Blood Gold in the Congo

by Peter Ralph

  “So you’re saying Boucher will be free?”

  “Within seventy-two hours. Thanks for the laugh, Joseph, but I have pressing matters that need my attention. Goodbye.”

  Yes, and I can be in London in twelve hours. “Thanks, Jack.”

  As Joseph put the phone down and pondered what he should do, his father came into his office and sat down. “You look perplexed, Son. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Joseph quickly related what had occurred with Boucher.

  “You said he wouldn’t answer questions in court. What makes you think he’s going to talk to you in London?”

  “I-I don’t know. I just have this gut feeling I should go.”

  “You’ve been on this quest for over a year, and I don’t want to criticize you, but you’ve neglected Maya and Moise. You’ve even drifted away from your mother and me. Some of my partners say your work’s falling behind. It’s making it difficult for me. I’m supposed to retire when I turn seventy, but I’m resisting because I’m worried about you. Don’t you think it’s time you gave up? Even if you find out who’s behind New Dawn, what can you do?”

  Should I tell him I’m regularly exchanging lengthy emails with Yannick? “I won’t know that until I find out. It’s a chicken-and-egg situation. However, I sense it’s big and will alter the lives of tens of thousands in the Congo.”

  “Your calling?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been over thousands of emails, and you’ve spent more than two weeks in court. Ron’s pored over the corporate structure and has come up with nothing. I’ve seen some incredibly smart people try to conceal things, but they always make at least one mistake that brings them down. Think of Nixon, Clinton, and even Bernie Madoff. I’m sorry, but my gut feeling says despite all your hard work, you’ve missed something. You’ve probably seen something you didn’t think was important and passed over it.

  “I suspect you’re not going to get anywhere in London, and you’d be better off reviewing what you’ve already done. I’m betting there’s a clue you’ve overlooked, but if you can’t find it within a month, it’s time to move on – calling or no calling.”

  “That sounds like an ultimatum.”

  Frank reached out and put his hand on Joseph’s forearm. “I love you, Son. I would never threaten you with an ultimatum. I’m worried you’ve become obsessed. You haven’t trained or competed since Beijing. You have a beautiful young woman who loves you and a little boy who adores you, yet you’re cutting them out of your life. And the partners are more than unhappy – they’re pissed off.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I am going to go to London. I’m not going to give up, but when I return, I’ll ease up. I didn’t realize I was neglecting the people I love.”

  Each of the seven 25-pound ingots stolen from New Dawn was worth $750,000. However, Yannick soon found their bulk and their stamping were major drawbacks. Seeking payment in cash, in U.S. dollars, didn’t help, and the black market dealers didn’t have the funds or currency to consummate a deal. Eventually, an Indian dealer in Kalemie offered to buy two of the ingots for a total of $600,000. Yannick had no choice but to accept.

  Realizing he would need a permanent base, Yannick took his ever growing army deep into the jungle. Fortunately, weapons were not as difficult to buy as large ingots were to sell. He quickly added Russian-made, hand-held rocket launchers to his arsenal.

  More importantly, he purchased a set of one ounce to one pound graphite molds, propane torches, and gold smelting pots.

  CHAPTER 38

  ..................

  LIKE MOST CONSUMED PEOPLE, JOSEPH hadn’t realized how overwhelming his obsession had become until the conversation with his father. What Frank said had been fair, and Joseph resolved to continue his investigation only after Moise and Maya were asleep.

  Frank and Michelle, horrified by the thought that the three of them may leave, had modified a wing of the house for them. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, living area, and a study. Moise was a typical American kid, and they crowded into his room to play Left 4 Dead before his bedtime. He was well-liked, an above-average student, and by far the fastest sprinter in his age group. Copying Joseph, he also loved the 49ers.

  “Joseph, are you going to take me to a game this season?” Moise asked.

  “We’ll all go. We’ll introduce Maya to football,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  “I like it when you play with us. Have you finished all your work?”

  “I like it too. I’ve been cooped up for too long. After you finish your homework, we can play every night.”

  “Good,” the little boy said, climbing onto Joseph’s lap.

  “Okay, it’s time to turn the computer off and for you to get to bed,” Maya said.

  “Oh no. We’re having fun. Can I stay up late tonight?”

  Joseph was going to say yes when Maya said, “No, Moise. You won’t get out of bed for school tomorrow morning. You can stay up late on Friday night. Now clean your teeth, and we’ll say a prayer, then you’re off to bed.”

  “Are you going to say a prayer with us, Joseph?”

  “If you like,” Joseph said, pulling back the covers on Moise’s bed.

  After they had tucked him in, he asked, “Are you going to marry Joseph, Maya?”

  Maya giggled. “He hasn’t asked me.”

  “Why don’t you ask her, Joseph?”

  “Come on, Maya. This little devil needs to get to sleep,” Joseph said, getting up from Moise’s bed. “Do you want to watch some television?”

  “Why the big change?” she laughed. “We haven’t seen you for months, and now you’re Mr. Family Man.”

  “Dad had a talk with me. I didn’t realize I’d become reclusive. Some of his partners are unhappy with my work performance, and they’ve been pressuring him. He wants to retire but is protecting me. He also told me I’ve been neglecting you and Moise. He’s right.”

  “Ah, now I understand. But how can you drop your investigation into New Dawn? Aren’t you going to follow your destiny?”

  “Sometimes I feel like dropping the investigation, but there’s always the chance the next email or website I open might have the answers. I’ll just have to squeeze it in while everyone else is asleep. As for my destiny, I’m not sure I have one.”

  “Of course you do. What you’re doing is of vital importance for the future of our nation. Your father’s right about Moise. He’s missed you. You can’t neglect him, but you don’t have to worry about me. I have my studies. Let’s forget the television and go to bed.”

  Thirty minutes later, Maya was lying nestled into Joseph’s shoulder when she started to giggle. “Did you enjoy the sex, Boss?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re staring at the ceiling, saying nothing, and willing me to go to sleep so you can go to your study.” Maya laughed.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Poor, serious Joseph. If only you’d smile more. I told you not to worry about me. Now go,” she said, putting both of her feet on his thigh, and pushing him out the bed.

  As he reached the door, carrying his clothes, he turned and said, “Ten out of ten.”

  “What?”

  “The sex.” He smiled.

  “Ha-ha,” she said, throwing a pillow at him. “I can’t believe you made a joke, feeble as it was.”

  It was nearly midnight when Joseph sat down, turned his computer on, and started rereading emails. The frustration was wearing him down, and he was losing enthusiasm. What had his father said? “I think you’ve missed something. You’ve probably seen something that you didn’t think was important and passed over it.” Two hours later he snuggled up to Maya. “Did you find anything?” she murmured.

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “All right. I’ll help you tomorrow. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will see something.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The following night, Maya positioned herself ne
xt to Joseph behind his desk. After an hour of reading emails, she said, “Do you have any current photos of Boucher?”

  “Sure, there’s not many, though. He likes to fly under the radar,” Joseph said, Googling “The Wall Street Journal + Marc Boucher.” “That’s him. He’s the keynote speaker at a mining conference in London.”

  “Oh my God, I’ve seen him before,” Maya exclaimed. “He’s aged, and that wasn’t his name. I’ll never forget seeing that ridiculous Hitler mustache. How old is he?”

  “You’re right. He changed his name from Jacques Le Roux to Marc Boucher after he fled South Africa. He’s in his mid-fifties. Where did you see him?”

  “I was in South Africa when he was charged and skipped bail. It was front-page news. Who are those people with him?” Maya asked, slowly moving her slender fingers under their faces.

  “Just delegates to the conference. Most probably miners.”

  “And this man,” Maya said, holding her finger under the face of a heavy-jowled, older man.

  “I don’t know,” Joseph said. “It’s not important. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll keep reading emails.”

  “Ah, I’m not helping, and you’d rather be by yourself. You are so transparent. I’ve seen that man or his photo before. I just can’t remember when.”

  “You mean where.”

  “No, I was in South Africa, but I can’t remember when I saw his picture. It must have had something to do with Le Roux.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, it’s more a feeling.” Maya grinned. “Trust me, Boss.”

  “Let’s see if I can help,” Joseph said, as he Googled “Jacques Le Roux + mining + photos + South Africa.”

  Unsurprisingly, only a dozen images of a much younger Jacques Le Roux appeared.

  “Blow that one up,” Maya said, tapping a photo on the screen with the end of her pen.

  The photo of Le Roux standing on the steps of the court in Johannesburg took the whole screen. Joseph had seen it many times before and had assumed the men standing around him were his lawyers.

  “There.” Maya pointed at the image of a man partially hidden behind the lawyers. “That’s him,” she exclaimed. “He’s the man in the photo taken in London at the mining conference. Who is he?”

  “I have no idea,” Joseph said, “but it may be significant. What a remarkable memory you have.”

  “Thank you. I also remember this serious big boy who used to call me Sis. Now he’s my lover.” She giggled. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

  “You’re such a temptress, but no, I’m going to keep going over emails for another hour.”

  After Maya had left, Joseph studied the two photos and wondered whether they might be the breakthrough. He saved them, circled the man’s face, and emailed Ron Patterson with the message: “Ron, please find out who this man is ASAP. Thanks, Joseph.”

  CHAPTER 39

  ..................

  When Joseph got to his office the following morning, Ron was waiting for him.

  “Sir Richard Corson-Devlin,” he said. “He’s a British billionaire, famous for his philanthropy.”

  “Good morning to you too, Ron. Then what was he doing in Johannesburg for Boucher’s bail application?”

  “Sorry, Joseph. Good morning. It could’ve been a coincidence. He has business interests all over the world. He guards his privacy fiercely, but he reputedly gave more than £100 million to charity last year. He sits on the boards of the Spastic Society, Cambridge Orphanage, and Help Underprivileged African Kids, and helps countless other charities. He provides his service gratis.”

  “Does he have any mining interests?”

  “Of course, but he also has investments in manufacturing, banking, media, health services, and retail. He’s chairman of the second-largest mining company listed on the London Stock Exchange, Euro Minerals PLC. He was one of the speakers at the mining conference in London. That accounts for why he was there. He’s a pillar of British society and beyond reproach.”

  “Thanks, Ron. I thought he might have been the mysterious Thibault. It was always a long shot. I’ll keep looking through the emails.”

  Yannick Kyenge’s army had grown to more than five hundred men and women, and they wreaked havoc on Katanga’s mining companies. Described as the Congo’s worst terrorist and the leader of rebels terrorizing foreign-owned mines in Katanga, his fame rapidly spread across the nation. Six months after the New Dawn robbery, Yannick and his freedom fighters held up another mine and stole the week’s gold production. After that, pairs of identical helicopters carrying heavily armed soldiers picked up gold from the mines on a random basis, rather than the scheduled pickups they used to make.

  Yannick thought of using rockets to blow them out of the sky, but he only killed when he had to. Besides, he knew only one of the choppers carried the gold, while the other was a decoy. The thought of blowing them both out of the air sickened him. He had more than enough cash and bullion to maintain and equip his fighters for years but was acutely aware he needed to keep them busy. Capturing soldiers and sending them back to their units naked – his trademark form of humiliation – only occupied his army infrequently. When they kidnapped a senior mine manager from Kalemie’s Lakeside Motel and held him for ransom, the mining companies and the media went crazy. Helicopters flew over the jungle searching for him and his army without success.

  Food was always a problem, and a more regular operation was stealing from convoys delivering supplies to the mines. Initially, villagers suspected of helping him were beaten, tortured, and – in some cases – killed. In every instance, Yannick extracted revenge tenfold. The soldiers became wary of mistreating the villagers. They hated Yannick and lived in fear of retribution.

  Deep down, Joseph had given little credence to the possibility of the photographs leading to a breakthrough. Over dinner, he explained to Maya what Ron had told him. Undeterred, she said they had to keep looking, and she would continue to help. It was nearly midnight, and she sat in the study at Joseph’s desk Googling New Dawn + Boucher + gold mines in Katanga when she asked, “What was the Englishman’s name?”

  I wish you’d go to bed, so I could get some work done. “Sir Richard Corson-Devlin,” he sighed.

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, Googling his name. “Wow. He’s aristocracy all right. Sir Richard Theobald Harcourt Winston Corson-Devlin. What a mouthful.”

  “What? What? Say that again!”

  “Sir Richard Theobald Harcourt Winston Corson-Devlin. Why are you so excited?”

  “‘Theobald’ is the English version of ‘Thibault.’ I’ve been looking for a Belgian or Frenchman. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong place.”

  “But you said he’s a pillar of society and donates generously to charities.”

  “Before Bernie Madoff was found to be a crook, everyone thought he was a pillar of society.”

  “So I might have found something.”

  “Yes,” Joseph said, lifting her from the chair and brushing his lips across hers. “Now go to bed. I’ve got work to do. Lots of work.”

  “Is that all the thanks I get?” Maya pouted.

  “You’ve been fantastic, but this is one of those times when one set of hands and one mind is faster than two. I’ll tell you what I find in the morning. Goodnight. Love you.”

  “Hmmm, you never tell me that. It must be good. All right, but I want to help you tomorrow night. Love you too.”

  For the next three hours, Joseph pored over articles about Sir Richard Corson-Devlin on the Net. It was evident he deplored publicity. There were many instances of articles where journalists said, “We invited Sir Richard to comment, but he declined.” To use Ron’s words, he seemed to be beyond reproach. He appeared to be happily married, there were no sordid stories about affairs, and he hadn’t been associated with any failed companies. As far as Joseph could glean, he had not had so much as a parking ticket. He tried to play down his charitable activities but was widely thought to
be Britain’s most generous philanthropist. No lesser figure than the queen had asked him to head The Royal Foundation for Impoverished Children.

  Photographs were scarce, and those on the Net were mainly group shots with either the boards he served on or members of the royal family. Joseph guessed he’d had no choice but to smile and bear it out of respect for those people. One article in particular caught Joseph’s attention: It talked about Sir Richard residing in his country estate while architects arranged for renovations to his recently acquired penthouse in St. James near Buckingham Palace. Who pays £45 million for a penthouse and then has it refurbished? he thought.

  Joseph hadn’t known Sir Richard was chairman of Euro Minerals, but he knew the company. It was a large, diversified mining company with operations all over the world. He clicked on its website and saw it was holding its annual general meeting in London in ten days’ time. All of the world’s large miners had been involved in improprieties, usually environmental. Joseph Googled “Euro Minerals + scandals + current.” Sure enough, there had been problems on a small Indonesian island. The operation under attack from locals on Urlu Island was an open-cut cyanide leach mine, the same as New Dawn’s open-cut mine. Mine wastes containing more than three dozen dangerous chemicals – including arsenic, lead, mercury, and cyanide –had contaminated the sea where local villagers fished. The color of the water had turned a nasty red, marine life was wiped out, and villagers no longer cooked with or swam in the water. Strangely there were only half a dozen articles and no mention of the United Nations or Greenpeace. Joseph found the lack of interest strange and pondered whether Euro Minerals had paid someone off in exchange for the villagers’ silence.

  It was 2:00 a.m. when Joseph clicked on Euro Minerals’ current annual report. The company had earned a record profit, was wallowing in cash, and had provided for a significantly higher dividend than in the previous year. The report ran to more than three hundred pages. Joseph skimmed the directors’ report, looking for any mention of the Indonesian mine. There was none. Then he perused the accounts, and buried in the back of the notes was: “After twenty years, the Urlu Island mine in Indonesia reached the end of its working life. During the year, the company paid £25 million to the Indonesian government in full obligation of its reinstatement commitments under the conditions of the mining permit.”