Blood Gold in the Congo

by Peter Ralph

  The flight attendant was at the top of the stairs and said, “We’re cleared for takeoff as you instructed, Mr. Bennett. Please hurry or we’ll lose our slot.”

  The plane was already moving as the door shut behind them. “Seatbelts, gentlemen,” the flight attendant said. As they taxied onto the runway, they heard the thrust of the engines, but a few seconds later they were idling.

  Bennett jumped out of his seat and ran to the cockpit. “What’s wrong?” he demanded of the captain.

  “They cleared us for takeoff, but they’ve just told us to hold.”

  Bennett couldn’t see any planes on the runway in front of them, and when he scanned the sky, he couldn’t see any circling or approaching to land. He looked at the terminal and saw two army vehicles and an officer wildly waving his hands. “Take off! Take off now!” he shouted, as the first of the vehicles sped toward them.

  “I can’t. I don’t have clearance.”

  “Captain, I’m not asking. I’m telling. Now get this fucking thing in the air.”

  “I-I − ”

  “See that Jeep?” Bennett yelled. “If it blocks our runway, you won’t get out of Kinshasa for a year. If you want to see your family again, move it now.”

  The co-pilot stared out the window at the speeding Jeep and said, “I think he’s right.”

  “I’m going to lose my license over this,” the captain said, as the engines roared back to life.

  The Jeep drew level. Bennett looked down to see a furious Colonel Donatien waving his fist. Bennett grinned and gave him the finger as the jet accelerated to over a hundred miles an hour.

  “Did you see Donatien and his gang?” Bennett said, sitting down next to Kronk and opposite Joseph. “We were lucky to get out. I told you not to waste time chatting and signing autographs.”

  “I didn’t think … I didn’t think they’d go that far,” Joseph said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Other than calling the president a liar in court.” Kronk grinned.

  “I told the truth.”

  “Thank Christ it’s over and we’re in the clear,” Bennett said, as the jet passed over the Congo River and out of the DRC’s airspace. “I need a Jim Beam.”

  “It’s not over,” Joseph said, opening his laptop.

  Back at the palace, the president was beside himself with rage. “He is on a plane on the way back to the U.S. laughing at me!” he screamed. “You said he wouldn’t get out of the country, Colonel.”

  “He-he wasn’t meant t-to go until th-the morning, Mr. President,” Donatien replied.

  “You babbling idiot. This should have been a wake-up call to the Americans that we won’t put up with their sly ways. You should have arrested him straight after the trial, thrown him in prison, and then worried about the warrant.”

  Donatien wanted to say, You were there when we discussed the plan to issue a warrant and arrest Muamba, but dared not. “I’m sorry, Mr. President.”

  “We got to the airport in time,” Gizenga said, “and the pilot took off without clearance.”

  President Bodho picked up a vase and hurled it at Gizenga. He ducked, and it smashed into the wall. “If you’d gotten there in time, he’d be in prison. And you want to take Zamenka’s job? You’re not a shadow of him. Neither of you are!”

  “Do you want to commence extradition proceedings?” Donatien asked.

  Bodho groaned. “The people love him. The crowds at the airport would be enormous. And you want to haul him down the steps of a plane shackled in handcuffs. We’d face massive riots. You are stupid. If you’d done what you were supposed to do, he’d be locked up, and we’d be planning his accidental death. Instead, I’ll be listening to those infernal drums again tonight.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Have you at least managed to find the rebel leader?”

  “He’s disappeared,” Gizenga said. “There’s no sign of him.”

  “He’s never been in Kinshasa before. He’s an ignorant villager. He knows no one. Yet, he outsmarted you two. Have you frozen his bank account in Kalemie, and do you have someone watching the bank?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I doubt he’ll get to Kalemie, but if he does and tries to withdraw any money, we’ll have him,” Donatien said.

  “That’s what you said when he was in court, and yet he slipped through your fingers, you fool. Get out of my sight before I do something I regret.”

  As the two colonels walked down the corridor, Donatien said, “Lidy – the prosecutor – died.”

  “Thank God we got something right,” Gizenga replied.

  During the twenty-nine-hour flight to LA, Joseph skimmed thousands of Boucher’s emails, looking for anything that would identify Thibault. One email from Thibault said, “You know better than to use my name. Delete the email, send it to your recycle bin and empty. Advise me when it is done.” It confirmed what Joseph already knew: Thibault was paranoid about keeping his identity hidden.

  When Lidy had cross-examined Boucher about whom he reported to, he had shaken the mine manager, and he had done everything not to answer. That same night, Lidy had been savagely assaulted – in the previous nine days of the trial, he had asked some penetrating questions, none of which had resulted in his being beaten up.

  It was 10:00 a.m. when the plane touched down in Los Angeles. Frank and Michelle were waiting. Michelle hugged and kissed Joseph, then told him he was never going back to that terrible place.

  “He can’t,” Frank said. “He’s a wanted man.”

  “Word travels fast,” Joseph said. “Where are Maya and Moise?”

  “College and school,” Michelle said. “They wanted to come, but they now have their routines, and I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

  “What she means,” Frank said, “is she wanted to chew your ear off in private and get you to agree never to set foot in the Congo again.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Michelle chipped in, “even if you could go back. Don’t you understand there’s nothing you can change? Do you think they’re all going to become honest overnight because of you? If you hadn’t had those State Department bodyguards with you, you’d be in Kinshasa sitting in a dirty jail.”

  “That’s if he was lucky,” Frank said. “It’s more likely he’d be dead.”

  “What is this?” Joseph laughed. “Bad cop and worse cop? I know I can’t go back. It’s over.”

  “You forget, we know you, Joseph,” Michelle said. “You think you’re bulletproof. You’re not.”

  “Mom, I promise you I won’t go back so long as there is a warrant out for my arrest. Are you happy with that?”

  “I’d rather you’d said never, but yes, I’m pleased. Jack Costigan’s adamant that they’ll never lift the warrant and might even apply to extradite you. He told us not to worry. No court in the U.S. would sanction your extradition,” Michelle said.

  “Let’s go home,” Joseph said. “How’s Moise?”

  “Energetic.” Frank laughed. “He wants to throw the football every night. I can’t keep up with him. Maya’s got a good arm and has been helping out, but I’m glad you’re back. Oh, I nearly forgot. George Faraday’s been driving me up the wall. He told me he wants to see you the minute you’re back in the office.”

  “Phooey,” Michelle said. “George is so full of self-importance.”

  “He’s a good friend,” Frank said, “and don’t forget, if it weren’t for him, Joseph wouldn’t be our son. He deserves our respect.”

  “Dad, I’ll call him and set up a meeting. Are you going to attend?”

  “No, he wants to see you by yourself.”

  Joseph caught up on a few hours’ sleep and picked Moise up from school in the afternoon. The little boy sprinted out of the gate and leaped into Joseph’s arms.

  “You’re not going away anymore, are you?” he asked.

  “No, I’m back to stay.”

  “Good. Can we throw the football when we get home?”

  Joseph laughed
. “Is that the only reason you missed me?”

  Moise looked down at his feet. “I thought those evil men might put you in jail. I worried you weren’t going to come back.”

  “Moise, you mustn’t ever worry about me. I can look after myself. Let’s go home and see if your throwing has improved.”

  That night over dinner, there was a lot of laughing and rejoicing. The family was glad Joseph wasn’t going back to the Congo, but Maya was pensive. It was just after 2:00 a.m. when she crept into his bedroom expecting him to be sound asleep. He wasn’t. Instead, he was sitting behind his desk, reading emails and making notes on a legal pad. He didn’t get up, and Maya rested her hands on his shoulders. “I knew you wouldn’t give up,” she said.

  “I can’t, the answers I’m looking for are somewhere in these emails. I was skimming them, but now I’m reading all of them. I’m making notes on the amounts transferred, the recipients, and the names of the tax haven banks. Fifty million was transferred to an account in the Bahamas just after the permit for New Dawn was granted.”

  “You told everyone you weren’t going back. Your parents are going to be terribly disappointed.”

  “I’m not going back so long as that warrant’s hanging over my head, but I’m certain Thibault doesn’t reside in the Congo. I’m guessing he lives in France or Belgium. He gave instructions to Boucher to get out of the mine and call in the army. If I can find him, I might be able to have him charged with murder in his home country. If I can’t, at least I’ll be able to expose him for bribery, tax evasion, money laundering, and profiting from the proceeds of blood gold.”

  “But you are going back one day?”

  “Yes, it is my calling.”

  Maya laughed. “Have you finally worked out what it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Not yet,” Joseph said, standing up and kissing her. “I missed you.”

  “And me, you,” she whispered, pulling back the bed covers and climbing in. “Come here, and show me how much you missed me.”

  CHAPTER 35

  ..................

  THREE WEEKS AFTER HE HAD arrived at the safe house, Yannick was ready to start his journey back to the village. Belvie and Rishi had filled a large backpack with rations, bottled water, a solar phone charger, a ten-inch razor-sharp knife, bandages, antiseptic, matches, ammunition, and two silencers. He was wearing a shoulder holster under his shirt and packing a Glock. In the front pocket of his jeans was what Belvie called his most important item – a smartphone. He hugged her tightly, thanking her for all she had done. Rishi was still giving him lessons. “Remember, the silencer will make you invisible. No one will see the flash, but as you know, it will not completely muffle the sound. Only use the gun as a last resort. It’s safer to use the knife.”

  Belvie added, “And when something appears on the Internet that shouldn’t, or when you are suspicious, go with your gut. There are some devious people on the Net.”

  “You have both been so kind. Thank you.”

  It was just after five o’clock when they heard the vehicle pull up. Belvie said, “That’s your ride. We won’t come out. Good luck.”

  Yannick gave her one last hug and shook Rishi’s hand. “Goodbye, and thanks again.”

  He pushed through the foliage along the side of the house and saw an army brown four-wheel-drive Toyota waiting for him. He climbed into the back and was shocked to see a smiling young woman sitting in the front passenger’s seat. She said something in a guttural language he had never heard before. Then her partner smiled and said something in the same harsh tone. Yannick smiled back and spoke a few words in French-Swahili. When there was no reaction, he tried Lingala without success, then finally the few words of French he knew. The woman responded, but Yannick had no idea what she was saying. He held his hands out, palms up, and shrugged as the two Belgians burst out laughing.

  The paved road was better than what Yannick had expected. When he looked at the speedometer, they were doing fifty miles an hour. At that rate, they would be in Kikwit in four hours. He was checking the weather on the Internet when he felt the vehicle noticeably slow. When he looked up, half a dozen men were blocking the road at an intersection approximately three hundred yards away. As the driver eased off the accelerator, Yannick shouted, “Faster, faster,” and gesticulated wildly with his hands.

  The Toyota surged again, but when it was fifty yards from the men, the driver started braking. “Faster!” Yannick screamed, gripping his shoulder.

  At the last minute the men jumped out of the way. When Yannick looked back, they were shaking their fists furiously. He looked at the woman, grinned, and formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger, but she looked scared. Her face said, We have a lunatic in the back seat.

  The pavement soon ran out and was replaced by a sandy dirt road riddled with potholes and ruts. They could travel no faster than twenty miles an hour. There were virtually no other vehicles on the road, and Yannick became sleepy. He closed one eye, before dropping off to sleep for two hours. Again he was alerted by the Toyota slowing. He looked up to see a large beam supported by two flimsy trestles blocking the road. Yannick wanted to crash through but knew there was no point shouting at the Belgians.

  As they came to a complete stop, he noticed three motorcycles and was glad he hadn’t shouted. He opened the backpack and slowly slid the knife out, before wrapping his hand around the butt of the Glock under his shirt. Five men were manning the blockade. Their leader sauntered over, saying in Lingala that he was a government tax collector, and the toll was $100. In any language, there were three clear words: one hundred dollars.

  The driver was looking for his wallet when Yannick rolled down his window and demanded to see some identification. Two other men joined their leader and stared menacingly at Yannick. He had never been confident, but the past three weeks had transformed him. He felt no fear.

  The leader smiled and said he’d left his identification at home but he was most definitely a tax collector, and unless he got paid, the Toyota wouldn’t be moving.

  Again the driver went to pay, and again Yannick seized his arm, which seemed to infuriate the men.

  Yannick beckoned the leader over, and the man put his head through the window. “We know you are not a tax collector. Please let us pass. We mean you no harm.”

  Infuriated, the man shouted, “You are not supposed to be on this road. Where is your permit?”

  In one smooth movement, Yannick rested the barrel of the Glock on the man’s forehead and said, “Here it is. Is it in order?”

  The arrogance in the men’s eyes turned to fear as Yannick waved the gun around. “Back away,” he said, as he pushed the door open and herded them into a compact group. Taking his knife, he walked over to the motorcycles. Soon the sound of six slashed tires hissing in unison filled the air.

  “You’ll pay for this,” the leader said with false bravado.

  Yannick pointed the Glock directly at his head and shouted, “Move the beam.”

  As soon as they were moving again, the Belgians fixed their gaze on the road, and didn’t utter a word for miles. It was apparent they were more terrified of their passenger than the gangs who were trying to rob them.

  There were two more attempts to collect tax before they arrived on the outskirts of Kikwit. In each instance, Yannick was able to talk the supposed tax collectors out of their folly without having to produce Mr. Glock, for which he was grateful. The two-hundred-mile trip to the city with a population of nearly four hundred thousand had taken just over nine hours.

  Yannick was happy to sleep in the vehicle, but the Belgians had their smartphones out, and he knew they were looking for a hotel. As he watched them, his phone rang, and a distinctly familiar voice said, “Where are you?”

  “Hello, Leon. We’re in Kikwit looking for somewhere to stay.”

  “Listen to me. Joseph has chartered a small plane to fly you to Kalemie. You’re leaving at dawn, and you’ll be in Kale
mie by eight o’clock. With luck, you’ll be back in your village by nightfall. The pilot’s staying in the Kikwit Airport Hotel. I want you to go there. He’s in room number 324 and has the key to the adjoining room. Are you close to the airport?”

  “I could’ve made it back to my village on foot,” Yannick defiantly said. “I’m less than two miles from the airport.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m looking at Google Maps.”

  “Oh my God,” Leon roared. “They said they were going to teach you how to use a smartphone. I don’t believe it.”

  “What are you going to do about the Belgians?”

  “Nothing, Yannick. They’re not my responsibility. They’re going to Lubumbashi. Can they hear you?”

  “Yes, but I can’t understand them, and they can’t understand me. If you don’t help them, they’ll be dead within the week. I don’t think they could get back to Kinshasa safely without me.”

  There was a long pause before Leon said, “Let me talk to them.”

  Yannick passed his phone to the woman and then watched as she shook her head, patently disagreeing with what Leon was saying. The man then shouted into the phone in support of his partner. When he had finished, he handed the phone back to Yannick, and Leon said, “They’re more scared of you than any of the gangs. You were told only to use the gun as a last resort. What were you thinking? You terrified them. I told them what you said. They say you’re overreacting. They’re going to push on.”

  Yannick shook his head and sighed. “What should I do?”

  “Leave them now. They’ll be glad to see the back of you, and it’s only a short walk to the hotel.”

  CHAPTER 36

  ..................

  JOSEPH CALLED GEORGE FARADAY TO say he would be in the office the following morning. The entrepreneur testily said he would be waiting for him.

  Faraday looked like he was going to explode. As he sat down opposite Joseph, he said, “What did you think you were doing?”

  “Telling the truth,” Joseph replied.