The Castro Diamonds

Wilson Pratchett robbed banks.

His grandson, Wilson Pratchett III, did not. Yet the younger Pratchett was still denied entry into FBI training at Quantico, and if one asked why, he would tell you it was because of his family legacy. It was a great story to tell at parties, of his grandfather’s daring and meticulously planned exploits that would eventually involve his father as well, and of their eventual capture and punishment just after young Will was born. The truth is most of it was made up. Will didn’t actually know any of the details, and if his mother Angela did, she kept them from him. He was never allowed to meet or even to know his father and grandfather, even after their prison deaths when Will was three. And they were never spoken of without receiving a strong rebuke in return.

Of course, the FBI may have also been persuaded by his test scores which were unimpressive overall. Or his occasionally questionable life choices, like the time he tried to become a rapper under the name Willie 3-Dizzle, which is practically unforgivable, especially for a fair-haired, middle-class teenager of northern European descent. Nonetheless, the fact remains that Wilson Pratchett III is not an FBI agent. Or a bank robber.

He is, however, a pretty good pilot who spends most of his flight hours crop-dusting fields of strawberries, tomatoes, spinach and what have you in the Salinas Valley of California near the Pacific Coast in an old Grumman Ag Cat biplane nicknamed Angiecat that was kept operational by duct tape and prayers. And Davis.

Davis Reedy had been Will’s best friend since childhood. They grew up together in the valleys of central California just inland of the Monterey Peninsula. He was a tall African American and gifted mechanic. If anyone could keep the old girl flying, it was Davis.

Flying for what, though, became the question. The world of crop dusting was changing and the two of them were trying to keep their business afloat in the onslaught of competition from modern drone technologies that were quickly becoming cheaper for agricultural spraying. The two sometimes mused that they could go into the aerial sightseeing business when the crop contracts dried up. The central coast was a beautiful place to give that a go. If ol’ Angiecat was up for it.

Today’s business done, Will circled the Cat above the grass airstrip they used for their operation. It was a flat and solid strip and not much else. Just an old barn they used as a hangar and office, with two smaller outbuildings used for various purposes. There was also the old trailer that Will used as a home, parked next to the barn. Davis would use it occasionally as well, when his wife Stella was angry with him.

On the final approach, with the strip in front of him and the barn to the left, Will could see that they had company. Two black SUVs were parked next to the barn, standing out sharply compared to Davis’ old Ford Ranger and Will’s Honda Goldwing motorcycle. He pressed the right rudder pedal down about halfway to counter a brisk crosswind and heard the sharp rattle. It had been a small annoyance for a couple of weeks now.

“Damn!” Will said out loud, forgetting the SUVs.

A loose cable, or pulley, or both. He and Davis kept tightening, but it kept rattling. It would probably have to be replaced, and would probably be expensive, and they could probably not afford it. Tightening and rattling would have to do for the time being.

Landing the biplane softly on the grass runway, Will brought her around and parked outside of the barn. Dismounting over the wing, he grabbed a flight bag of air charts from the cockpit and jumped to the ground. The light was dimming, but he knew Davis would have the lights on in the barn. They would have to roll Angie in a little later.

“Hey D,” he said, entering the barn through a small door set into the larger double sliding doors that made up the west wall. “That rattle is back in the right rudder…”

Davis interrupted. “Will, these three gents are with the FBI. They say they have some questions for you.” Davis and the three FBI agents were standing around a desk crowded with papers in the corner of the barn that stood for their office. The agents were dressed in casual suits, appropriate for the summer heat, but looked every inch like government employees.

Will’s face brightened a little. The rudder could wait. He could only think of one reason the FBI would come calling. “Oh, hello Gentlemen. Will Pratchett,” he said, extending his hand to the closest man. “What can I do for you?”

The closest man ignored Will’s hand and came closer. “Mr. Pratchett, I’m agent Conrad with the FBI.” Conrad produced a leather wallet with a badge and identification. “If you have a moment, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Will’s smile grew bigger. “Well, I’d be happy to talk with you. Would you like to have a seat? Something to drink?”

Conrad didn’t move. “Do you own this place, Mr. Pratchett?”

“Uh, no,” Will said, slightly taken aback. “He does.” Will pointed at Davis. “He owns the plane, too.”

“Won it from Will, playing poker.”

“Cheating at poker.”

“Noooo,” said Davis, while nodding ‘yes’ to the Agents. None of them smiled.

“Why do you ask?” Will said.

“We’ve been directed to review any of your family’s possessions to search for something of National interest,” said Conrad.

“Search? For what?” asked Will.

“Tried that,” Davis mumbled.

“Something of National interest,” repeated Conrad.

Will became a little dejected. “Oh. I thought you were here…for something else.”

Conrad’s face showed a sudden curiosity. “Were you expecting us, Mr. Pratchett?”

“No, no,” said Will, “Its just that I took the initial entry test for an interview with the FBI…”

“Three times,” Davis interjected.

“Not helpful!” shot Will with a contemptuous look at his friend.

Conrad took warrant papers out of an inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s come to the bureau's attention that you may be in possession of property that was stolen decades ago, allegedly by your grandfather, the former convict Wilson Pratchett.” He regarded Will sleepily. “The first,” he added.”

“What?! What stolen property?”

“It’s standard protocol, Mr. Pratchett. We hope to be the least disruptive to your business as possible.” Conrad spoke as if from a script, almost robotically disinterested.

“My grandfather died fifty years ago, serving his time in the federal penitentiary. Can you explain what he took that could possibly interest the FBI after all of these years?”

“The Castro Diamonds.”

“The Castro what?”

“Diamonds that were smuggled into the country by the Cuban regime of Fidel Castro for the purpose of funding a coup against the American government, starting with the Kennedy assassination. They were provided by the Soviet Union.”

“My grandfather was convicted for bank robbery,” Will said, “he wasn’t a jewel thief.”

“The diamonds were in a bank…and never recovered.”

“Thus, never used to fund an insurrection?” questioned Davis.

Conrad ignored the comment. “Do you know anything regarding property that may have belonged to your grandfather, or to your father, Wilson Pratchett Jr.?”

“I never knew them,” said Will. They died in prison when I was young, and my mother wouldn’t allow any talk about them. Black sheep, you know…”

“Where is your mother now,” interrupted Conrad.

“Uh, well, she died a little over two years ago. Eighty-two years old…”

“And her property?” Conrad was good at interrupting.

Will blew silent air through his lips, thinking hard. “Well, not much was left really. Old photos and such. Some trunks full of old family junk.” He threw his hands open and sat on a corner of the desk. “But no diamonds. I don’t think there would be anything of interest either, to help you find them.”

“We can decide that. Mr. Pratchett, this warrant compels you to produce family property for search and potential seizure and we will require you to do such for our investigation. The federal 9th Circuit Court for Central California will require you to disclose all such property, and I’d like to request that you present yourself, with a lawyer if you wish, at our field office tomorrow morning to begin the recording of your family assets.” Conrad handed Will a business card with his name and the address of the field office in Monterey.

“Well, what if I’m busy tomorrow?”

“Then I will have you retrieved and escorted to our field office tomorrow morning.”

“With a lawyer!” said Davis.

“If you wish,” replied Conrad. “Good evening, Gentlemen.” With that, Conrad and his two silent partners exited the small door of the barn. Will and Davis heard the SUVs start up and drive off.

“Wow. What do you make of that, Will?” asked Davis.

Will stood for a moment staring at the doorway, unblinking. Then he sighed and said “I think it might be time to get to know my grandfather.”

To Be Continued…