Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4)

by Michael C. Grumley

  Still covering the vest’s microphone, DeeAnn looked softly at both men. “Listen, I’d like to apologize to both of you. I should have told you about Rwanda sooner. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Dee,” Caesare winked. “We know what it’s like to be scared.”

  She smiled and nodded, appreciatively. “There’s a bit more to it, I’m afraid. Rwanda terrifies me. That much is true. But there’s something else too.” She sighed and glanced at Dulce, who was still peering out the window. “I’m not sure if this is something you realized, but I, uh…can’t have children.”

  She watched both men’s expressions soften.

  “I’ve always wanted to, but I can’t.” She paused. “I tried to adopt when I was younger. A little girl, from Indonesia. But at the last minute, things fell through.” DeeAnn tried to force a smile. “I was…kind of devastated.”

  Clay and Caesare remained quiet.

  “I know it probably sounds a little silly, but when I found Dulce, when I rescued her, I think it helped me. It helped heal part of that wound.”

  Clay shook his head. “Doesn’t sound silly at all.”

  DeeAnn smiled again and actually laughed. “But I didn’t expect to completely fall in love with her.” She turned back to both the men. “You know, young gorillas are similar to young children. Developmentally. And…I think Dulce not only helped heal me, but I think she actually filled that void––the longing I’ve had to be a mother.”

  Caesare smiled warmly. “You are her mother, Dee.”

  “I know.” She nodded again and blinked small tears away. “Which is the biggest reason why I didn’t want to come to Rwanda.”

  Clay frowned. “You’re afraid that once back in the open, Dulce will want to stay.”

  “Yes,” DeeAnn replied. She was struggling to speak. “Or worse. But yes, what if she doesn’t want to come back? What if she doesn’t want to stay with me?” Tears returned to her eyes. “I was afraid of the same thing when we went to South America, and there are no gorillas there. But this is Africa.”

  The men searched for something to say, but they had no words. All Caesare could think to do was to lean forward and place a hand gently on her knee.

  ***

  As the aircraft slowed and turned off the runway, the two crewmembers returned from the rear of the plane, through an aisle running between two sides of secured cargo. Each man held on to an overhead rail.

  “Everyone okay?” Murphy asked, raising his voice over the engines.

  DeeAnn shot the men an anxious glance but said nothing.

  “Peachy,” Caesare replied. “Where’s the continental breakfast?”

  Murphy smiled. “I’ll see if I can find you some pretzels.” He glanced at his colleague behind him and continued. “As I’m sure you might guess, this is a rather unusual delivery. All the other animals we transport are usually crated. We do have several cages in the back, but it’s up to you on how you’d like to deplane.”

  Clay and Caesare both turned to DeeAnn. This was the hard part. Their “cover” in Africa was that they were a group of researchers transporting their primates to a research center in the Gishwati National Park. Which meant it would look out of place if both animals were not caged. And the last thing they wanted here was undue attention. But getting them into the cages willingly was not going to be easy.

  “We’re probably going to need a little time on this one,” DeeAnn said to Murphy, quickly pulling herself together.

  “Understood,” he nodded. “Would you like us to bring the cages forward or leave them in the back?”

  “Best to leave them, I think. This will need to be done gently.”

  “Very well. We’ll give you some space then and check in with customs. If there is anything we can do to help, just shout.”

  “Thank you.”

  Clay and Caesare stood up, shaking hands with both men. “Thanks, fellas. Really appreciate the help.”

  “Any time,” Murphy said, with a wink. “It’s always fun to do a little clandestine work. Good luck with whatever you’re working on.”

  They watched both crewmen continue to the front and open the door to the cockpit before Caesare leaned closer to Clay.

  “Well, I guess we’ve got to kill them now.”

  Clay shrugged, then deadpanned, “It’s a shame.”

  From the seat across the aisle, DeeAnn rolled her eyes. “Do you two ever stop?”

  “She’s starting to sound like Langford.”

  With a playful grin, Clay stepped forward to help DeeAnn unbuckle Dulce and Dexter. The former jumped into her lap and wrapped her lanky arms around DeeAnn’s shoulders.

  Dexter climbed up and quietly peered out Dulce’s window, studying the objects moving past.

  “What’s the plan for getting them into the cages, Dee?”

  She grinned at Caesare. “I’m going to need your help.”

  61

  DeeAnn’s plan was simple, and so far, effective. Trusting Caesare, and taking it slow, both Dulce and Dexter reluctantly agreed to be placed inside for a short time––as long as their cages were not locked.

  Now, lifted out of the plane and placed on the back of a waiting open-top Jeep, the chrome-colored bars of both cages reflected brightly under Rwanda’s bright morning sun.

  Located just a few degrees below the equator, the Rwandan climate was surprisingly comfortable, given the country’s high elevation. With green, lush mountains and plenty of rainfall, the natural beauty of the small country presented a stark contrast to the incredible atrocities it sheltered.

  Kigali, the capital, was the epicenter of the country’s civil war, erupting in the 1990s. Even more horrifying was the “Rwandan Genocide” that witnessed the mass slaughter of nearly one million Rwandan Tutsis in only 100 days, by the Hutu majority government. The event, following the Burundian president’s airplane being shot down, resulted in the extermination of seventy percent of native Tutsi.

  The damage to Kigali was repaired, but the sheer barbarism and enormity of the event was a stunning reflection for the rest of the world. And perhaps the greatest historical disparagement considering that the travesty took place in the very birthplace of humankind.

  For decades, anthropologists and scholars around the world would question just how far the nature of mankind had truly come.

  And while Rwanda had grown somewhat from the horror of it all, the structure of the government, the bias in the political and racial divisions, and the power of the country’s individualized militias were as prominent as ever.

  Deep rifts within a tiny, violent country was still largely hidden from public view.

  For the moment, Dulce stared anxiously from her cage, studying the bars with an unmistakable look of doubt. Her big eyes blinked and slowly peered back up at DeeAnn, standing beside the vehicle.

  Me no like.

  Next to her, in a second smaller cage, Dexter said nothing. Instead, he merely fingered the door, pushing it open and closed again––testing it over and over, making sure it didn’t lock.

  “I’m sorry,” DeeAnn said. “But it’s very important you stay in the cage. For a little while.”

  Something in her reply didn’t translate correctly, but Dulce seemed to understand, though she remained unhappy. She turned and motioned to Dexter, communication which the vest could not pick up.

  Steve Caesare stood on the other side of the Jeep, lifting their bags onto the extended rear carriage rack.

  “It shouldn’t be long. We should be out of the city within an hour.” He hefted the last bag into place and looked at DeeAnn while snaking a rope over the top. “After that, we’ll be remote enough that having them out won’t seem all that odd.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Caesare grinned. “Trust me, people in Africa are used to seeing some strange things. A couple primates in a Jeep will look less odd than you think.”

  “Have you been to Rwanda before?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve bee
n to a lot of other places in Africa. Places a lot like this.”

  They turned to see Clay approaching from the old and faded terminal building. Outside, a long line of passengers waited along the building’s outer wall, clutching their bags and suitcases. All were waiting to board a smaller turboprop airplane belonging to RwandAir, the country’s solitary airline.

  “Everything go okay?”

  “Well, okay might be a little relative, but yes.” Clay returned their passports, then folded several forms and tucked them into a pocket. “Fortunately for us, the protocol’s a bit light here.”

  “Good.” DeeAnn withdrew two bundles of vegetables from the box, handing one to each of her furry friends. “The rest of this food isn’t going to last long here. We’ll have to find a new supply.”

  Caesare nodded. “We’ll need more than that.” He finished lashing down the bags and stepped back to open the rear door for her. “Everyone ready for the field trip?”

  Clay nodded, scanning the area one last time before climbing into the front passenger seat.

  DeeAnn checked the cords securing the cages before reaching inside to rearrange a pillow for Dulce. “I guess so.”

  ***

  A few miles outside Kigali, they stopped at a dingy, run-down gas station to fill up the Jeep. The station had two pumps, both looking older than anyone using them, and only one appeared operational.

  A short line formed at the single pump and several patrons waited patiently, all dressed in ill-fitting dirty clothing. Some sat on plastic containers or jerry cans, seemingly unaffected by the wait.

  Clay and Caesare both climbed out, then stood in front of the vehicle. The air was damp with a soft breeze flowing past. Beneath the Jeep’s thick canopied top, DeeAnn watched the primates finish off a second helping of kale.

  Caesare unfolded a map and placed an aerial picture over it, given to him by Will Borger.

  “Well, it shouldn’t take long to get there.”

  “Good. The sooner, the better,” Clay replied. He studied several Rwandans who were watching them from a distance. “Even with these clothes, I don’t think we’re exactly fitting in.”

  Caesare didn’t look up. “What we need is a guide.”

  “Hallo,” a voice said from behind them.

  Clay and Caesare turned together to see a boy standing near the Jeep, wearing a friendly smile. He was dressed in a colorful but dusty shirt, his hair cropped short. A pair of baggy shorts were held up by a faded belt, all perched atop a pair of dark skinny legs and sandals.

  “Are you English?” the boy asked.

  Clay and Caesare looked at each other before turning back to the boy.

  “American.”

  He smiled wider and came closer. “I like America!” The boy’s accent was strong with traces of South African English.

  Caesare raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” he nodded excitedly. “Justin Bieber and football!”

  With a sad expression, Caesare peered back at Clay. “This is what we’ve become?”

  Clay grinned. “Something tells me they don’t have a lot of channels out here.” He stepped forward as the boy turned and scanned the Jeep, paying special attention to Dulce and Dexter. “What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  Clay frowned. “What’s your real name?”

  At that, the boy paused. “Yves.”

  “You live around here, Yves?”

  “Yes. Over there.” He pointed at a distant hill, dotted with small houses. “Are you going to the mountains?”

  “What makes you think that?” Caesare asked.

  Yves shrugged and pointed at Dulce and Dexter.

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  “And what are you doing around here?”

  “I work here.”

  “You work here? Doing what?”

  The boy smiled. “I help people. With everything.”

  Caesare straightened up and looked at DeeAnn, still in the Jeep, who had quietly turned off her vest.

  “Do you know someone who can show us the way to the mountains?”

  “Yes! My mukuru!”

  ***

  Yves’s mukuru was his older brother. He was in his mid-teens with a strikingly similar appearance to Yves. Most of the difference between the two was in the extra foot of height.

  The teenager was brought back to the station by his younger brother while Clay and Caesare remained, waiting for gas. The older brother was just as friendly and twice as eager.

  “I’m Janvier,” he said quickly. “You want to go to the mountains? I can take you.”

  Clay and Caesare studied the young man and motioned him behind the vehicle. They spoke in a lower volume.

  “How well do you know the way?”

  “Very well. I have been many times!”

  “How many?”

  He paused, thinking. When he answered, Clay couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question. “Fifty?”

  “Fifty times?”

  “Yes!”

  Caesare motioned to DeeAnn who climbed out of the Jeep. Janvier noticed her vest, but promptly met her eyes and smiled.

  “We need to go quietly,” Caesare said.

  Janvier nodded repeatedly. “Yes. No problem. Everyone goes to mountains quietly.”

  “What for?”

  “For gorillas.”

  “Everyone wants to study the gorillas?”

  “No,” DeeAnn replied dryly. “He’s talking about the poachers.”

  She peered hard at Janvier. “They go to capture the gorillas. Don’t they?”

  The teenager’s expression grew nervous. He shrugged innocently but continued smiling. “I…do not know. I just show the way.”

  From where he was standing, Janvier glanced over DeeAnn’s shoulder at the small gorilla in the Jeep. Dulce had left her cage and was crawling curiously onto the backseat. When DeeAnn followed his eyes, she walked back and picked Dulce up, returning her gently to the cage while whispering something.

  Janvier continued watching DeeAnn until she returned to them, studying her face and disposition. “You are researcher?”

  “Yes. I’m a researcher. But I’m not here to trap anything.”

  Janvier either didn’t hear the remark or ignored it. Instead, he looked down at his younger brother Yves and spoke in Kinyarwandan.

  The older brother looked back and forth between all three now, lowering his own voice. “You come for the researcher?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The woman researcher.” Janvier glanced at DeeAnn. “Like you. The one that died.”

  62

  “You know about the woman who died? That was thirty years ago.”

  Janvier nodded. “Everyone knows about her. She is famous.”

  “What else?”

  He looked down at his younger brother and made a shooing sound. The smaller Yves nodded and promptly ran back the way they had come.

  “She is killed. In the mountains. With the gorillas.”

  “You know where?”

  “Yes. Her cabin is there. The real one.”

  Suddenly, DeeAnn’s expression turned from surprise to astonishment. With wide eyes, she stared at Clay and Caesare.

  “Janvier, you’re saying Dian Fossey’s original cabin is still there?”

  He nodded again. “Yes. It is blocked. But there is still a way. I can take you.”

  DeeAnn took a deep breath and put a hand over her chest. “Oh my God.”

  Clay stepped forward. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” She shook her head and took several more breaths. “I’m not sure if I want to see that.”

  “Janvier, how long does it take to get there? Just near the cabin?”

  “If I take you now, we are there in this afternoon.”

  “Quietly.”

  “Yes. Very quiet.”

  “How much?” Caesare asked.

  “Two hundred American dollars.”


  Caesare smiled. He liked this kid. “Three hundred…and you help us get some things.”

  Janvier grinned. “Of course.”

  “Beginning with some petrol, rapido.”

  ***

  Not surprisingly, there was another, much faster place to get gasoline. For an additional cost. Two more boxes of food were also secured with little trouble. By the time they made it beyond the outskirts of Kigali, it was still barely ten o’clock.

  The road was in better shape than expected, allowing them to make it to the base of the mountain in less than an hour. The climb up, however, was very different. Plagued by ruts and deep potholes from the heavy rainfall, the road was missing many sections. This required the trio to slow to a stop before carefully inching forward onto the dirt.

  And Caesare was right. Once they’d made it far enough out, they passed few people, none of whom paid the slightest attention to the gorilla or the monkey. Both animals had now moved forward and were sitting on the backseat between DeeAnn and Clay.

  They’d be able to reach the mountain within hours. And while it would take time to find the coordinates Will Borger had identified, if the current road was any indication, they might be able to do it before anyone even knew they were there.

  From the driver’s seat, Caesare was beginning to feel downright enthusiastic, which worried him. Because if there was one thing Clay and Caesare had learned from previous missions, it was that when things seemed to be going well…that was just about the time the bottom usually fell out.

  63

  The horror of the Rwandan Genocide finally ended in 1994, on the 4th of July. The armed wing of the Tutsis, known as the Rwandan Patriotic Front was the responsible party. Originally backed by Belgium and France, the RPF fought back against the Hutu-driven attacks, cutting off government supply routes and taking advantage of the rapidly deteriorating social order.

  And yet, while the Tutsis had since reclaimed the Rwandan government, and driven most of the Hutus back across the Congo border, not all who had been responsible for the genocide had fled.