in an Anderson air raid shelter listening to the warning sirens as another bombing raid hit London. As the terrifying sound of the Stuka dive bombers got closer, he knew the flimsy corrugated iron shelter couldn’t withstand a direct hit. The screaming sound the Stukas made in their bombing runs coupled with the piercing wail of the whistling bombs they released, signalled imminent death and destruction.
Charlie cowered up to his mother, knowing that they might soon be dead. A few seconds before the bombs landed, the Stukas pulled out of their dives and the screaming sirens stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of a massive explosion a few moments later. Charlie pressed his hands over his ears to try and cut out the noise, but it was useless. He couldn’t escape the anguished cries from the women in the shelter as bombs fell close by, or the vibrations as the shock waves hit, dislodging dust and dank odours from every crevice of their temporary refuge. He huddled closer to his mother in the dim light of a hurricane lamp, hoping that somehow, they would survive.
“Don’t worry Charlie. It’ll be over soon,” Ethel Robertson said weakly, trying to comfort her only child.
“I know mum. I know.” Charlie bravely replied, knowing deep down that their survival was just a matter of chance.
Fine splinters had lodged into his fingers from gripping the wooden bench he was sitting on, but he hardly noticed them. Charlie stared at the grim faces around him, the elderly Mr and Mrs Burge, who lived in the upstairs apartment in their terraced house. Their adult daughter Wynn, as well as her teenage daughter, were all sitting opposite him. Wynn and her daughter were visiting the Burges when the warning sirens first sounded, and they’d all rushed down into the cramped shelter half-buried at the far end of their garden. Only the arched corrugated iron roof was above ground level, and even this was covered in soil and grass, but inside, the shelter was dark and unwelcoming.
Charlie breathed in the musty air overlain with a wisp of perfume and was just able to make out the expressions on the four faces of the Burge family in the dim light. Mr Burge, in his late seventies, was struggling to stay awake with his eyelids closed most of the time, only to be abruptly opened whenever another bomb exploded close by. Mrs Burge was holding her husband’s arm tightly, forcing her eyes to remain closed and trying to block out the bombs and the noise. Wynn and her daughter were nestled together crying softly, oblivious to the dust and dirt that had tarnished their pristine skirts.
Charlie wondered what they were feeling: fear, obviously; that they should be anywhere else but here, probably; that they might die tonight, possibly. Charlie’s thoughts were of sadness and regret, that if he were to die tonight, he wouldn’t have achieved anything, but he was puzzled how he could die again if he were already dead. But his dark dreams were abruptly interrupted by another barrage of explosions.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of bombs landed nearby with the shock waves hitting a moment later.
“Jesus Christ that was close!” Mr Burge stated the obvious, whereas Mrs Burge, Wynn, and her daughter just cried out. Charlie briefly thought that being well-dressed wasn’t helping Wynn or her daughter right now, but then he turned to look at his mother’s face, and all he could see was that she was quietly sobbing.
“It’s okay mum, it’s okay, they missed,” was all Charlie could think to whisper, but she carried on crying, barely acknowledging her son’s comforting words.
The air raid lasted for another hour, but for Ethel Robertson, it seemed like an eternity before the all-clear finally sounded at just after 3 am. She couldn’t take anymore. The Luftwaffe bombing raids were increasing over London, with the warning sirens keeping her awake almost every night, and it was taking a severe toll on her both mentally and physically.
“Well, Adolf didn’t get us tonight!” Mr Burge tried to put on a positive spin as they filed out of the shelter and across the damp grass back to the house. Although there was a complete blackout, plenty of light was coming from houses burning nearby.
“How about a nice cup of tea?” Mrs Burge tried to follow her husband’s lead and cheer everyone up.
“Thank you… but I think I’ll get Charlie to bed,” Ethel murmured, feeling nauseous both from the acrid burning smells, and knowing that some of her neighbours would now be dead under tons of rubble. Charlie might be able to sleep, but she wouldn’t. The noise from the fire engines, the shouts from the firemen and air raid wardens, the crashing of falling brickwork from destroyed houses, and the thought of scores of dead bodies amongst the ruins, would make sleep impossible for her. She also knew she had to be up in two hours to get to her early morning cleaning job at the Midland Bank, followed by working at the local Co-op store during the day. It was exhausting, but even so, Ethel Robertson was barely making ends meet.
She couldn’t keep it up any longer and had already collapsed several times from overwork and nervous exhaustion. The doctor recommended she go and live with her sister, Henrietta, down in Hampshire, to get away from the constant bombing. But there was the problem of what to do with Charlie.
Ethel’s sister had married a naval officer who was away in the war and had no children of her own. She considered herself to be upper middle class and not the working class of Ethel and Charlie. She would look after Ethel as a compassionate sister, as her contribution to the war effort, but she certainly wasn’t going to look after a scruffy working-class urchin like Charlie. What would the ladies at the bridge club think?
