Blonde Needles in a Giant Haystack 1

The »Yolanda« was a run-of-the-mill container ship, one among hundreds that did the trade between the west African coast and Europe. Its Captain wasn’t the owner, but he nevertheless considered it his ship, and thus, he had not been pleased about his sudden visitors.

Of course, one of these visitors was the owner of the shipping company, Benjamin Keane, and he had promised to pay a large sum for him taking an extra way to get him and his entourage close to Agadir. So, in a way, it was like working extra hours for a lavish bonus.

And yet – Yussuf knew that these men who had literally fallen from heaven (or, more precisely, had come by helicopter) were on the run, and he was forced to assist in their illegal business. One of his men had witnessed them carry a woman from the helicopter into one of the two containers below they had occupied – and he had sworn that this woman had been naked. Yussuf, though used to tropical temperatures, felt sweat crawl down his spine.

Technically, his new guests were just a minor inconvenience. Benjamin Keane had asked for a room for himself and his »assistant«, obviously rather a bodyguard, and so, the two men resided in Yussuf’s cabin whilst the Captain currently shared the one of his First Officer. In addition, the cook had to prepare extra meals for Keane and nine more persons – Yussuf had only counted six men, but perhaps, the woman his man had seen wasn’t the only one now hidden inside the container.

»Navigation has always fascinated me!«, Keane now said. Causing Yussuf to twitch involuntarily. They were standing on the bridge, with only the bodyguard around, plus one of the seamen at the helm. Keane tapped on one of the Radar screens.

»I am not talking about these useful things, but the old-fashioned way of finding your way on the High Seas, with nothing but a compass, a watch and some maps! It’s been some years since I learned how to do it, but I think I still could do some cross bearing!«

Yussuf understood the subtext of the man’s words: if he tried to head for a different direction as Agadir, Keane would notice it. Once again, he felt that his ship had rather been hijacked. However, Keane had come with six men that all looked as if they knew how to use the guns they were carrying. Yussuf had 22 men under his command – none of them was a fighter, and the only gun they had was his own. So, all they could do was to get close to Agadir and hope that the men in their chopper would leave as promised.

»Yussuf, as much as I enjoy talking to you, would you mind if I retire to my – sorry, to your room you so generously allow me to use? And in addition, may I also use your radio, to do some business calls?«

The Captain just nodded, and both Keane and his bodyguard withdrew. Yussuf looked at the radio on the bridge; perhaps, he could send a message to Agadir. However, what should he say?

»Excuse me, my employer is a criminal, and he is trying to escape using my ship! Please, send your coast guard!«

If he did so, the best outcome would be that he and his men lost their jobs. In the worst scenario, he or some of his men would be hurt or even killed in the ensuing fight. Yussuf sighed.

»I think we better do everything our – guests wish!«

He only noticed that he had spoken out his thoughts when the man on the helm responded:

»I wouldn’t mind you having such guests more often! With the extra money, I can afford a new fridge, plus the school for my kids for an entire year!«

***

For obvious reasons, the containers packed on deck were those that were loaded with the least heavy freight, as were the two the chopper had landed upon. So, it hadn’t been difficult to restack the coffee sacks inside to create a makeshift barrack. The large flat sacks were like hard mattresses, and together with a few blankets, they made better beds than a lot of other sleeping arrangements the five men had already suffered from.

Only three of them were off duty, with two of them sleeping currently, whilst Barrot, the third, was sitting beside Nico, the one guarding the second container they had reserved for the girls. Nico looked at his watch.

»Two more hours, and I will take over from Cory! Not that he suffers from too much heat!«

Cory was the man inside the second container, and he was sitting right beside the small door leading inside, his gun loosely on his lap, and a bottle of water in his left. Inside the metal box, the air was hot and stuffy, and he was sure that, despite their wish to keep as much distance as possible, the girls would come sooner or later, to get some of the water he had with him.

Right now, Babette, Carmen and Inga were sitting behind a barrier of coffee sacks, despondently looking at the empty plastic bottle in front of them. They knew that thirst would soon force them to get a new one, thus exposing themselves to Cory.

Once they had been brought inside the container, the men had told them that this container would be their »home« for the next two days, and that they would be left with some freedom if they would behave well. Since they all had been lying side by side, naked, hogtied, gagged and crotch-roped, they had agreed on behaving for the moment.

Compared to the previous predicament, they had indeed improved: they were only restrained by handcuffs around their ankles, they were no longer gagged, and each of them had even been allowed to put on one of the panties that had previously gagged them. On doing so, the men had showed some grim humour, and so, Babette wad been given the pair of pantyhose that had once been worn by Miranda, Carmen’s right hand, and that had been used to gag Inga then. The Nylon was covered with ladders, and the sheer material did rather emphasize her assets than hiding them. And yet, Babette considered the pantyhose better than nothing between her private parts and her captors.

Carmen was sporting Inga’s panties. They had been in her mouth before, and though the plain white Lycra panties were opaque, she had to constantly keep them from sliding down her hips. Their cuffed ankles prevented her and Inga from swapping, and the tall Swede had the most humiliating underwear: a flimsy thong worn by Kim, the Korean girl that had been left behind by their captors. The small triangle of black cloth barely covered her strip of pubic hair, and Inga felt uncomfortable with the string embedded in her buttocks. The men had taken the other panties with them, »for further use«.

Each girl had been handed a blanket, and they also had a now empty bottle of water. They had restacked the sacks, not only building a barrier to the man guarding them, but also to a place in a corner where there was a bucket and a roll of toilet paper.

They could have talked, but right now, they just sat there, avoiding to look at each other. Though they now were fellow captives, they didn’t trust each other: Carmen had initiated the abduction of Johanna, the reason why Babette had been brought into the game by Sato, and Inga had been one of Carmen’s henchwomen, but rebelled against her.

Babette only had to look at the others to see her own state: clad only in a pair of borrowed panties, sweat-clad and dishevelled. She reached for the empty bottle and ostentatiously turned it upside down. With a sigh, she pointed over her shoulder.

»The next one, one of you will get!«

Cory’s offer towards his prisoners had been simple: they would been given one bottle a day, and of course, half a litre was far too less for them sitting inside a stuffy container, even if they did little more than sitting around. However, as Cory had stated, they would be given more if they were able to »convince« him.

Taking small steps, due to her cuffed ankles, Babette approached the man, forcing herself not to shield her breasts with her arms. Cory grinned and took a sip from his bottle, sighing as if it had been the most refreshing drink ever and not some lukewarm stale water. Nevertheless, it made Babette feel even thirstier.

»You want a fresh bottle?«

»Yes, please«, Babette replied, forcing a smile on her lips. Cory grinned lasciviously, letting his eyes wander over her body.

»Well – convince me!«

Babette oppressed a sigh and straightened her shoulders, thrusting out her boobs. Cory licked his lips, but then, he shook his head.

»Why should I pay for something I can get for free?«

The problem was that Cory could get much more for free if he decided to do so. Ben had given no orders about how they should be treated, and if he decided to get physical and she would try to fight him, he could either beat her or call in his comrades. Or, an equally terrifying thought, he could just wait until they were mad with thirst and would do anything for a sip of water.

»What do you want for a bottle then?«

She put one hand on her hips and swayed them slightly, allowing him to see everything she had to offer. Cory wasn’t indifferent to her charms, but Babette knew that it was a dangerous game to tease the man who could throw himself upon her.

In the few seconds Cory needed to rise, she considered how far she would go deliberately. Also, she tried to read in his face: was this man a complete pervert, or did he just enjoy playing with her a little? The truth, maybe, was somewhere in between.

Cory formed his left like a bowl and poured a little water in it, holding it towards her. Babette reached for his hand, trying to get it to her mouth, but Cory’s arm stiffened, forcing her to bend forward and lap the water from his hand. When she had finished, he brushed over her lips with his moist fingers, and reflexively, the thirsty girl licked them.

»You want some more?«

He pushed the bottle between her teeth and raised it. When the first drops reached her mouth, she felt his other hand on her breast, and she forced herself not to protest as he groped her whilst allowing her another sip. She even tried to test her limits:

»Another sip, and you may touch the other one?«

Cory withdrew a little and, looking at her, emptied the bottle himself. Placing his hand at the waistband of her pantyhose, he then asked:

»How about an entire new bottle – for some touching down there?«

»D-deal!«

It was just his hand, she would not die from it; that was what Babette repeatedly told herself as Cory pushed his hand into the pantyhose, cupped her pubic mound and began to massage her clit and labia. He was neither gentle nor brutish, and he also spared her heavy breathing or lewd comments, just kept on looking at her eyes, to see her reaction. Babette endured the molestation, not sure what he expected: should she squeal, or rather fake arousal? After what felt like aeons, he withdrew and handed her the bottle, but held it tight before she could take it. Babette groaned when he waved the fingers of his other hand in front of her mouth, but she licked them, blushing all over when he asked her how she liked her taste.

Without further humiliation, she then was allowed to get back to her fellow captives, and Babette blushed even deeper when she realized that Inga and Carmen had watched her ordeal. When Inga wanted to reach for the bottle, Babette pressed it to her chest.

»Go and get your own! You’ve just seen how it’s done!«

The Swede frowned.

»You know that I could just take it?«

Carmen intervened.

»Please, no! Let’s not forget who the real enemy is!«

Inga hesitated. She had heard about Carmen’s back story, and she knew that she had been in prison. So, when it came to being a captive, she was the most experienced of them. So, the Swede leaned back, looking at Babette drinking some of the water. However, after about a third, she handed the bottle to Carmen who thanked her and took her share before finally allowing Inga to empty the bottle. The Swede threw the empty bottle towards Cory and scoffed:

»I should get my share of water under any condition! After all, they need me to fly the chopper and therefore, they have to keep me well and alive!«

***

Most of the old Agadir had been destroyed during a terrible earthquake in 1961, and so, the city was not very appealing, consisting mostly of modern concrete buildings. And yet, for Dalanda Diouff, Agadir embodied paradise – the proof that she had completed her mission and had finally made it back to civilisation.

Technically, she had to wait until the next day, when her plane had reached Paris, until she had made it home completely. Though born in Senegal, Dalanda had been living in France for the past 11 years, and she considered it her home country now. At Paris, the newspaper agency she was working for was located, and once she had delivered the results of her latest report, a raise in salary and also position would follow.

Dalanda sat up on the bed of the cheap hotel and looked at the wall mirror, showing her a young black woman in plain, wide clothes that concealed her forms. She looked exhausted, but there was also an expression of triumph, and Dalanda knew that she had prevailed.

For a change, the colour of her skin had been an opportunity rather than an obstacle: the newspaper had wanted to do a report on slavery in the 21st century, and there had been numerous reports about the situation in Mauretania. Officially, the former French colony had abolished slavery in 1980, making it one of the last countries to do so. However, the Government had done little to nothing since then to really end the practice, and there were estimates of up to 200.000 slaves still existing in Mauretania. Most of these were Blacks, and so, since Dalanda not only had her roots in the Senegal, but also spoke Arabic, she could do an undercover investigation.

Dalanda had been in Mauretania for eight months. The first three of these, she had worked together with secret human rights organisations that had helped her to become a worker at a plantation of a man who was suspected to be a slave owner. For another three months, she had worked on the fields, shared the meagre rations with her co-workers, and tried to collect information about the harsh treatment. More than once, she also had to fight off the attempts of some overseers to have some fun with her, and all the time, she had feared that her hidden camera would be found.

In the end, however, Dalanda had collected enough evidence, not only against this plantation owner, but also against some of his friends, and also some proof that the Mauritanian Government was involved in this modern slavery. Dalanda had tried to get back to France – and that was when the real problems had started.

Her first attempt to leave the plantation had been discovered after a few hours, and she had been recaptured he same day. Luckily, the guards hadn’t found the microSD card sewn into her panties, and thus considered her a regular fugitive. Thus, her punishment had been that for any female escapee on her first escape attempt: Dalanda had been chained to a post near the slave quarters for an entire day without food or water, under the burning sun. She had been gagged with rags, and her breasts had been bared. Whoever wanted had been allowed to grope her, and to her horror, not only the overseers, but also some of the male slaves had done so. Her tears after her release had not been feigned – but once she had recovered, she had run away again.

This time, she had made it to the North of Mauretania, where she had fallen into the hands of some nomadic tribesmen, and again, Dalanda had spent weeks in captivity – hogtied and gagged whenever the men feared to be detected, forced to relieve herself with a leash around her neck, and constantly groped and touched. Her luck had been that she had been meant as a present for some local chieftain or warlord, and therefore, they hadn’t dared to go further. These weeks had been strenuous and humiliating, but Dalanda hadn’t broken, and she had kept her eyes and ears open. Once, one of her captors had mentioned that the border towards Morocco wasn’t far, and in the meantime, Dalanda had managed to get hold of an old razor blade she had used to cut her bonds and the backside of her tent. Following the North Star, she had then stumbled through the desert, and only when she had met a Moroccan patrol, she had been informed why the tribesmen hadn’t followed her: the area was part of the Berm, or Moroccan Western Sahara Wall, a sand wall marking the border between the part of Western Sahara controlled by Morocco and the desert areas controlled by the semi-official Government of Western Sahara. The wall also had barbed wire and mines, and it had only been by sheer luck that Dalanda hadn’t stepped on one of them.

Except for the clothes she had been wearing, and the microSD card with her photos and documents, Dalanda had been able to save her French passport, and so, the soldiers had brought her to Agadir and there, the authorities had organized not only a flight back to France for her, but also booked a room at a hotel for Dalanda, where she should stay for the night, guarded by a Policeman in front of the door.

Dalanda smiled. She had been forced to tell the Officer some of her story, and it had seemed that a report that discredited their Southern neighbour was quite welcome to them, and so, they would do all they could to prove that Morocco was more civilized than Mauretania. Anyway, though the hotel was rather cheap, it offered air conditioning and a bed that was better than anything Dalanda had enjoyed during the last months. Also, it had a shower, and for the first time since she had secretly crossed the border from Senegal to Mauretania, she felt almost clean.

That »almost« had to do with the result of her ordeal. At the outpost near the wall, the soldiers had given her some water and food and also organized an oversized linen dress and a pair of sandals in exchange for her ragged clothes. Dalanda had been grateful and changed in the small closet, but she had kept her panties she had been wearing since her first escape attempt. Occasionally, whenever she had had a little water and had been alone, she had rinsed and dried them, but despite them being black, they now looked and smelled very ripe. However, they also contained the evidence of her research, and so, she had decided to endure wearing them for one last night. Once in Paris, at her apartment, she would put on fresh underwear, before she presented the results of her adventure to her superiors.

She leaned back onto the bed, listening to the monotonous humming of the air conditioning and staring at a single beetle crawling at the ceiling.

»I did it!«, Dalanda whispered and closed her eyes. Exhaustion took over, and within a minute, she was sleeping soundly.

The Policeman at the lobby, who had been ordered to take care of her, was awake and not drinking anything stronger than coffee – but he was busy talking to the night clerk who had turned out to be a fan of Wydad Casablanca, like him, and so, the two young men discussed the coach, the actual squad and the latest transfers. None of them took care of two men dressed in grey overalls entering the hotel pushing a trolley with a canvas sack and a few brushes attached to it. The two men looked like other members of the cleaning personnel, and even if the Policeman and the clerk had taken notice, it was dubious that they had asked them why they came in the middle of the night.

The two men had gotten some information, including a certain room number, and one of them now tapped onto the door whilst his comrade stood guard in the otherwise empty corridor. After some tapping, the men were sure that Dalanda was sleeping, and they prepared two strips of tape one of them loosely attached to his shoulder whilst his comrade took a rag from a plastic bag filled with a colourless liquid.

With a curved wire, one of them opened the door, and they entered the room, seeing a black girl lie on her back, upon the still folded sheets. They nodded to each other, and one of them stepped to the right side of the bed, the soaked rag in his right. His comrade went for the other side, and in each hand, he held one of the tape strips.

He approached as slowly as a clock’s hand, until he could feel Dalanda’s breath on his fingers. In a swift move, he pressed the tape over her mouth and eyes and then withdrew, allowing his friend to clamp Dayana’s mouth and nose with the rag.

»Uuuhmm? Mhhmmph!«

The drowsy moans were followed by more agitated ones, and the girl tried to squirm, but number two had thrown himself upon her, trapping her limbs, and his colleague pressed the rag against her face with all his strength. Dalanda, blindfolded and with her lips taped, inhaled the fumes through her nose as she desperately struggled to get free, and soon, her movements grew weaker, and her muffled screams turned into chortles.

The man left the narcotic over her mouth and nose for a minute after the girl had stopped moving, and by slapping her cheek, he tested if she had indeed passed out. Quickly, they tied her wrists and ankles with zip ties; after a moment of hesitation, they added cable binders around her elbows and knees, and also hogtied the unconscious girl. The rag was tied over her mouth and nose to ensure Dalanda would remain unconscious, and like that, she was stowed inside the canvas sack.

As the two men left the building, the Policeman and the clerk just discussed Morocco’s chances in the next World Championship, and so, they could leave unseen. The whole kidnapping had lasted less than ten minutes, and so far, everything had gone well.

***

Having visited Sato, all her remaining strength had left Johanna, and she had gratefully accepted the offer of the Inspector Criminal to get her to the hospital, too. He accompanied her himself, not only ensuring that she would get the best treatment, but also carefully trying to do a first interrogation.

She had been monosyllabic; not so much out of exhaustion, not even from embarrassment, but because she wanted to figure out what Sato’s role had been – and what she could do to make sure he wouldn’t get punished too hard. From all she knew, he had tried to rescue her, though he had chosen a less than usual approach.

At the hospital, Johanna had at first wanted to refuse the wheelchair, but since the orderly looked friendly and she indeed felt wobbly in her legs, she had allowed him to push her towards her room, accompanied by a nurse who, in broken French, asked her if she needed some immediate care.

»For now, a bed and a toilet will be just fine – maybe, not in that order!«

However, once at her room, all her tiredness was like it had been blown away, and she had to force herself to behave as if she was still sleepy until the nurse and the orderly had left. At the corridor, she had been able to glimpse through an ajar door, and there, Melissa and the other girl that had shortly shared imprisonment with her had been sitting on a bed, side by side. She knew Melissa from the cruise ship, and perhaps, she could tell her some more about what had happened!

So, she sneaked out onto the corridor and entered the room. At her entry, Melissa and Gabriela withdrew from each other, their cheeks blushing; obviously, they had just been kissing. Gabriela didn’t recognize Johanna at first (after all, she was now dressed), but Melissa got up, and the two exchanged a short hug. In German, Melissa then introduced:

»Gaby, this is Johanna Müller, the woman we were trying to free – Johanna, this is Police Constable Gabriela Mineiros from the Porto Police, my – colleague!«

The two held hands, and obviously, Gabriela wasn’t just a colleague, but that wasn’t something to bother Johanna, and for a while, they told each other what the respective other didn’t know. Johanna could add little but details about her captivity, and when Melissa had ended her report, she blinked with disbelief:

»So, Sato kidnapped Babette, to exchange her for me – and then, he also took you two prisoner, as a backup for his plan B?«

She shook her head and scoffed.

»If I wrote a plot like that, my manager would slap me with the manuscript!«

»Oh, we could have imagined another outcome, too!«, Gabriela pouted. She had sensed right that Johanna was also feeling a bit flattered by Sato’s efforts to free her. Johanna sighed and looked at the Policewomen’s faces.

»In a way, he was successful – if it hadn’t been for that Ben and his henchmen-«

»I doubt that this will be a solace for Babette!«, Melissa stated. Unlike Johanna, she and Gabriela had learned to know the girl and liked her. Johanna, however, thought more about Carmen: Carmen, who had been behind her abduction, only to be dethroned by her own henchwomen, of whom one, the blonde Swede, now shared her captivity, together with Babette. She looked at Gabriela.

»Do you think your Spanish colleagues will get this Ben?«

Unlike Melissa, who had quit her job to become a security member on a cruise ship, Gabriela was still an active Police Officer, and she knew the most about standard procedures.

»I think they will wait until Miranda has recovered and then grill her, try to find out as much as she knows about Ben’s real name and his whereabouts – however, if he has managed to leave the country, and if he is as rich as he had seemed, he may also be able to hide somewhere, waiting until the dust has settled!«

Miranda had been Carmen’s right hand, and she had been rescued by the Police shortly before the others. Since she was considered to be a potential criminal and for sure an important witness, she had been brought to the Police hospital and was kept guarded. Johanna balled her fist.

»Miranda will play the victim’s card, and it will take weeks before they even get a real investigation started! Until then, Babette, Carmen and Inga can be sold somewhere in Central Africa!«

»Central Africa?«, both Melissa and Gabriela echoed in unison, and only now, Johanna realized why she had mentioned that specific country.

»In the cellar, this Ben mentioned that he was doing business there!«

Currently, none of the girls had their cell phone, so, they scraped their knowledge about Central Africa together: as the name told, it was located in the midst of the Black Continent, was known for being either a dictatorship or a failed state and had quite rich diamond deposits. Johanna, who, as an author, didn’t lack phantasy, drew the conclusions:

»So, we have diamonds, a more than unscrupulous businessman and criminal – and three pretty blondes! Something tells me that this Ben doesn’t want to start his own harem, but will use them as – barter goods!«

She shuddered from the thought, and Melissa also cuddled closer against Gabriela. After all, being sold as a White Slave would have been Melissa’s fate, too, if she hadn’t managed to escape before she had been shipped off. With a hoarse voice, the Portuguese stated:

»If he’s there, there’s no chance of freeing them! I mean, the Spanish can ask the Central African Government for collaboration, but not only are they corrupt, but they even don’t control the whole country!«

For a while, they just sat there in silence, contemplating the fate of the three women. Gabriela tried to put their only advantage on the board:

»He can’t reach Central Africa with the helicopter, at least not without doing several pit stops, and this chopper really can’t be called plain! Ben has to stop on his way there! If only we knew where – but now, we don’t even have his real name!«

Johanna slowly rose from her chair. She felt a tingle at the back of her head, a tingle she knew from her work. Though she of course did some research for her novels, she preferred an intuitive approach to writing, meaning that she followed an idea until she got stuck and then waited for her inspiration to kick in again. And obviously, she also had this talent in a real predicament.

»We need the help of another unscrupulous businessman – someone who maybe knows enough about Ben to get him caught! As they say, we have to fight fire with fire!«

Melissa raised an eyebrow, beginning to understand what Johanna was aiming at, but Gabriela just scoffed:

»Too bad that last year, I promised my mom to stop dating unscrupulous businessmen and so, I blocked them all from my contacts!«

Johanna showed a thin smile.

»We know the right hand of such a person – and not only does he feel bad for what happened to Babette, I also think he will be very cooperative if it is me who asks him kindly!«

***

The van slowly jerked over the uneven road until it had reached a remote barn and drove inside. A man who had been waiting inside closed the gate and greeted the two men that now left the car.

»Salam Aleikum! Did everything work out as planned?«

»Aleikumu Salam! Even better, one might say! Easier than stealing a cake!«

They opened the back door and heaved Dalanda out of the sack, carrying her over to an old couch and placing her upon it. The man who had been waiting at the barn carefully peeled the tape from her eyes and removed the cloth tied over her mouth and nose.

»Yeah, that’s indeed her – Sweet Dalanda! How peaceful she looks when she’s asleep!«

He bent forward and placed a kiss on the still unconscious girl’s forehead. Then, he clapped his hands and ordered:

»We all know how rebellious she can become once she’s awake! So, we better take care our plan continues to run that well!«

From a box, one of his comrades ripped two wads of cotton wool and placed them over Dalanda’s eyes, taping them in place before securing the blindfold by wrapping a bandage over her eyes. The tape was peeled from her lips, only to push a nerf ball into her mouth. This was secured by a few strips of duct tape and another bandage. Once they had also pulled a hood over the girl’s head, they checked her bonds, and the leader drew his knife.

»We need her secured, but we also don’t want her to get bruised! Don’t forget, friends-«

»She’s precious good!«, his comrades echoed, and the three men chuckled for a moment before they cut Dalanda’s bonds, only to tie her wrists, elbows, knees and ankles with tape before tying cable binders on top. They spared her the hogtie, but one of them tied her big toes with another zip tie. They watched the helpless girl in her dress that now, with her elbows tied, could no longer conceal her ample forms.

»Precious indeed!«, the leader stated, groping one of her breasts.

***

On a container ship, even the Captain’s cabin didn’t offer much luxury, and Jean, the most trusted of his men, had to sleep on the couch whilst Ben had the bed for himself. He watched his boss finish the last of his calls via the radio, and of course, he had overheard most of it. So, Ben just asked him:

»I hope you won’t mind seeing your home country a little later!«

Jean was named after Jean-Bédel Bokassa, the infamous dictator of Central Africa who had even crowned himself Emperor, but he could not be called too patriotic.

»It was a shithole when I was young, and it has gone South ever since! Once I made enough money, I will get my family to a better place!«

Ben knew that until this point, Jean would be as loyal as ever, and he stretched his limbs.

»The diamond business has its advantages – not only are these little stones precious, it also has a long tradition! Especially in my family who made their first Million at the Big Hole of Kimberley! However, it was me who took the step from millionaire to billionaire – and I didn’t get there by sticking to tradition!«

Looking out of the bull eye, he added:

»I think some entirely new business could not only be lucrative, but also entertaining!«

***