Page 3 of Red Line

No. Lying to these men would be a mistake.

“The diamond was mined in South Africa in the 1920s,” Hans began, his voice just above a whisper. “The coloration is classified as pure scarlet, the rarest of the rare, so red that many thought it was a ruby, but no. At that time, the stone was sold to a prince who was born of the bloodline of not one but three Middle Eastern royal families. He bought it for his betrothed, a very romantic gesture.” The story grounded Hans; he felt betterfor telling it as if repeating a well-worn children’s tale. His voice no longer quivered and took on a conversational tone. “It was unusual that a royal marriage was based on passion rather than politics. But that was the case here. The prince sought the perfect representation of his love. As the story goes, the prince, declaring his betrothed to be his life’s blood, purchased the pure scarlet diamond, reputed to look like a drop of blood in the light. He had it mounted in a gold filigree setting, offering it to his wife, Haamida, on their wedding night, affirming that each beat of his heart was for her alone.” Hans stopped and licked his lips with a dry tongue.

“Continue.” The leader’s voice was even, but it was a command.

Hans glanced down at the ring still wedged on his pinky and held aloft like it was a lit match that, with any false moves, could burn everything down. “Decades later, during the Second World War, Haamida’s sister was in Morocco. When she became dangerously ill, Haamida went to her. At that point, under the order of the French Vichy government, the Nazis in Casablanca captured Haamida and her sister. The prince went to Morrocco, rescued his wife and sister-in-law through bribery, and the couple returned to their homeland to love each other until a very old age. However, when she was taken prisoner, the Nazis stole Haamida’s ring, and it was not recovered. The last known documentation says that the Fire of the Desert was stored in a salt mine in Berchtesgaden near Adolf Hitler’s retreat.”

“As a whole, the ring has a romantic history.” The leader nodded.

“Yes,” Hans exhaled. Yes, this ring was an object of legend. It was a treasure sought for almost a century with no sign. How had these men found it? Or was this a clever ruse? Hans pulled off his glasses, lifted the ring to eye level, and peered at it.

“A man will go to great lengths to prove his passion to his beloved,” Leader-man said. “In this case, Zayd Ali Kamal wished to find the ring and give it to Haamida’s great-granddaughter, Sireen, on their wedding night. Hence, the high reward was posted for the recovery of the ring. If,” he paused until Hans looked up and held his gaze, “it could be located before the wedding. And the wedding is in three weeks.”

Hans gulped.

“You seem very nervous,” the leader-man said. “And I can understand why. Let me clarify. Our team thinks we’ve found The Fire of the Desert. We came to you to verify that we did. It would be death to each of us if we were to try to hand Zayd Ali Kamal a ring and accept the prize money if we were mistaken. That is where you come into the picture. Our lives are literally in your hands. If you lie about the authenticity because you’re afraid to tell us an answer we don’t want to hear, our lives will be very short.”

Hans noted that this man spoke well but with an odd pattern to his words. Though they were both speaking English as a second language, he understood the essential meaning.

“You need to trust that we are here for the truth. And we must trust that you will perform your work with integrity. Yes?” The leader lifted his brows with the question.

“Always.” Hans had to sit there for a moment to let the man’s words sink in. This was not what he had imagined. When he saw the ring, Hans believed that he was going to die that day, and it would be a brutal exit. But no, this would be fine. They both wanted to act with honor, each for their own reasons. “Okay. Then I get to work.” He slid his hips to the edge of the chair. Holding the ring high with his right hand, he pressed with his left, wobbling a bit as he came to stand.

“And I will go with you,” the leader said. “The ring does not leave my sight.”

“Certainly. I understand.” Hans held out a hand to invite him to enter the lab. “To this day, science does not know what makes a red diamond red,” Hans said as he flipped on lights and moved his stool to the counter. “The chemical composition is the same as a colorless diamond.” After placing the stone on a velvet cloth, he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Gemologists speculate that the color has something to do with the plastic deformation in the crystals’ lattice structure.” He used a hand dryer instead of a cloth to ensure he had no lint on his fingers. “That, and perhaps, the type of atoms gliding along the structure as it underwent the pressure needed to form. Since there is no scientific understanding of the red diamond phenomenon,” he turned to catch the leader’s gaze, “there is little I can do to verify the red diamond except to ascertain that this was not lab-created and that it conforms to the documentation. I will ensure that it is a singular color with the proper clarity, cut, and carat weight as is listed in my books.”

The leader pressed his lips together with a look of dissatisfaction.

“I can show you this, however.” Hans went to the cupboard to pull out a light source. “Most red diamonds will demonstrate fluorescence in the presence of a long-wave UV light such as this.” He plugged in the lamp. “If you would please turn off the overhead lights.” Standing in the sudden darkness of the windowless lab, Hans flipped the switch, holding the light next to the diamond. “You see? This fluorescence is the first of the tests I need to assure myself that this stone was formed naturally and not lab-grown. I’ll switch to short wave just to check. You see? Lab-grown diamond’s fluorescence is stronger under short waves, which is not the case here. Yes, this is a good first result. Sometimes, the labs try to fool people by irradiating their diamonds, but this does not glow in the dark.” The light snapped back on. Both men stood gazing at the reddiamond. “Perfect,” Hans said, “Of course, we will know for sure it’s an actual diamond when I put it in this machine here. It is called a Diamond Tester.” He sent the leader a wry smile. “Not a very creative name, I suppose. But it tells you what job it accomplishes.”

The man pressed his back to the wall and stood motionless and silent as Hans moved methodically through his review, taking notes on his notepad.

Finally, Hans looked up. “Yes, you see,” he tapped on one of his reference books, “my calculations replicate the documentation. On all metrics I can employ, this artifact complies with the description, and I can certify its authenticity with a very high level of certainty.”

“Not a hundred percent certainty?” The leader scowled.

“There is never a hundred percent. A ‘very high level’ is all anyone could offer,” Hans said as he polished the ring and placed it gingerly back in its box, handing it off before he made his way back to take his place behind the desk to compose a report from his notes.

His head bent, Hans felt the leader silently communicate the good results to the team members in his office. The room was suddenly bright with excitement.

No one spoke; no one moved until Hans stood to hand his certification to the leader. After reading it over, the man placed his stack of euros on the desk. Then, after checking a final time that the ring was properly in its box, he tucked the paperwork and his treasure away, shutting the briefcase lid and clicking first the lock and then the handcuff back into place around his wrist.

Wordlessly, the men turned on their heels and filed out of the room, the last one closing the door behind him.

Hans dropped his head into his hands as he reviewed the last hour of his life. So many emotions along a broad spectrum.He would take tomorrow off and rest from this experience, he concluded.

But for now, Hans wanted to share this extraordinary event with someone who would understand. With a grin, Hans lifted the receiver on his phone and swirled his finger into the rotary dial, reaching out to Wajeeb, a man who had been a steadfast friend and counterpart throughout Hans’s professional life. Wajeeb had done the secretive work to stop Syrian conflict relics from reaching the black market, and the two had conferred on such things since the Syrian civil war began. Wajeeb would value a good mystery such as this one.

Answering on the third ring, Wajeeb barely said hello before Hans’s story spilled from his lips. “I was astonished that this ring fit the description perfectly. Wajeeb, I held in my own two hands The Fire—” Mid-sentence, Hans stopped abruptly, “Did you hear that?” He stretched the cord long so he could stand at the window and look for the source of the banging reverberation, unlike the expected car doors slamming shut.

There was another and another in quick succession.

Gripping the phone in a tight fist, Hans cupped his other hand around his eyes as he peered through the dim pane, focusing down on the sidewalk just in time to see the last of the five men fall to the ground.

Hans ducked his head to the side so he would not become a target.

Six bangs. Six shots. Now, silence.

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