Blood Gold in the Congo

by Peter Ralph

  “Yes,” Joseph replied. “Are you our pilot?

  “I am. Please follow me,” he said, picking up their suitcases. “I’m cleared for takeoff.”

  The plane was an old Cessna with patched-up wings and a corroded fuselage. Joseph nudged Maya and said, “Hardly a Gulfstream. I hope it gets us there.”

  The seats were torn and the interior smelled of aviation fuel. “Strap yourself in,” the pilot shouted, over the engine noise.

  “How long is it going to take to get to Tabora?” Joseph shouted back.

  “Not long. It’s only four hundred miles. We should be there in ninety minutes.”

  “I can’t wait to see Grace and Roland,” Maya said.

  Surprisingly, the flight was uneventful, and the pilot made a perfect landing at the small, ill-lit Tabora Airport. “My nephew is ready with your helicopter,” he said, carrying the suitcases down the stairs.

  Joseph handed him $100, but he shook his head. “I was paid plenty for this job. I knew it was someone important but never would’ve guessed it was you, Mr. Muamba.”

  Joseph’s face dropped, and the pilot continued. “Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word. Nor will my nephew. You may not realize it, but yours is the most famous face in all of Africa. We cheered for you in Beijing as much as the Congolese did. You’re not going to be able to fool anyone in this continent with a false name.”

  “Thank you.” Maya laughed. “He doesn’t know how famous he is.”

  “Good luck,” the pilot said. “The drums of Africa have been foretelling your return for months. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my nephew, Paul. He’s a good boy, and like me, he won’t breathe a word.”

  The helicopter was a four-seater Robinson that looked like it had been patched up by the same repairer who had worked on the Cessna.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Muamba. One day I’ll tell my kids the president of the Congo flew in my helicopter,” Paul said.

  “Call me Joseph.”

  “I’ll take those suitcases, Uncle,” Paul said. “Did he look after you? Did you have a good flight, Mr. Muamba?”

  Joseph sighed and shook his head. “How long before we’re at Lake Tanganyika?”

  “Not long. You just relax, Mr. President. Mr. Kyenge has arranged everything. We’ll be there soon enough.”

  As the helicopter took off, Maya nudged Joseph and giggled. “I told you it was your destiny, Mr. President.”

  Two hours later, the helicopter flew over the vast lake. “There’s a speedboat waiting in that small cove,” Paul said, as a light beam flashed three times. “We’re in the clear. You don’t have to worry about government officials. Another forty miles and you’ll be back in the Congo.”

  Another set of light beams lit up a clearing fifty yards from the edge, and Paul made a perfect landing. The angry roar of engines shattered the night silence, and the young man waiting for them on the jetty said, “Mr. Muamba, I am Alain. Yannick sent me to pick you up. Sorry about the din. They’re Mercury 250s. There’s not a faster boat in all of Africa. No one’s going to catch us.”

  Two other men carrying machine guns bowed to Joseph and Maya as they climbed onboard. Alain took the wheel, and the speedboat idled out of the cove. “We’re nearly home, Maya.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “See how those men are intimidated by you? You must be careful when you are with Yannick not to undermine him. He has built his army without your help. You must not assume leadership.”

  “Why would they be intimidated?”

  “You killed two men with your bare hands, and then you slew the most feared man in the Congo. The return of the great savior is played out on the drums every night. Of course they’re in awe of you. You need to ensure you don’t sound as though you’re talking down to or ordering Yannick around.”

  “What would I do without you?” Joseph said. “I would never intentionally put Yannick down, but yes, I’ll be careful about how I address him.”

  “You look sad. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m thinking of Anatole and the others trying to get across this vast expanse of water on a flimsy raft. They never stood a chance. I’m glad I killed Zamenka, but it won’t bring them back.”

  Maya put her arm around his shoulders. “And here I am talking about how much I’m looking forward to seeing Grace and Roland when you have lost all of your family. I’m sorry.”

  An hour later, a blaze of lights lit up the jungle on the other side of the lake. “What’s that, Alain?” Joseph asked.

  “It’s Yannick waiting to welcome you.”

  “What’s he doing, telling the world we’ve returned?” Joseph muttered.

  Maya elbowed him sharply. “Remember, Boss, you must not disrespect him in front of his men. Without him, we wouldn’t be here.”

  There were three Jeeps and a truck on shore, all with their lights on high. As the boat pulled into the shallows, four men waded into the water and dragged it to the shore.

  “Yannick, Yannick,” Maya said, leaping out of the boat and throwing her arms around him. “You’ve changed. You look terrific.”

  “It’s wonderful to see you, Maya. We eat better in the jungle than we ever did in the village. We live off mine provisions, and if they run short, we have plenty of gold to buy more. We feed more than six thousand, twice a day. No one goes hungry.”

  Joseph shook Yannick’s hand, and said, “You’ve lost ten years, and added twenty pounds. Leading an army of freedom fighters agrees with you.”

  “Thank you,” Yannick said. “Listen to the drums. They’re beating out the message of your return. The Congo will be in a frenzy tonight.”

  “Where are we?” Maya asked.

  “Fifty miles south of Kalemie. Tanzania’s border security rarely patrols where you crossed.”

  “Yannick,” Joseph said, “I don’t want to criticize, but why are your vehicles’ high beams on? It will only draw attention to us.”

  Yannick slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. “We control all of northern Katanga, the roads, the mines, and the villages. We no longer need to sneak through the bushes and trees. The light show is to greet you.”

  Joseph was amazed. Not by what Yannick had done, but by his friend’s assertiveness and confidence. The skinny, nervous man who had escaped in the alley at the rear of the court had transformed himself into a vibrant leader.

  “You have conquered Katanga, my friend. What an incredible achievement.”

  “Not until I’ve taken Lubumbashi,” Yannick replied, “and God willing, you will take Kinshasa on the same day. Come on. It’s a five-hour drive to our camp. You’ll be surprised by where I have relocated it.”

  CHAPTER 53

  ..................

  THE SUN WAS RISING AS they drove into the camp, and Joseph was taken aback not by the location, but by its enormity. There were tents and temporary huts for as far as the eye could see. An area had been set aside for equipment and vehicles. There were more than a hundred army Jeeps and trucks, but taking the place of honor was a Sikorsky. “How did you capture a helicopter?” Maya gasped.

  “We didn’t. The pilots deserted and joined us. You haven’t said anything about the location, Joseph.”

  “I guessed. Where’s your tent pitched? Next to the old baobab tree?”

  “You know me too well.” Yannick laughed. “We are close to the village. The equipment is readily accessible, and if need be, we can retreat into the jungle.”

  Screams of joy interrupted their conversation as Maya caught sight of Grace and Roland coming toward them. Joseph watched as they hugged and kissed, and was overcome by sadness. “We still have some planning to do,” Maya said. “I will catch up with you after. You look wonderful, Grace. Oh, and so do you, Roland.”

  “How many fighters are here, Yannick?” Joseph asked, trying to forget how despondent he felt.

  “I don’t know exactly. More than five thousand, and there are another thousand on the outskirts of Lubumbashi. I’m still adding to
the four hundred now in Kinshasa, and I have men at all the regional airports in Katanga.”

  “Excellent. Tell me your plans.”

  “I need to look at my notes,” Yannick said, heading toward the jungle with Joseph and Maya close behind.

  “God,” Maya said, “you’ve pitched your tent in the same position where we used to meet. Seventeen years ago, who would’ve thought three scruffy kids from Katanga would overthrow the government?”

  Yannick picked up his notes and knelt down in front of his tent and, with a small branch, made a mark in the dirt. “We are here. To get four thousand men to Lubumbashi, we’ll need to use every vehicle and make two trips,” he said, drawing a line. “If the army gets wind of what we’re doing, they’ll fly in more troops. We need to move quickly. I’ll be ready to attack on Wednesday. That’s seven days.”

  “I thought you said there were more than five thousand fighters here,” Maya said.

  “There are. You will stay with those we leave behind. If we fail, you’ll take them back into the jungle and keep the fight going.”

  “No!” Maya said. “I’m going to Kinshasa with Joseph.”

  “No, you’re not,” Joseph said. “One of us has to stay here.”

  “And Joseph will be undertaking the most dangerous part of the operation,” Yannick said. “We’ll be lucky to have five hundred fighters in Kinshasa by Wednesday, so he’ll need to turn the crowd and then the army. If he can’t, he’s dead.”

  “It’s unfair,” Maya said, shaking her head. “Joseph, you would not even be here if it were not for me. I have never had any doubts. It is you who needed convincing about your calling. I want to be with you. If they kill you, I’ll have nothing to live for.”

  “No one is going to kill me, but if something happens it is important that the cause goes on. That responsibility will fall on your shoulders, Maya. And if they’re successful in bringing Moise back, your first task will be to free him.” Joseph said.

  “Maya, I know you want to be with Joseph on the frontline but one of us has to remain here. I’m leaving Grace and Roland behind to support you, not that you’ll need any support,” Yannick said. “Joseph, what’s your plan for leaking the emails?”

  “I’d like to make it look like Marc Boucher leaked them, but I don’t have the computer expertise.”

  “Don’t worry,” Yannick said. “There’s a woman in the safe house in Kinshasa. Her name is Belvie. She taught me how to use a computer and smartphone. There is nothing she does not know. She’ll leak the emails through anonymous servers and make it look like it was Boucher. I’ll call her. When do you want them leaked?”

  “Saturday. That’ll leave four days to circulate them. All of the Congo will know their president, the army, and their politicians cheated them out of billions by Sunday. The people will be furious.”

  “Let’s hope they are angry enough to revolt in Kinshasa. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  “Get your men to stir the people up, but make sure they don’t take to the streets until Wednesday. That’s when I’ll need them. Are you going to do the same in Lubumbashi?”

  “I won’t need any help,” Yannick replied.

  “Why are you so confident?”

  “We’ll move at four o’clock in the morning. I’ll have five thousand fighters with me, and we’ll have the advantage of surprise. Lubumbashi will be in our hands by six. I wish I could be in Kinshasa with you. Can you think of anything else I can do to help?”

  “Can you get someone to teach me how to use a machine gun?”

  “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Thank you, Yannick, and do you trust those two helicopter pilots?”

  “Implicitly. Why?”

  “When I fly out of Kilwa for Kikwit, I want one with me.”

  “I don’t understand. I’ve already arranged for a helicopter for you at Kikwit. You don’t need a helicopter pilot.”

  “I will when I get to Kinshasa,” Joseph said. “Someone who I can trust and who will follow my orders without question.”

  “Consider it done, my friend.”

  The president’s motorcade – with Jeeps carrying soldiers in the front and rear – was surrounded by motorcycles on Saturday morning as it traveled slowly through the streets of Kinshasa. There was no cheering or waving, and when President Bodho looked out the window, all he saw were surly, unhappy faces. General Gizenga glanced nervously out the other window. “The people are restless,” Bodho said. “I wonder if it’s those damn drums. They’ve been feverish the past three days.”

  “They’re angry,” Gizenga replied. “They know we killed the prisoners.”

  “Angry? They’re not angry. They’re scared. None of them can hold my gaze. They look away or down at their feet. They know if they stir up trouble, they’ll die.”

  “We need to be careful, Mr. President. If we push them to the point where they have nothing to lose, they’ll revolt, and next time, they mightn’t stop.”

  “Rubbish! When will you ever learn? They respond to power and brutality. The Romans knew fear was the greatest motivator, and nothing has changed. When Germany occupied France, Hitler killed ten civilians for every German soldier murdered by the French resistance. He knew the power of fear.”

  Gizenga wanted to say, The Romans were overthrown, and despite the civilian deaths in France, the French freedom fighters continued to kill German soldiers for the duration of the war, but he bit his tongue. “You know best, Mr. President.”

  “Yes, I do. What have you decided to do with Colonel Donatien?”

  “He’s flying into Kinshasa tonight. I can use him to handle time-consuming administrative duties. It’ll free me up to undertake more important tasks.”

  “Good, good, as long as he is not leading men into battle. Who are you replacing him with?”

  “There is a young captain who oversaw the execution of the prisoners. He personally finished those who he thought weren’t dead or were faking with a bullet to the back of their heads. He is one of my most capable officers. He was hit by friendly fire in an attack on the rebels six months ago and has been recuperating ever since. He’s fully recovered and dying to get back to Katanga. He says he’ll rout the rebels within a week.”

  “He sounds like my type of man. Is he flying out tonight?”

  “He has some loose ends to tidy up. He’ll take up his new position next weekend.”

  “You’re leaving Lubumbashi without a commander for six days. Is that wise?”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Gizenga replied. “Colonel Donatien was often away for longer than a week. It’s not as if anything is going to happen.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Offer the captain $100,000 if he can retake Katanga in a week.”

  “That’s unusual. It’ll create a precedent. Are you sure you want to do it?”

  “The British, Canadians, and Americans are screaming about the rebels closing their mines. That pain in the ass, Sir Richard Corson-Devlin, calls me every day. They’ve stopped making payments. They say without the income from the mines, they don’t have the funds to pay us. Liars! They’re all billionaires. We’ll make them pay for their deceit once Katanga is back in our hands.”

  As the motorcade approached the palace, protesters carrying placards demanding an end to government-sanctioned murder paraded in front of the gates. They didn’t look scared. They looked angry. “Get your men to clear them out, General. If they don’t go, throw them in prison. Better still, give them to your captain for revolver practice.”

  “I’ll get rid of them, Mr. President.”

  “Oh, and what is happening with the boy? Every time the Englishman calls, he wants to know if we have the boy. I think he hates Muamba even more than we do.”

  “The Americans are stalling. They’re throwing up legal roadblocks. We’ll get him back. It’s just a matter of time. He’s not a refugee. He’s one of our citizens. I’ve sworn an affidavit saying the adoption papers were falsified. They
have no choice but to return him, and they know it.”

  “Call that State Department official. I can’t remember his name. The one with the big mouth. Tell him we’re looking at the status of the Prescott uranium project and are considering reopening permit negotiations so the Chinese can bid. He’ll get the message. The boy will be back here within the week.” Bodho grinned. “They take us for fools, but we know who the fools are. Right, General?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  CHAPTER 54

  ..................

  ON SUNDAY MORNING THE CITIES, towns, and villages of the Congo bristled. Those who had computers or cellphones showed the emails to their friends, and the drums broadcast them to the wider populace. The people had known their leaders were corrupt but were staggered by the size of the bribes they had accepted. Miners who were paid three dollars for a twelve-hour shift fumed when they saw the millions transferred to the president, generals, and the politicians. Yannick’s freedom fighters worked the crowds and bars telling the people to maintain their rage, but not to do anything until Wednesday.

  Despite the freedom fighters’ advice, hundreds of placard-carrying citizens marched in front of the palace gates. President Bodho and General Gizenga were beside themselves with rage. They wasted no time dispatching soldiers to Marc Boucher’s hotel, instructing them to return with him, whether he liked it or not. When they dragged him into the small interrogation room, he was still protesting. “It wasn’t me!” he insisted. “It wasn’t me!”

  “Why did you say you lied in court and that you heard me order my soldiers to murder those miners and villagers?” Gizenga shouted, holding up a printed copy of that particular email in front of Boucher’s eyes.

  “It wasn’t me. I didn’t send that email. Look at the sender’s email address. It’s not mine.”

  “Why did you say Thibault was Sir Richard? He’s fuming.”

  “I know. He woke me in the early hours of the morning. I told him what I’m telling you.”