by Brian Parker
Kasra Amol was the reason he was sitting in the outside of the café in this accursed heat, dodging the drifting pollen instead of inside under air conditioning like a sensible person. She insisted that their meetings take place out of doors in public locations, which seemed odd to him since their project was of such a sensitive nature. When he’d last spoken to her scheduler, a weasel-like Middle Eastern man named Hamid, Aarav had been assured that the outside locales were easier to secure from an eavesdropping standpoint. It was nearly impossible to bug a random table and Ms. Amol’s security ensured that nobody was listening in.
Sanjay glanced at his watch. She was ten minutes past their appointed meeting time, so he expected her within the next two. She was an extremely powerful woman and she made it a point to be exactly twelve minutes late to every meeting, ensuring that everyone knew who was in charge. Once, there’d been a scientist who decided to leave the meeting when she hadn’t shown after five minutes. Sanjay never saw the man again and assumed that he was off the project.
The Project. Sanjay didn’t know what to call it, much in the same way as he didn’t even know who it was that he truly worked for. He’d asked and been told that they were an independent government agency. His checks were always deposited from an account that was only listed as a string of numbers, with no further identifiable information that his bank could decrypt. The conspiratorial part of his mind often wondered just who in the hell he worked for. Was it the CIA? That would have been exciting. He was left with no idea who Amol reported to, even after almost five years with the organization.
He’d been recruited from the university. He was a full professor at the time. At first, his tasks had been menial within the organization and he only met a few people, mainly Amol and her scheduler, the man she referred to as the Facilitator. Then, over time, he met a few others, scientists like himself, who were employed all over the world. Due to the nature of their work, they weren’t allowed to discuss specifics of their research, but Sanjay got the impression that they were all working on a similar project and the organization was entertaining them all until one of them finally made the breakthrough that they desired.
Aarav Sanjay believed that he’d made just that exact breakthrough.
He checked his watch. Fifteen seconds to go and it looked like the woman would be late for her own unofficial start time. Just as he was thinking that, a black Alfa Romeo pulled up to the curb only four feet from his table. It was a small SUV by most American standards, but he knew the vehicle cost about half of his annual salary and he knew exactly who was riding in the back seat.
Aarav swallowed and adjusted his tie, tightening the knot he’d loosened earlier to give himself a slight reprieve from the heat. As much as he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t afraid of her, Kasra Amol terrified him. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Growing up as an Indian immigrant, he’d never felt completely at ease in the American South where his father worked in IT, but now that he was involved with a US Government operation, he felt even further alienated.
At least he hoped she worked for the US Government. That part was fuzzy.
A large dark-skinned man of indeterminable ethnicity wearing a business suit that did nothing to hide his mass stepped from the passenger seat and opened the back door. Aarav wasn’t sure which of her two bodyguards it was. It was either Seon or Hyuk, the two were virtually indistinguishable. Then, a pair of long legs the color of coffee with a heavy dose of creamer appeared through the open doorframe.
“Dr. Sanjay, so nice to see you again,” the woman said, practically purring the words as she accepted the bodyguard’s outstretched hand. She wore a dark red dress that shimmered in the afternoon sun with matching red velvet heels. The dress clung to her body tighter than a latex glove, accentuating every curve of her perfectly shaped hips, flawlessly proportioned waist, and her large breasts. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders with a hint of curls along its length. With the exception of the excessive makeup around her eyes, she was what Aarav considered the perfect female specimen.
He stood to go to her, but the bodyguard’s stare turned his blood to ice, causing him to reconsider approaching her. “Ah,” he cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see you as well, Ms. Amol.”
She laughed melodically as she walked to the gate leading into the abandoned outdoor seating area. When he’d first met her all those years ago, Sanjay had thought the woman’s laughter was heaven-sent. She would flirt with men all day long if it got her what she wanted. But he’d learned of the iron spine and terrible temper that the woman had. She was best left to play amongst the other predators while he and the other sheep stayed hidden. “You don’t mean that,” she cooed.
Aarav waited for her to sit down and then took his own seat. The bodyguard stood by the gate while the Alfa Romeo sat at the corner with its flashers on, blocking traffic. They obviously felt that they were above the local laws.
“Do you, ah, want to order some food, Ms. Amol?” he asked sheepishly, regretting it almost immediately. He’d only seen her eat once. The steak she ordered had barely even been brown on the outside and was completely raw inside.
“No, Doctor.” She crossed her legs and leaned backward. His eyes strayed down before he immediately snapped them back to meet her gaze. “Do you like what you see?” she asked, laughing once more.
“No! Uh, I mean, yes, of course, Ms. Amol, but—”
She leaned forward seductively. “Do you want me?”
“I’m… I’m a married man, Ms. Amol.” He picked up his Coke to take a cooling sip.
“We could arrange for that to not be the case.”
Aarav choked on the soda. When he stopped sputtering, he said, “Excuse me?”
Kasra Amol smiled sweetly. “I’m just reminding you of a fact.” Aarav didn’t know what to say, but he was rethinking his earlier assertion that she worked for the US Government. Her expression hardened as she leaned forward farther, placing her elbows on the small, round cast iron table. “Tell me of your progress.”
“I… Uh, excuse me,” Aarav said, preparing to stand. “I need to go to the restroom.”
A meaty palm landed on his shoulder and pressed him back into the seat. “Sit,” the bodyguard directed. “Talk to Ms. Amol.”
“Thank you, Seon,” the woman stated, never taking her eyes from Sanjay. “Now, tell me your progress on the project.”
His mind raced. The research he’d conducted had seemed innocuous enough at first, but examining it under the light he now saw Kasra Amol in, he was no longer sure what the endgame was. “I, well…” He cleared his throat. He had a PhD in molecular bioengineering. He could brief his benefactor, dammit. He allowed himself to pretend that he was briefing students at the university. “We progressed into clinical trials last week. The subjects—”
“I know,” Amol hissed, chopping her hand across the space in front of his nose. “The monkeys have developed an unprecedented tolerance for pain. What of my directive to begin human trials?”
“It hasn’t—I haven’t received the proper clearance for that type of—”
“Seon, iPad,” she ordered, cutting him off once more.
“What do you…” Aarav trailed off as the big man pulled a tablet computer from under his suitcoat. He leaned over the doctor to place the device on the café table. The grip of a pistol in the man’s waistband flashed within inches of his eyes.
“Watch,” Kasra Amol directed.
He tried to see the iPad, but the sun was too bright, washing out the colors. “I can’t see anything.”
“For Allah’s sake!” Amol cursed. Alarm bells began to blare in the forefront of Aarav’s mind. “Give me the damned thing.” She grabbed the iPad and adjusted the screen display and turned up the volume before tossing it back to the table in front of him.
Aarav recognized his house in the video as the person recording walked toward his front door. “What is this?”
“Watch.”
The videographer opened his door, entering his home without so much as a knock. “When was this taken?” he demanded, all attempts at staying on his employer’s good side forgotten.
“This morning. About two minutes after you left to come here,” she replied coolly.
On the video, he saw his wife and daughter sitting on the couch. They were gagged and their hands were tied behind them with duct tape. Aarav sobbed, placing a hand over his mouth to keep from alerting any passersby that anything was amiss. “What do you want?”
“I want my research completed,” Kasra stated.
A face that he recognized appeared on the little screen and Nampoo Yi, one of the facilitators for the weekly video teleconferences, began to speak. “Good morning, Dr. Sanjay. As you can see, we have your family. Sorry about your dog. It got in the way.”
The camera panned to a bloody mass of yellow fur. The little Korean’s face reappeared and he smiled as he took the camera from whoever had been holding it before. He held it out away from his body like he was taking a selfie as he sat down on the couch beside the women. “Very pretty daughter,” Yi said, cupping the teenager’s breast. She whimpered in response and tried to shy away from him. He grinned into the camera and then backhanded the girl, sending her sideways into her mother.
Yi stood and stepped away from the couch. In the background, Aarav could see several men moving around where his family sat. “We are already gone from your home,” the Korean continued. “In fact, by the time Kasra Amol has shown you this video, we are no longer even in the country.” He smiled widely, showing crooked teeth. “Diplomatic immunity gives us free access to our private jet and a private section of the airport anytime we want.” Chubby fingers appeared in the video as Yi waved. “Goodbye now. Finish the research and your family will be returned to you.”
The screen went black. Sanjay looked up into Kasra Amol’s heavily charcoaled eyes. “What is it you want from me?” he asked again.
“I want you to begin human trials immediately,” she stated. “Your research is the farthest along.”
“Who are you?” Sanjay asked, cursing himself that he’d never bothered to ask the question before. His greed at a seemingly unlimited budget with little to no governmental oversight had come back to haunt him and his family was going to pay the price.
“That is not your concern,” the woman replied, standing. “There will be several of my men in your home when you return. They are there to keep watch over you and to bring you new test subjects when you use one up. Hamid will be in contact with you for a daily update.” She leaned down and licked his ear. “If I were you, I’d get to work quickly. Nampoo is not known for his gentleness with women.”
He stared at the blank iPad in front of him until the bodyguard scooped it up. The spot where it had been was marginally cleaner than the rest of the pollen-covered table. He couldn’t believe that this was happening. It all seemed so unreal.
“And Dr. Sanjay?” Kasra Amol called from beside the Alfa Romeo where Seon held the door open for her.
He looked up. “Yes?”
“Don’t even think about contacting anyone. We will know and the heads of your women will be the latest addition to my garden.”
The car door slammed and the big man got into the passenger seat. Sanjay watched after them as they swerved into the flow of traffic heading southbound on Peachtree Street.
“Will the lady not be joining you for lunch, sir?”
He dragged his gaze from the street to the man standing in front of him. He wore a white button down shirt with a black bow tie and a green apron, folded in half around his waist. “What?”
“The lady,” he winked. “Is she going to be dining with you today?”
“Uh, no,” Sanjay replied. He gestured at his half-empty glass of Coke. “Can I just get the check please?”
“Sure, no problem, sir.” The waiter put the little pad of paper he held into the pocket of his apron. “Ah, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything alright? You look ill.”
Aarav blanched before adjusting his tie. “No. I’m fine, just a little bit hotter out here than I was expecting. Just the check, please.”
When the waiter walked back inside, Aarav leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. He rested his head in his hands. “What am I going to do?” he muttered aloud. “What have I gotten myself into?”
TWO
* * *
BANDUNDU, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
Bandundu spread out underneath the plane as it descended rapidly toward the airport. Riley scoffed at the word. The Bandundu Airport was as much of a legitimate facility as a cell phone thief was interested in the text conversation his victim was carrying on when he grabbed the phone. In other words, the airport was a dump with a barely maintained runway and a one-room structure where a single old man sorted luggage.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Andrew said, slapping her shoulder and then pointing out the window.
“What?” Riley asked. “What do you see?”
“They’ve cleaned up the city since we left.”
She glanced out the window at the wet, muddy streets below. “Oh, you mean the rains?”
Dr. Andrew Freeman nodded. His unnaturally white teeth were at odds with his deep, brown skin as he smiled. “Washed away all the filth in honor of our return.”
Riley returned the smile. Andrew was an odd duck, but most virologists were. Too much time in a lab during their formative years in college and in post-graduate. “Well, I’m glad the government could do something right,” she deadpanned.
The government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo wasn’t bad in the traditional sense, but they weren’t good either. For one, bribery was rampant, which was a simple fact of life in Africa, so that didn’t bother her so much. The thing that drove Riley insane was the central government’s general lack of compassion for anyone not living in the capital city and virtually no aid made it to anywhere with less than twenty-five thousand people. Those places were left to rot. Tiny villages like the one where Andrew and Riley’s basecamp was located were flat out ignored.
The plane’s wheels hit the asphalt with bone-jarring force, sending Riley’s head into the window frame. She’d heard that the runway had once been well-maintained, before the civil war, back when the country was still called Zaire. These days, they just added gravel and sand into any potholes in the asphalt and called it good enough.
She rubbed her forehead as she reached under her seat for her travel bag. “Are you okay?” Andrew asked.
Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she could feel the heat rising. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I should have known better. The landings are always rough.”
Andrew nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t understand why the government doesn’t come out here and repave the runway. Gonna cause an accident one day.”
The plane taxied to a stop within twenty feet of the small red building that was ostensibly labeled as the terminal. “This is the end of the line, my friends,” the pilot announced over the speakers at the front of the small thirteen-seat prop plane as he shut down the engines. Riley powered on her phone and waited for it to triangulate on the satellites overhead.
The hot, humid air of the Dark Continent replaced the heat from her earlier embarrassment as the pilot opened the door. She flushed anew, glancing at Andrew when she thought of the term “Dark Continent.” She knew that the term wasn’t racist or in reference to the color of the Africans’ skin as the so many people misunderstood it to be. It was really about the unknowns of the continent in Victorian times when the nickname was coined. Even today there was so much that science didn’t know about the birthplace of humanity. The knowledge that it was a completely innocuous term still didn’t ease her guilt for some reason. It was the proverbial Orwellian thoughtcrime.
Riley stood with her bag and glanced at her satellite phone while she waited to disem
bark. It had acquired the satellites and she saw a banner pop up that said she had six missed calls from her assistant, Phillipe. She dialed his number back at the basecamp in Bena Makima.
“Hello, Riley?”
“Phillipe!” Riley said loudly, anticipating a terrible connection, like everything else in that god-forsaken jungle. “We just landed in Bandundu. How is Mademoiselle Rwigyema?” The young woman had been bedridden with the same type of illness that the others had displayed since the day Riley and Andrew had left to return to the capital, Kinshasa, to beg the government for expanded medical aid to the small village.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Erickson,” Phillipe replied quickly. “They killed her.”
Tears welled at the corners of Riley’s eyes. “What? Who?”
“I didn’t see them clearly. They materialized out of the jungle like ghosts and surrounded the medical tent in the dark.”
“Phillipe, I must be misunderstanding you. Slow down, I can’t—”
There was a rustling of clothing as the man cupped his hand around the telephone, presumably in an attempt to keep the conversation semi-private. “The jungle people killed her. They slashed her throat, Riley. Then they took all of the samples you and Dr. Freeman collected before they disappeared into the jungle.”
“Jungle people?” Riley asked in confusion. None of this was making any sense. “Do you mean the Tutsis?” Lots of people lived in the jungle, but their tribal or political affiliation typically described them. Calling them jungle people made her think he meant the Tutsi rebels, a dangerous group that passed freely back and forth between neighboring Rwanda and the DRC. They lived in transient camps, sleeping wherever they found a clearing in the jungle.
“I don’t know who they were,” he said again. “I don’t know what language they were speaking either. I understand a little Kikongo and some Swahili. Whatever language they were using wasn’t either of those.”
