by James Steel
Johnson looks at him firmly and says, ‘Harry, we are not going to be conducting United States diplomacy in the Great Lakes region with cruise missiles.’
Kruger cannot resist getting in a fact. ‘Well, a certain President fired them at a target in Sudan just north of that area in 1998.’
Johnson’s blue eyes fix him with a piercing stare. ‘Harry, my husband’s actions are his own business. I am currently Secretary of State and I do not view cruise missiles as acceptable instruments of diplomacy.’
The President intervenes at this point. ‘OK, folks, let’s just keep our eye on the ball here. Harry, you have made your point very clearly and I thank you for that, I hear what you say. On balance I think Patricia is right. I think this is a key moment and that the personal touch could make all the difference. I accept that it is a volatile situation but, Patricia, I want to thank you for your courage in volunteering to go to Kivu.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Sophie turns and looks out of the rear window of the Land Cruiser.
‘Quick, we’ve got to turn round!’
Her driver, Nicolas, checks his rear mirror. ‘We can’t, there’s a truck behind us. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, it’s just people getting excited, it’s not a bad atmosphere yet.’ He is as calm and softly spoken as ever; he has lived through a great deal in Kivu and tends not to panic.
‘But they’re burning tyres!’
He doesn’t reply, instead concentrating on steering the Land Cruiser round a barricade of broken lumps of concrete and branches that have been pulled off nearby trees.
It’s 5th July and the Secretary of State is visiting the province in two days’ time but for Sophie work goes on as normal. It’s late afternoon and they’re coming back from a trip down south to a remote outstation near Mwenga, driving back into Bukavu. They have to go through the town to get back to the N2 road along Lake Kivu.
The traffic has had to slow down, and with trucks in front of them and behind them they can’t see who is causing the blockage, although they can see the smoke from burning tyres drifting over the shantytown shacks on the edge of town.
They inch along in the traffic jam and hear the sound of singing and shouting up ahead. They come onto the straight road that runs down the hill into the town and Sophie sees a large crowd on an area of waste ground next to the road. There are men and women all singing, jogging on the spot and waving Kivu and KPP flags. A makeshift stage has been put up and someone is standing up on it leading them in a song.
Sophie quickly locks her door and Nicolas does the same. The crowd is spilling across the road and she can see that there are a lot of young men in it stripped to the waist, their muscled torsos running with sweat as they jog and sing. Many have Kivu flags but she also sees machetes being brandished aloft, flashing in the sun. A lot of the men are drunk and wave plastic bottles of home-brewed beer. As they get nearer she sees that many of them are former Congolese army soldiers, their green shirts undone, brandishing their assault rifles over their heads. In the centre of the crowd she glimpses a group of men with black cloth hoods on their heads with eyeholes cut in them, dancing and singing with the others.
As they inch past, the crowd presses up against the car and a young man sees her, yells something, grins and starts banging on her window. His face is pressed up against the glass right next to her head and his eyes are bloodshot with booze. His friends all join in and start banging on the car windows and pulling at the door handles; they are happy and shouting but the effect is terrifying. The car is completely surrounded by the mob.
‘Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact,’ Nicolas says tersely and Sophie forces her chin down onto her chest.
‘Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,’ she finds herself muttering in panic.
The mob starts rocking the car from side to side and Sophie and Nicolas are thrown about. She clings onto her seat, her knuckles white at its edges.
Nicolas can’t make any headway with the buffeting and the traffic stops dead. The large truck behind them suddenly sounds its powerful horn and the noise blasts through the car.
The young men all give a huge roar in response to the horn, let go of the car and rush behind them to the truck and start banging on that and climbing up onto it. One gets on the roof and waves a Kivu flag shouting ‘Dieu-donn-é!’
‘Don de dieu!’ comes the response from the crowd.
Nicolas takes his chance and drives away fast.
The American Special Forces major continues going through his tick list with Alex.
‘OK, now let’s talk about proximity to medical facilities and standards of care available. Where is the nearest facility to Mukungu, are there facilities on site?’
Alex groans internally: this list of questions has been going on for an hour now with no end in sight. He admires the American’s professionalism but its humourless and unremitting nature is getting to him. It’s 5th July and Patricia Johnson is arriving in two days’ time.
He forces himself to give a professional response, keen to reassure the Americans that he is in control of the situation.
‘OK, well, there is a first aid station at Mukungu and I can supply a combat medical emergency response team that can deal with any critical injuries and stabilise them. What we would do then is fly any casualties back to the medical centre here in Camp Heaven, where we can do major surgery in the field hospital.’
Major Frank Reilly makes a note on his clipboard and the three Secret Service men around the ops room birdtable do likewise. Reilly is a Delta Force major whose lean face, neat grey hair and reserved expression are strangely at odds with the strong physical presence of his six-foot-two, muscle-bound physique. Like the Secret Service men he is wearing civilian clothes but exudes military precision.
He senses Alex’s frustration, puts down the clipboard on the map table and looks at him calmly. ‘Colonel Devereux, I apologise for all this bullshit but we have a job to do. It is our responsibility to ensure the Secretary of State’s safe arrival and departure from this meeting. We may be the world’s military superpower but in Africa our resources are pretty thin on the ground. We can’t even find a country that will host Africom command centre so we need your cooperation.’
Alex nods and smiles, acknowledging his attempt to improve the atmosphere. ‘Yes, running operations from a bunker in Germany isn’t really going to help.’
‘Well, exactly.’ Reilly pauses. ‘Colonel, can I level with you?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ve done two tours in Iraq and two in Afghanistan and seen a lot of things. I have to say that my combat indicator lights are going red when I look at this scenario.’
‘Well, I think you are being overly hasty there, Major. I know there have been some changes of plan but overall the situation is stable. The KDF is in complete military control of the province, the FDLR is finished, the militias are being disarmed, our choppers can get anywhere in a short space of time. I can assure you that the Secretary of State will be completely safe.’
‘Hmm. OK, Colonel, I will take your word for that.’
The meeting goes on for another hour and finally Reilly sums up the plan. ‘OK, so the Secretary flies into Goma airport on July 7th at 15.00 hours. Five KDF Mi-17s will rendezvous with her on the tarmac and take her and her security detail and entourage straight up to see President Rukuba at Mukungu. Unit 17 presidential bodyguards and KPP staff will ensure safety on site’ – Rukuba has barred Alex from sending any First Regiment troops there – ‘and you will maintain a First Regiment rapid reaction force here at Camp Heaven capable of deploying to Mukungu inside of ten minutes. You will keep your Heron surveillance drone overhead throughout the Secretary’s visit to check for the approach of any outside hostile forces.’
Alex nods. ‘Correct.’
‘OK, so as we agreed we’ll send in a beefed up Special Forces protection team with the Secretary but we are depending on you for the choppers and to guarantee overall theatre security.’
&n
bsp; Alex folds his arms across his chest and looks back at him resolutely. ‘Absolutely, Major, I give you my word.’
Later that day Alex sits on a chair talking to Rukuba in his hammock, where he seems to spend more and more time, looking out over the hills of Kivu and brooding.
‘Mr President, I have to tell you that I am very concerned about the security situation now.’ Alex has stopped calling him Dieudonné as he used to and only uses his title now.
Rukuba looks at him with lowered eyelids and a blank expression but says nothing.
Alex presses on. ‘We have to make sure that the whole project continues to be a success for Kivu and for that we need to maintain the partnership that has worked so well this far.’
Again no response, just the distant look.
‘In terms of First Regiment I have to balance my responsibilities to you as head of state and to the Kivu Investment Fund as the financial backers behind the project.’
Alex takes a deep breath. ‘In order to get the contracts paid for my men at the end of the tour I need to make sure that I maintain good relations with the fund, who have indicated that they want me to start to recruit men for a new tour after August. Now I realise that that puts me at odds with the statement you made in your address about the withdrawal of foreign forces …’
‘And my statement stands!’
Rukuba whips his legs off the hammock, swings round and points a long finger at Alex in one flash. His eyes stare at the mercenary as he continues in a vicious tone, ‘Don’t come up to my farm, in my country and lecture me, Colonel! You and the fund might think that you can run this country without me but you cannot. I am Kivu!’ He thumps his chest. ‘Kivu is me! We are inseparable.’
Alex drops his gaze and doesn’t try to say anything; he has made his point but the President is not in the mood to hear it.
‘Mr President, I respect your wishes and I am sure that we can continue to make Kivu a success.’
He needs to get away from the whole issue of political control of the military. ‘And with that in mind, I am continuing to make preparations for the visit of the Secretary of State in two days’ time.’
Rukuba sits back in the hammock and stops glaring at him.
‘I will ensure the safe arrival of the Secretary of State at Mukungu from Goma airport and will keep a standby force ready to deploy here in minutes from Heaven …’
Rukuba cuts in more mildly this time with another finger pointing at him. ‘But my Unit 17 bodyguards and KPP workers will ensure security when they are on my land.’ He waves his hand around him to indicate the farm.
‘Yes, Mr President.’
The awkward meeting closes and Alex makes his way back down the hill to the car park where his helicopter is waiting. As he approaches it, he sees a large crowd of KPP youth wing members near it, staring at him with hostile expressions.
He ignores them, walks up the ramp and lifts off.
Rukuba watches him go from his hammock at the top of the hill.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sophie is sitting on Alex’s lap after dinner. He has just got back from seeing Rukuba and she from her harrowing journey through Bukavu.
‘It was terrible, I was sure we were going to die. All those men shoving their faces in the window and banging on it.’ She buries her face in his neck and he hugs her tight.
‘It just went on and on,’ Sophie mutters into his neck.
‘Uh-huh.’ He strokes her back and listens as she recounts her journey through Bukavu.
‘I’ve never seen a crowd that whipped up before. The atmosphere was so hyped, I mean, we got through just but I had this feeling that we were going to die …’ She sits up and looks at him and he nods.
She puts her head back down and they stay still for a while.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I feel terrible.’
‘’s OK,’ she mumbles into his chest and then adds more clearly, ‘I’ve had to put our alert status up to Condition Delta now, though. All the NGOs have recalled their staff to base and we’re all locked down.’
‘Hmm, that’s sensible, things are bad. We just need to get through this visit and they’ll get better.’ He pauses and then says cautiously, ‘I went to see him this afternoon.’
‘And how was that?’ she whispers.
‘Not great.’
‘What was he like?’
Alex takes a deep breath. ‘Very touchy, very volatile. Didn’t really want to hear what I had to say about having to do what the Chinese want.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sure that seeing Johnson will be good for him. I mean, he will get the biggest ego massage he has ever had, having the Secretary of State from the most powerful country in the world fly out especially to a two-bit province like Kivu.
‘It’s got to have some effect on him. She might not be able to persuade him to be democratic but at least he will see that he’s got to cooperate with people, he can’t just do the whole thing on his own, this Kivu nationalist crap has just got way out of hand. I think he’s just gone off on an ego trip for a bit and needs to calm down, I think she will make him do that.’
Sophie nods; she’s too shaken up to make much sense of things. She remembers something else, and sits up on his lap and looks at him. ‘There was something Nicolas said on the way back here that really worried me.’
‘Like what?’
‘He said that he’d been listening to the radio in different parts of the province when he’s been out visiting stations and he’s heard these new radio stations on air.’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Well, he said they aren’t in Swahili or French – they’re in local tribal languages so he couldn’t understand much of them.’
‘What, you mean commercial stations?’
‘No, he said they were definitely new KPP stations and they are broadcasting a lot. Most of the time he couldn’t understand them but then he was in a Hunde area and he speaks that.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Really strong Kivu nationalist stuff – Kivu for the Kivuans, no foreigners will tell us how to live our lives all the time, and talking about the need to be organised and strong. What really scared me was that he said it reminded him of the hate radio like they had in Rwanda before the genocide broke out.’
Alex takes a deep breath. ‘Shit.’
There’s a long pause and then he mutters, ‘We just need to get her in to see him and talk some sense to him, I can’t do it. It’s only the day after tomorrow. We’ve just got to hang on and keep our nerve.’
‘Hmm.’ She sits and strokes his hair, kisses the top of his head and whispers, ‘Stay tonight.’
Alex is up early the next day, 6th July, and has gone for his run before Sophie surfaces. He showers in his quarters afterwards and gets dressed. It’s going to be a busy day finalising arrangements for Johnson’s visit tomorrow.
He spends the day in the ops room with the usual planning team, finalising details and briefing the crews who will fly the five helicopters to pick up the Americans from the airport.
Zacheus is the only person left from Unit 17 in the ops room these days; their other staff have all been withdrawn to Mukungu by Rukuba to work there. The major is as hard to read as ever but continues to do his job professionally, liaising with the Unit 17 presidential bodyguard and confirming they are ready to receive Johnson.
They get everything sorted out in good time and Alex is able to leave at a reasonable hour and go back to Sophie’s. He feels awful about not being able to protect her in Bukavu yesterday and is going to cook for her tonight as a way of making up for it.
He picks up a bag of food from the mess tent and walks over to her bungalow. It’s just gone six but it’s dark already and her light is on. He knocks and enters.
‘Hi,’ he says cheerfully.
She’s sitting at her desk against the wall with her back to him, her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around them, staring at her laptop. She often sits there for hours working on things and
he knows not to disturb her until she’s finished.
He goes through and dumps the bag in the galley kitchen, gets a beer out of the fridge and comes back in.
Something about her rigid posture worries him. ‘Sophie?’
She still doesn’t respond and he comes up behind her to see what she is working on: it’s just a page from YouTube.
He puts his hand on her shoulder and she flinches away from him, gets up and walks across to the table and sits down on a chair. He sees that she’s been crying and he stands open-mouthed looking at her, beer bottle held awkwardly in one hand.
‘Hey, what’s …?’
She covers her eyes, refusing to look at him, and points to the laptop.
He looks at her and thinks, ‘What the hell is going on?’
She curls up again on the chair and so he walks over to her desk, puts the beer down and looks more closely at the screen.
The title of the YouTube video is: ‘Kivu war crime ordered by mercenary thug Colonel Devereux.’
Shit.
Alex sits down and taps the play button.
A shaky handheld video camera film starts. It swings round a steep-sided valley and pans over a bridge of girders, some of which have been blown off and sag drunkenly over a fast-flowing river.
He stares at it fixedly.
The view moves from a panning shot and looks down at the ground. For a hundred yards in front of it all that can be seen are burnt bodies. The camera zooms in on them: blackened teeth are visible in a skull, rib cages stand out of the congealed mess, bodies are fused together by the heat.
