Old Lovers Don't Die

by Anderson, Paul G

  Kim’s driver got out and opened her door before leading her up the steps to a reception area. Twenty feet high portraits of Mao adorned two of the courtyard walls, alongside and lower down the wall were smaller paintings of Premier Xi. The remaining wall had a giant portrait of a golden peacock, elaborately painted. The head of the peacock was almost as high as Mao’s portrait and had been crafted with gold filaments. Rubies and emeralds had been implanted into the painting, creating a spectacular and colourful plumage. The peacock in China, Kim knew, was revered for many of its characteristics: a clear voice, a careful walk, appropriate behaviour, moderation in eating and drinking, knowing how to be content, existing together, not being obscene, and always returning. In addition, she remembered, the larger the portrait, the greater the implication of authority. Admiring the portrait, she heard footsteps descending stairs behind.

  “Good morning.” The greeting was in Mandarin.

  Turning around she saw a man dressed all in black. Slightly taller than her, he had dyed black hair neatly parted on the left-hand side. A small scar under his right eye distorted his lower eyelid.

  “I am Lee Kaiping,” he said. “Welcome to Rwanda and may you be as successful as we expect. Maising, the driver who brought you here, will show you to your room. You will stay here for three days for briefings and then we will take you to the orphanage. You will report every week here in the embassy. I expect all those reports to be positive. Here are your briefing papers and the secure briefcase. The code is 78931.” Lee then turned and made his way back up the steps.

  Kim watched as he walked up the stairs. He was typical ex Chinese army. Well-trained, well prepared, ruthless when needed, and expecting the same standards from anyone who worked with him. Failure, clearly, was not tolerated. She looked at the briefcase that she had been handed; it was all metal with no distinguishing Chinese insignia. From experience, she knew it was designed to destroy all documents if the wrong code was entered in attempting to open it. In addition, it would be bullet and bombproof. The understanding was that the code was never written down, it was always spoken, and if you didn’t remember it, you were reassigned. The code that Lee had given to her she repeated, 78931, silently to herself.

  The orphanage was, Maising had told her, a three-hour drive from Kigali. He loaded her bags into the black SUV and handed her sandwiches from the kitchen. Once they were out of the city, she opened the briefcase and went over her briefing papers.

  The instructions were simple; she was to set up a meeting with Rwandan and Chinese executives within six weeks. That meeting would be chaired by Lee Kaiping and would require Bosco Bunarama, or Brutal Bosco, the leader of M 23 - the armed gang which they supported, to attend. Bosco needed more arms which China would facilitate the delivery to Kigali, and the Rwandans would coordinate the transport of the arms to Bosco’s base on the Congolese border. In addition, a warehouse in Kigali would be supplied by the Rwandan executives, with Chinese finance, and they would repackage all arms disguising their Chinese origin. In the interim, she was also to come up with a strategy to deal with the warlord Kariba.

  The orphanage was spread over six grassy acres, manicured to impress all who visited. Gardens beds were bright with colourful flowers, a few concrete Chinese dragons discreetly sculpted, juxtaposed alongside elephants and giraffes. Granite stones, chiselled into small squares, surrounded all the grass beds forming neat borders. Slides and swings confirmed the appearance of a well-funded humanitarian project. The driveway of grey granite chips weaved eight hundred metres through the gardens to the main entrance. As Maising pulled up, a Rwandan woman approached the car and opened the door.

  “Welcome,” she said with a large friendly smile. “I am Ruby and I will show you to your room.”

  Kim’s quarters were separated from the main dormitory by an enclosed walkway. At each end were solid security doors made out of steel, imposing and secure. Ruby waited at the second door and knocked three times. Within minutes, the door opened to reveal a Chinese woman in a dark blue tracksuit, who introduced herself as Cusang. She explained that she would be Kim’s assistant. Kim liked the look of her; her short boyish haircut and athletic build suggesting she would be a veritable challenge to any man, African or Chinese.

  In the first few weeks, Cusang introduced Kim to the routine at the orphanage. Breakfast for the boys was at 7 AM sharp and finished on time at 8 AM, at which stage they could either shower or do schoolwork. School was between 9 AM and 3 PM, with a lunch break from 12 PM to 1 PM. Dinner in the evening was from 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM. Depending on the number of volunteers available, there was supervised homework and lights out at 8:30 PM.

  The orphanage had ten volunteer teachers, six from China, and four from America and Australia. Cusang explained that it was policy to always have more Chinese volunteers than other nationalities. Six weeks passed quickly and Kim felt that she was rapidly adapting to life in Africa. The weekly meetings with Lee Kaiping had been professional and respectful. She had detailed the discussions that she had had with Bosco, and presented his list of armament requests, including more Chinese RPGs to deal with Kariba. The week before the meeting at the orphanage to coordinate a strategy to take over the resources in North Kivu, Kim had made a special trip to the embassy to assure Lee Kaiping that security was in order and to get agreement on the agenda. Lee had told her the Secretary for Commerce was arriving, the military attaché, the vice president of the electronic company Sanwong, as well as Zhang Liu. There would be six Rwandan politicians and executives. Lee indicated that the embassy would supply six extra staff for security. They would arrive early in the afternoon and thoroughly inspect the site; one would then remain at either doorway with four inside the meeting room. Details of China’s offer would be on an iPad in Chinese, French, Kinyarwanda, and English to avoid any misinterpretation. The iPads would be collected at the end of the meeting by security, supervised by Kim.

  On the day of the meeting, Bosco Bundarungu arrived in a large grey four-wheel-drive with black tinted windows. Stopping in front of administration, the front doors of the SUV opened; two large bodyguards got out. Both were well over six feet tall and very muscular, which Kim thought would make them Tutsis like Bundarungu. After a few seconds the back door opened, a small cloud of cigar smoke wafted out followed a few seconds later by Bundarungu. Dressed in army fatigues with a Marine style cap, he stood in the sunlight looking around the grounds like a general surveying his battleground. Kim stood back, the Chinese custom being to wait for him to approach her. He ignored her for another few minutes puffing on the cigar, creating another small smoke cloud which temporarily lingered on his right shoulder. Kim motioned to Cusang to take his briefcase; however, that was quickly waved away. Bosco, she then realised, was not standing and enjoying the view, or the sunshine; as someone military trained, he was scrutinising each section for any potential threat. With that kind of approach, he would be good to work with, thought Kim.

  Lee Kaiping led the meeting with the efficiency she had come to expect from him. There was no joviality, but a discussion simply on what the Chinese could supply in terms of light arms/mortars and explosive devices. Kim had been instructed to watch carefully for Bosco’s reaction. Lee wanted Bosco to feel indebted but did not want him to be the controlling force. Bundarungu, during the entire discussion, kept a poker face making it difficult for him to ascertain whether he was pleased with the Chinese offer or not. During the discussion, he also kept smoking his cigar, until one of the Rwandans got up and opened a window, looking disapprovingly at Bundarungu. Control of the meeting clearly resided with Bundarungu. When Lee stopped speaking, Bundarungu put the cigar on the table edge and stood up.

  “There are no handheld surface-to-air missiles that we requested. We need handheld surface-to-air missiles if we are going to put Kariba out of business. If he can no longer bring the Antonovs in, he cannot get his ore out and that will dry up his money source. That is the head of the snake that we need to cut off. We also need boy s
oldiers from the orphanage; Kariba killed ten of ours last week and we have abducted all eligible boys within a 30 km radius of our camp. If we are going to attack him at the Goma airport next week, they need to be delivered to our Rumangabo training camp in the next few days. The fuel tanker that we ordered to resupply our trucks will need to be at Goma airport.”

  Lee looked at him for a few minutes before replying, clearly irritated at the commanding tone of his request. Kim knew it would be highly embarrassing for Lee to be spoken to in that manner in front of his Chinese visitors.

  “Your request was considered by the Ministry. There is too much chance of an international incident if you shoot down an aircraft as large as the Antonov. We will provide more rocket-propelled grenades to destroy the planes on the ground. The fuel tanker that you requested will be there at the border in three days. Miss Yao will organise six boys to be delivered within twenty-four hours.”

  Bosco picked up a cigar and took a long drag, then again blew smoke in the direction of the businessman who had opened the window.

  “The rocket propelled grenades are difficult for boy soldiers to carry. Unless we can interrupt Kariba’s air supply, the snake will continue to survive. We have also heard rumours that he is also attempting to get chemical weapons through one of his suppliers, Raoul Assad. Do you have any information on that?”

  Kim watched as Lee conferred with two of his assistants.

  “Our information is that Assad will not supply chemical weapons. We will give the additional information to the Ministry about surface-to-air missiles and communicate their response to you shortly.”

  “I will look forward to your reply,” Bundarungu said, sitting down and blowing more smoke in the direction of the Rwandan businessman.

  Lee then declared the meeting closed and four boys brought hot food from the kitchen for all the guests. The boys, Kim ensured, were checked as they entered the room, and again as they left. There was little discussion, and Kim could see that Bosco wasn’t happy with the outcome. As soon as he finished eating, he nodded to his bodyguards and they left without saying anything to Kim or Lee. Lee, she could see, was seething at the way Bosco had treated the delegation. He stormed out saying nothing to Kim as he left. It was a few hours later that she received a phone call from him.

  “Did you check that all six iPads were placed back in the secure briefcase?” Lee screamed at her again.

  Kim’s heart raced; she had left that to Cusang.

  “No,” she replied, “that was Cusang’s responsibility, but I will now go and check to see if there is one remaining.”

  “You stupid woman. Need I remind you the party does not tolerate mistakes, nor do I. There had better be one remaining in the meeting room. Otherwise you will go back to China tomorrow in disgrace.”

  Kim went back to the meeting room, but the door was locked. She walked around the outside and then saw the open window. Below the open window were a series of small footprints. She went back and unlocked the door, and looked inside the room. There was no iPad to be seen, just a small slip of torn paper which suggested that not all the handwritten notes had been shredded. She had trusted Cusang to clean up and secure all the iPads. Perhaps Cusang had found the extra iPad, however the footprints outside the open window concerned her. She shouted for Cusang who came running from the main office.

  “Did you find an extra iPad?” she asked barely containing her fury. Cusang shook her head. Kim turned and headed to the dormitory where the two boys who were trusted to serve would be getting ready to go to bed.

  “Stand outside, everyone,” she shouted as she walked into the boy’s dormitory door, eyes blazing.

  “Search the room,” she said over her shoulder to Cusang who had caught up with her. Together they turned the beds over and looked in all the drawers but found nothing.

  “Go and tell them they will all stand outside in the cold until they tell us where the iPad is.”

  For the next hour, the six boys stood outside on the stones, not saying a word. Kim watched from the office, increasingly annoyed by their resistance. Aware that Lee would soon be phoning, she marched out and picked up the youngest of the boys by the collar dragging him into the office. Once Inside the office, she closed the door and beat the young boy with her hands and fists until he cowered crying in the corner.

  “Where is the iPad?” she screamed at him.

  The knock at the door distracted her from continuing her beating.

  “Who is it?” she shouted angrily.

  “Cusang.”

  Kim opened the door and as she did, the young boy ran crying from the room. She was about to grab him when Cusang held up the iPad.

  “Which one had it?”

  “I found it in one of the other dormitories in the bed of a friend of one of the boys outside, a boy called Michelangelo. When I took it from him, he was using it to play minesweeper with that new American volunteer, Cindy, who has befriended him.”

  “The information on the iPad tells about the supply of arms by China to Bosco Bundarungu. If she read or understood any of that information, it could expose our operation and embarrass the Chinese/Rwandan governments. Not to mention what Lee would do to us.”

  “Those six boys standing outside and Michelangelo can go to Bosco’s training camp tonight, in case they have learnt anything.”

  “They might, with any luck, be killed in the fighting at the airport next week,” added Cusang with a wry smile

  “From our perspective, that would be the best outcome. Any potential evidence would then be buried.”

  “Cusang, what about that do gooder American teacher? If she saw anything on that iPad, that could be real trouble. Have her come to the office in the morning and I will interrogate her.”

  “She has left this evening to visit a friend at the hospital at Garanyi near the border. She will be away, she said, for three days.”

  “I will talk to her when she gets back and when Lee Kaiping calls in a few minutes, I am going to tell him that the iPad was found safe in the secure room. Do you understand that, Cusang?”

  “I understand that,” Cusang said as she bowed and walked out of the office.

  Chapter 17

  Christian was looking forward to the weekend and then the following week driving up to the orphanage to meet up with Cindy again. It had been a busy week. In his last case, he had had to drill a hole in the skull of a young woman who had fallen off the back of a motorbike. With no crash helmet, he had suspected that she might have fractured her skull. However, they had run out of chemicals in the X-Ray Department, so he could not be certain. When her coma scale started to decrease and she became less and less responsive, he knew intervention was the only way to save her. Fortunately, the drill hole had been right over her brain hematoma and he was able to release the pressure. He was sure she was going to recover. As he bandaged the wound, he started thinking about Isabella who was due to arrive on Sunday. Her phone call from Kigali the previous day had surprised him. Her voice was different from when he had first met her in Cape Town nine years ago. There was a sense of control and maturity in the way that she now talked. In many ways, he guessed she would now be like a stranger, despite their previous intimacy.

  “Christian.”

  He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the doorway, which led into theatre. Doctor Nikita stood in his civilian clothes with a concerned look on his face, peering across the top of his rimless glasses towards Christian.

  “There has been a major trauma across the border at Goma airport. Bosco and Kariba’s gangs shooting at each other. A diesel fuel tanker has caught fire and exploded. There are approximately eighty dead and unknown number injured. Medicines sans Frontiers are flying in a team via Goma, and they have asked whether we can do the initial triage until they get there. We will send you now to help triage and see whether there are any patients we could possibly treat here.”

  “Do you have intravenous fluids, analgesia, and bandages that I can take in a
kit, and is Satilde available to come with me? If there are burn patients, we will need to do some surgical debridement and having someone to look after the anaesthetic would be helpful.”

  “That’s already taken care of; Jean Miguel is going to be your driver. We have resurrected the old ambulance that can transport four patients if necessary. An emergency kit, which we have, has all of the requirements for trauma triage. The hospital will provide emergency documents to cross the border.”

  “If it’s okay, I will also take some surgical scrubs from theatre. I’ll also pick up a few things from the Sudani’s on the way.”

  “Good, Jean Miguel will have everything ready in thirty minutes.”

  The resurrected ambulance looked like something straight out of a M.A.S.H. movie. The green camouflage cab had had a small, red cross painted on each door. The windscreen was completely missing. The rear of the ambulance, with its old green canvas covering torn in so many places, that ultraviolet radiation was a significant risk to any patient being transported. None of the tires appeared to have any tread, but it had been cleaned, and was ready to transport patients. Christian just hoped that it had avoided the terminal brake disease that most vehicles in Rwanda seem to be infected with. The consolation and contrast was Jean Miguel. Fit and athletic, sporting a broad smile, he was in his early twenties and literally bounced out of the truck when he saw Christian emerge from the front of the hospital.

  “Dr. Chris, Dr. Chris, over this way.” He waved one hand, holding the cab door open.

  Christian walked to the passenger door, Satilde, he noticed, was already there, and she moved across on the bench seat to make room for him. He could see through the torn canvas that there were two permanent stretchers and two collapsible stretchers loaded as well a very large wooden box, which he assumed was the emergency kit. As he climbed into the cab next to Satilde, he said,