by Peter Ralph
“No. One was killed with a spear, and the other had his throat cut.”
“Perhaps it was the villagers,” Joseph said. “I don’t know. Maybe they were defending themselves.”
“Defending themselves by slashing a soldier’s throat from behind? I don’t think so.” Zamenka sneered. “I think the villagers were befriending and hiding the rebels. Sure, a few innocents may have been killed, but if you couldn’t tell the villagers from the rebels, I’m sure my soldiers couldn’t either. There’s collateral damage in all battles.”
Zamenka’s far smarter than I gave him credit for. He’s turned my words back on me. “There were seventy-four deaths, General. Many were women and children. They’re far more than collateral damage.”
“The important thing is you’re back with us, safe, and well,” Bodho said, growing tired of the conversation.
“Did you take any photos?” Zamenka asked.
“No, I was running.”
“Ah, yes, of course, you were running.” Zamenka laughed. “And then you were hiding with your girlfriend. Did she keep you warm at night?”
The advisers joined the general in raucous laughter.
I’m going to enjoy killing you. “I built a fire to keep us warm.”
“Enough,” Bodho said, looking at Faraday. “What do you have for us?”
For the next six hours, the Prescott Uranium team – with the help of Faraday and Costigan – pitched their proposal for the massive yellowcake resource in Katanga. As the meeting was wrapping up, Joseph said, “May I speak to you regarding another matter, Mr. President?”
“Go ahead.”
“There was a young boy in the village. A shell or grenade hit his family’s hut and killed everyone. He has no living relations. I looked after him in the jungle, and we bonded. With your permission, I would like to take him back to the U.S. with me. Mr. Costigan is handling the paperwork with your diplomatic officials, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could use your influence to smooth the way.”
Bodho shifted uneasily and glanced at Zamenka, who shook his head. “Do you intend to adopt him?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sure the world will admire your generosity and compassion, Mr. President.”
“Yes,” the president said, brightening up.
Joseph smiled. “And who’s to say he won’t win an Olympic gold medal for the Congo in sixteen years’ time?”
“Yes, yes,” the president beamed, “give the boy’s name and details to my aide, and I will sweep the red tape away.”
Joseph could feel Costigan staring at him in the limo. “You didn’t need to involve the president. The paperwork’s already in transit, and there would’ve been no holdups. I hope you haven’t messed things up.”
“I haven’t,” Joseph replied. “I would’ve been uncomfortable had I not informed him.”
“Bullshit! You don’t trust me, and you think by getting the president involved, you won’t get done over. Did you see Zamenka’s face? He was fuming. I’m betting he’s doing his level best to talk the president out of letting Moise go with you. You’re a real smartass. You might’ve outsmarted yourself this time.”
“I don’t think so. If I’m right, by tomorrow morning, the president will need all the media help he can get. Not to say anything of a convenient distraction.”
“You’re such a smartass. Where do you think those photos on the news services came from?”
“I have no idea. Jesus, Jack, I don’t want to fight with you. I told the president about Moise because I didn’t want him finding out from someone else. Let’s start over again.”
“That’s a good idea,” Faraday said. “We still have to close the Prescott deal tomorrow. Let’s present a unified front. We can discuss it over dinner.”
“It’ll have to be breakfast,” Joseph said. “I’m eating with Maya and Moise tonight.”
The following morning, the front page of The Congo Daily Times carried the story of New Dawn workers being shot and killed by the army because they had gone on strike. The journalist said workers who had survived claimed the soldiers were flown in on helicopters hired by New Dawn. On arrival, the soldiers used New Dawn’s trucks to mount their attack on the village. At the end of the long article, the journalist posed a question: “Is the army on New Dawn’s payroll?”
International news services continued their barrage, and some suggested the Congo should be subject to sanctions. Joseph knew that was unlikely to occur as the Congo was too rich in resources for any of the Western plunderers to run the risk of losing access.
Television news showed a Greenpeace team landing at N’djili Airport and immediately boarding another flight for Lubumbashi. The rest of the world was turning up the heat on the Congo’s rulers.
Jack Costigan wasn’t happy. He knew the news could only harm Prescott’s bid and, more importantly, his future.
When Joseph entered the meeting room, President Bodho looked morose, and General Zamenka was scowling. The government advisers had their heads down staring at the table. Bodho looked up and said, “I’ve arranged to do a prerecorded television interview at midday about the attack on the mine and the village. I want you with me. All you have to say is you were lucky to escape from the rebels with your life.”
“But, Mr. President, I told you I didn’t see any rebels. I only saw workers, villagers, and soldiers. I can’t lie.”
“You won’t be lying,” General Zamenka said. “I have personally spoken to Colonel Gizenga. He has given me his word that he saw rebels attack the mine. Surely you don’t doubt his word?”
“I saw villagers killed by soldiers. I saw huts blown up. I saw villagers fired on as they ran.”
“Collateral damage,” Zamenka said. “Sad, unfortunate, but accidents happen.”
“Here’s the problem,” President Bodho said. “I thought it would be easy to arrange a passport and documents for the young boy. It is not. My aide tells me the public servants who handle these matters are upset that I’m bypassing protocols. I want to help you, but it is awkward. Do you want to help me?”
I can’t see you taking any notice of your public servants. Joseph glanced at Jack Costigan, who had a grim smile on his face and was imperceptibly shaking his head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to lie.”
“Mr. Faraday,” Zamenka said, looking directly at the Prescott executives, “we were approached by the Chinese last night about the uranium project. Their proposition was attractive, but we said we were dealing exclusively with you. Would you like to continue the negotiations on that basis?”
Before Faraday could reply, Costigan said, “Yes, yes, General, we would like to conclude a memorandum of understanding before we leave.”
Bastards! I don’t care about Prescott Uranium, but I can’t leave poor little Moise behind. “The newspapers say the United Nations and Greenpeace are on the way to the mine and village. The villagers will tell them there were no rebels. If I do what you’re asking, I’ll look like a liar.”
“No,” Zamenka said, “you are a national hero. The people will believe you, and the liars will be exposed.”
“All right, I’ll do the interview, but only if I can mention that the soldiers killed some of the villagers.”
“Accidentally killed,” Zamenka said, nodding to the president. “Mr. Faraday, you may continue with your presentation.”
On the way back to the hotel, Costigan said, “Welcome back to the Congo, Joseph. Now you know what it’s like to sell your soul. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“The only reason I did the interview was to protect Moise. Perhaps you were right, Jack. I shouldn’t have mentioned him to the president.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. They would’ve found out. Zamenka has an honors degree in extortion.”
“At least the public will get to hear there were villagers killed by the soldiers.”
“Yeah,” Costigan said unconvincingly.
Joseph
sat on the end of his bed, watching the interview with the president on the early evening news. He watched it in its entirety and then quickly flicked to another channel’s news. It was the same. They’d cut the part about the villagers being collateral damage. Joseph felt ill and put his head in his hands. Costigan’s right. I’m out of my depth.
The drums beat furiously deep into the night. The man they had thought of as their savior was a traitor.
CHAPTER 25
..................
MAYA WAS SYMPATHETIC WHEN JOSEPH called and told her how Bodho and Zamenka had coerced him into doing the interview and then tricked him. “You have been away for a long time,” she said. “It is the way of the Congo. You did the right thing. Moise would have been destined for a life of fear and poverty had he stayed here. With you, he can make something of himself.”
“I feel terrible. I have let Yannick and the villagers down. They will use what I said to make sure Gizenga and the soldiers never face court.”
Maya gave a sarcastic laugh. “They were never going to face court. There is no justice here — only torture and beatings for those who seek it. Paul Blundo was a man seeking equity and justice. Look what happened to him. Murdered in prison by guards who made it look like he committed suicide.”
“I’m not sure you’re right. The United Nations investigators and Greenpeace are going to find out the truth. When they do, they’ll bring pressure to bear on Bodho. The International Monetary Fund and the World Bank might threaten to cut off funds if the culprits aren’t brought to trial.”
“If the IMF cuts off funds, Bodho will turn to the Chinese. The West will never let it happen. The thought of the Chinese getting their hands on more of the Congo’s resources drives them crazy. You know that.”
“Perhaps,” Joseph said. “I know Bodho has the army in his pocket, but he’s also conscious of public opinion. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so anxious to be driven around the streets with me.”
“Poor Joseph. Nothing here is what it seems.”
“Can you get word to Yannick and tell him they blackmailed me? I did not betray him. I had to save Moise.”
“Yes, the drums will beat out the truth tonight.”
“Maya, are you coming back to the U.S. with me?”
“Why do you want me to?”
“To meet my parents.”
“Why do you want me to come?” Maya persisted.
“I’m fond of you. I like being with you.”
“Do you love me?” she giggled.
“I don’t know. My heart beats faster when I see you. You are so different from the scruffy little kid I once knew.”
“And you’re still the same. So serious. So bossy. But you no longer understand the Congo. Are you coming back?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall come to the U.S. with you because when you return to the Congo, you’ll need me to look after you.”
Joseph smiled. “We leave on Saturday morning. I have one last banquet to attend on the president’s cabin cruiser on Friday night. Faraday said it’s decked out like the Queen Mary.”
“Yes, it’s opulent. The despot knows how to spoil himself. Do you know what he named it?”
“No.”
“Numero Uno.” Maya replied, her disgust apparent.
The sun was sinking below the horizon when Joseph walked across the gangplank and boarded the yacht. There was a solid breeze, and the water was choppy. “It’s nearly three hundred feet long,” Faraday said, “and has more than a dozen staterooms, a helipad, a movie theater, a billiards room, and elevators. Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
“It’s stunning.”
“Yeah, and at forty knots we could do the five miles to Brazzaville, on the other side of the river, in less than ten minutes. There are regular flights from Kinshasa. They take four minutes. It has to be the shortest airline route in the world. Let’s find the dining room.”
There was a long table in the dining room without any chairs. It was laden with food. Lovely young girls carried plates around so the guests could eat at their leisure. Sofas and recliners surrounded the perimeter of the room. President Bodho and General Zamenka were engaged in an animated conversation with their advisers. Zamenka had a glass of whiskey in his hand, and when he saw Joseph, he beckoned him over. “Are you glad to be going back to the U.S.?” he slurred as a hostess asked Joseph what he would like to drink.
Before he could respond, Zamenka laughed. “He only drinks lemonade and mineral water.”
Oh, how I’d love to smash your face in, Joseph thought, and then an idea dawned on him. “I’ll have the same as what the general’s drinking. It’s my last night, and I’ll be able to sleep it off on the plane tomorrow.”
“That’s better,” Zamenka said, pounding Joseph on the back with a meaty hand. “Let’s sit down.”
“Are you happy with the negotiations? Did you find the two weeks fruitful?” Bodho asked.
“I did, Mr. President, and the Prescott uranium mine is going to add enormously to the country’s revenue.”
Joseph saw Zamenka smirk and wink at the president. Joseph had not attended the final negotiations with George Faraday, Prescott’s CEO, and the Congolese, but the wink told him as much as a thousand words.
“Yes, yes,” Bodho said, picking up a turkey leg and devouring it.
Faraday had told him not to bring the television interview up, but Joseph had to know what happened. “Mr. President, I was disappointed to see the part of the interview about the villagers being collateral damage cut.”
The corners of Bodho’s mouth turned up, and he said, “I didn’t watch it. I suppose the channels had time constraints and edited it. I’m sorry.”
Zamenka had a huge grin on his face. “Let’s not talk about unpleasantness on your last night. There are some attractive girls and plenty of staterooms you can use if you’re inclined.”
“It’s been years since I’ve had a drink,” Joseph replied. “I’m enjoying this whiskey. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to have another.”
“Good man,” Zamenka roared. “Let’s get doubles.”
A few minutes later, Joseph stood up, glass in hand and went to the bathroom where he tipped nearly all the whiskey down the toilet. When he got back to the sofa, he drank the rest and said, “You’re slowing down, General. I’ll get myself a refill.”
“You think you can outdrink me?” Zamenka said, badly slurring his words. “They’ll carry you off this boat before that happens.”
Joseph glanced out the window. It was a moonless night, and the wind had sprung up. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he said.
“You’re spending a lot of time there.”
“I’m sorry, General, I feel a little sick.”
“Ah, now I understand. And you thought you could outdrink me. If there was an Olympic gold medal for drinking, I would win it.” He laughed.
When Joseph returned, he was holding his head. “I have to go up on deck and get some fresh air,” he moaned.
“I’ll come with ya,” Zamenka slurred while signaling one of the hostesses to fill his glass.
They left the buzz of the banquet behind and struggled up the stairs with their arms around each other. There was no one else on the deck. It was warm, but the wind was howling as Joseph staggered to the bow, and put his head over the rail. “Put your fingers down your throat and throw up.” Zamenka said. “You’ll feel better.”
Joseph turned around. “I’m already feeling better. Maybe it’s the fresh air. General, Colonel Gizenga told me you were heroic and personally led the attack on the rebels who’d encroached on my village. I was amazed. I didn’t think you’d get involved in the fighting.”
Zamenka’s face clouded over. “I-I don’t remember.”
“According to Colonel Gizenga, one of the rebels tried to knife you, and you shot her in the head. He told me if you hadn’t responded instantly, she would’ve killed you.”
“Yes, yes. I
remember.” Zamenka smirked. “The bitch had a skinny daughter. I had my way with her. I nearly split her open. You should have heard her scream. When I finished, I cut her throat from ear to ear. I made sure she wasn’t gonna spawn any more rebels.”
Joseph stood up straight, showing no sign of intoxication. In one swift movement, he turned the general around, so his back was against the rail. “The woman was my mother, and the little girl was my sister,” he said, spitting the words out.
Zamenka was drunk, but fear overcame him. He started to tremble as Joseph gripped his lapels. He looked over his shoulder and then in one move hurled the two-hundred-eighty-pound Zamenka into the river.
“Hey!” a voice shouted.
Joseph turned to see one of Zamenka’s bodyguards and shouted back, “Man overboard,” and dived over the rail.
The current was running fast in the same direction the boat was traveling, and Zamenka was floundering only thirty yards from Joseph. In fifteen strokes, Joseph was next to the panic-stricken brute. “Prepare to die,” he hissed taking a deep breath before putting his hands on Zamenka’s shoulders and pushing him under. The general struggled and fought desperately as Joseph pushed him ever deeper into the murky, black water. After ninety seconds, Joseph felt him go limp and swam to the surface. He could see the yacht turning around, and then a Zodiac craft was charging toward him. He held his arm up out of the water and shouted. A few minutes later, he was hauled into the inflatable. “Where is the general?” one of the soldiers asked.
“I couldn’t find him,” Joseph said, gasping heavily for effect. “I tried. God, I tried.”
After fruitlessly looking for the general for another ten minutes, they turned back to the yacht. The Zodiac powered up the lowered ramp at the stern, and Joseph got out.
George Faraday was waiting in the shadows. “Jesus, what did you do? The president wants to see you.”
“I’ll shower and put something dry on first.”
“Now,” one of the soldiers growled. “The president wants to see you now.”
The soldiers led Joseph to a room, which contained a desk and a dozen chairs. Bodho sat behind the desk with soldiers on either side of him. Jack Costigan was standing in the corner, his face drawn and his lips compressed. “What happened?” Bodho asked.
