“Go back into the mosque. There is a prayer mat in the fifth row from the front. Michelangelo will be next to you.”
Christian walked back through the main entrance into the mosque. Walking up the side of the mosque, he could see there were at least 200 men, bent low, praying on mats that faced obliquely across the large hall. In the right hand corner was a small pulpit. As he slowly walked up the hall, he saw the vacant mat the fifth row from the front. Christian knelt on the vacant mat, before bending forward in the motion of prayer in the way that he saw the other men doing. Then he glanced under his right arm and saw Michelangelo’s wide eyes looking back at him. There was uncertainty and a little fear until Christian winked. Then he heard Mohammed say,
“Glory be to my Lord, the most high.”
That verse he had remembered hearing in a Christian church. As they stood up to pray, he could feel Michelangelo looking at him. As they finished the standing prayer and began the second prostration, he squeezed Michelangelo’s hand. He could see that had caused a large smile. With the finish of prayer time, one of the men who had brought them to the mosque directed him to the front and took them behind the pulpit. A door led through to a small prayer room where Mohammed was now sitting on a chair.
“Please feel free to take off your turban and cap,” he said as Christian walked in.
Unravelling the turban, Christian folded it and placed it neatly on the desk as he heard Michelangelo sit down and ask for a glass of water. Christian sat on one of the spare chairs next to Mohammed and held out his arms to Michelangelo. He rushed into Christian’s arms grasping his flowing robes as though he intended never to let go.
“I promised you we wouldn’t let you go back,” Christian said holding him at arm’s-length before taking his turban to wipe the tears from Michelangelo’s eyes. Mohammed gave them a few minutes before saying:
“Kim Yao has been staying in that boarding house down the street since yesterday. She has five men with her. One of the brothers told us that she’s been making inquiries about any boys fitting Michelangelo’s description and the five men are checking on any families around town.”
“A mosque seems to be a very safe place to be then.”
“It usually is one of the safest places to be,” Mohammed said smiling. “Michelangelo has joined our family and none of the brothers will say anything to anyone so he is quite safe. He has also started talking to us. It appears one of the boys at the orphanage who was trusted to serve at the meetings they held stole an iPad and showed it to Michelangelo. Then they beat the boy until he confessed. And to ensure that no details of that meeting should emerge all the boys, including Michelangelo, were delivered to Brutal Bosco, trusting they would be killed in the fighting with Kariba.”
“Does he remember what was on the iPad?”
“Yes, there were details of the meeting. Those details were apparently transferred by an application that went to an iPhone, belonging to a friend of yours called Cindy. Michelangelo just wanted to clear diagrams so they could play minesweeper and pushed an application called Bump to clear the screen. Kim Yao would have only found out much later that that information had been transferred. She knows, therefore, that Michelangelo has seen that information and that it has been transferred to Cindy’s phone.”
“Do you remember anything that was on the iPad?” Christian said, looking at Michelangelo.
“Yes, the diagrams,” Michelangelo quietly whispered.
“Keep him safe. I have two friends arriving tonight from the National Government Intelligence Agency in South Africa, and they might have suggestions on what we can do. I will call Cindy tonight. She may not realise that information is on her phone and the danger that she is in.”
“Okay, we going to take you back to the market. We will dress you in the black robes and then take you back to our stall. You have my number; we will take good care of Michelangelo. Text me when you have met with your friends and have developed a plan.”
Walking back through the town, Christian knew he was being observed. Now at least he knew how desperate Kim Yao was to get at Michelangelo. Hopefully Mike and Galela would have a plan to deal with her. He walked past the hospital but did not go and check on Matthew. He had enough to deal with, and he knew that Doctor Rashid would be doing his utmost with what they had, to ensure that Matthew survived. He turned left into Sudani’s driveway, hoping the day had no more challenges left. Then remembering he had to contact Cindy, he hurriedly sent her a text message and waited a few minutes, but there was no response. He put the key in the lock to the back door and as it opened, he could smell the fresh coffee. Looking through into the kitchen, he was surprised to see Cindy sitting on one of the chairs. He locked the back door, by which time Cindy was in front of him hugging him as though he was a long lost friend.
“What a wonderful surprise!” he said as she extricated herself from his hug and let him by the hand into the kitchen.
“I just needed to see you and talk to you about what was going on. I have been so scared in the last few days after I found all the details of that meeting on my iPhone and of course I was worried about Michelangelo.”
“Did you bring the iPhone?”
“Oh my God, you know about that?”
“I saw and talked to Michelangelo this afternoon.”
“They demanded my phone but I refused. I realised after I read the information that was transferred, how important it was. I also knew that it was only a matter of time before they just came and took it with force so I caught the bus to you.”
“I’m sure that they know you are here. I spotted Kim and some of her assistants in the town this morning hoping obviously that I would lead them to Michelangelo.”
“Kim also knows that Michelangelo has a photographic memory; therefore they need both my iPhone and Michelangelo to ensure the Chinese government is not severely embarrassed.”
“I assume Chantal knows that you are here and let you in?”
“Yes she was wonderful. Put on the coffee and said that I could use the bedroom where Isabella was staying.”
“Do you have your iPhone?”
“It’s in my bag. I’ll go and get it!”
Cindy show Christian Notes on her phone where the Bump application had transferred the documents. The first document had a heading in English. It was titled Acquisition and Control of Resources/ Congo. What followed was a list of large Chinese corporate companies linked to a holding company in Beijing called Dragons Lair and located at the National Defence Ministry. Another diagram showed that Dragons Lair was in turn was an extension of Central Military Commission of the People’s Republic of China. It was clearly official Chinese government business, the publication of which would be devastating.
The second document he opened outlined a strategy to provide direct access for Chinese companies to the resources of the Congo. A detailed plan included utilizing Rwandan support, both political and business. A list of prominent Rwandan executives and politicians was included in the first subsection. Humanitarian Aid was to be utilised as a front to boost China’s international image and facilitate the takeover of Northern Congo. An orphanage within half an hour of the Congolese border was to be acquired with the help of the Rwandans, and to be fully supported by the Chinese National Defence Ministry. It would also coordinate the distribution of arms to supportive militia. A subsection in the second document was titled: Military support for the killing of Kariba Offengowe. The killing was proposed at a meeting outside of Goma. Comptoirs Assad and Segal, who controlled the resources out of Congo, were to be present and were to be blamed for the killing. The power vacuum that would ensue would allow China and Rwanda, through Brutal Bosco, full access to all the Congo’s minerals.
A further document outlined the financial commitment of Chinese companies to the building in Rwanda of warehouses, factories to produce computers and mobile phones as well as repackaging centres for truckloads of ore. All resources would then be rebranded and sent to smelters, nominate
d by the Chinese National Defence Ministry. This document said it would avoid international approbation for extraction of mineral resources from the Congo utilising child and slave labor.
Christian looked up at Cindy once he had finished reading.
“Have you emailed this to someone you trust?”
“Yes, my brother in Wisconsin who is a judge.”
“Good, as long as someone has it, that may well be then a guarantee against anything happening to you or Michelangelo.”
“Can I see Michelangelo? I would love to give him a hug and just reassure him.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that tomorrow. We might need to get you some long flowing robes,” Christian said as Cindy gave him a puzzled look in return.
Chapter 21
“Christian.”
Christian partly opened his eyes, and could see the small black silk surgical suture with which he had repaired the mosquito net. Beyond, he could see Emmanuel’s concerned face staring at him.
“Christian, are you awake?” Christian now also felt a gentle shake of his shoulder through the mosquito net.
Half asleep, Emmanuel’s question still struck him as one of those strange questions to ask someone, whether they were awake when you could clearly see that they were asleep.
“What is it?”
Christian opened his eyes fully, his brain starting to function. It must be something serious, as Emmanuel never came in to wake him up, only Chantal. That he was not smiling suggested something very significant.
“Is it Isabella?”
“No, get up and come through to the kitchen and I’ll tell you what has happened at the hospital overnight.”
“The friends of mine who arrived from South Africa, which I told you about last night, have medication for Matthew that we can start this morning,” Christian said as he pulled on his clothes. However, Emmanuel had already walked back into the kitchen.
Christian walked into the kitchen tightening his belt; at one end of the bench was a cup of coffee, steam gently drifting upwards. Emmanuel was sitting at the other end, an empty bread and butter plate with a few scattered crumbs from recent toast, next to his cup. Christian sat down on the spare stool, looked at the steam rising from his coffee, and decided it was too hot to drink. He looked across at Emmanuel. He had not moved from the time that Christian had come into the room, and his eyes remained fixed on his coffee. The way in which both hands encircled the cup suggested to Christian that the news was even worse than what he anticipated. Emmanuel felt Christian’s gaze and looked up.
“There is no easy way to say this; Matthew died last night.”
Christian felt the sickening feeling rise in his throat, and briefly wondered whether he would throw up. Matthew was dead; what hope was there now for Isabella?
“The only hope for Isabella is to try to get her back from Kariba. I think I should come and meet those friends of yours who arrived from South Africa last night. There is a small window of opportunity as Matthew’s mother left to go and look after one of her other sick children last night. She will not get the news of Matthew’s death until later this morning.”
“I was going to meet them for breakfast at 7 AM; I’ll just let Cindy know what we are doing.”
Emmanuel and Christian walked the 1 km to the Lakeside Hotel in silence. Christian had given Cindy Mohammed’s phone number and suggested that she text him after the morning prayers. He would, Christian knew, work out a way to get Cindy to see Michelangelo. The Lakeside Hotel car park was lined with old Victorian style lights, another reminder of the homesick Belgian colonials. The antique lights contrasted vividly with many sparkling new four-wheel drive vehicles parked side-by-side, the United Nations logo loudly emblazoned on their doors.
The young girl behind the reception desk smiled broadly as they walked in and welcomed Emmanuel as a friend. After a few minutes of chatting, Emmanuel turned and said to Christian,
“Your friends are waiting for us out on the deck next to the pool. Follow me.”
A sliding door led out onto a large wooden deck on which were half a dozen round tables. Each had shelter provided by a large green canvas umbrella. An enormous kidney-shaped swimming pool stretched beyond the deck towards the lake. At the third table to the left, as they walked out through the sliding door, he could see Mike McMahon and Galela. When he had visited Cape Town immediately before doing medicine, Mike and his wife Sian had looked after him. They had also helped in the search for information on his father, Jannie de Villiers. Mike, in addition, had also been the anaesthetist and coordinator of his father’s liver transplant program. Mike and Sian had then introduced him to Sibokwe, his father’s first successful child liver transplant recipient. Sibokwe was now Minister of Health in South Africa. Galela at the time was the only black operative in the white apartheid Bureau of State Security [B.O.S.S.]. He had never established whether Galela had another name. He had always just known him as Galela. Mike and Galela had rescued both he and Isabella from the mine where a white supremacist group had held them hostage. Both had become firm friends with his mother and he knew they remained in regular email contact.
As he looked across to where they both sat, the familiar tousled hair and profile of Mike was reassuring to see. He looked as fit and as athletic as when he had last seen him in Cape Town. Mike was casually dressed in a light blue polo neck shirt, short sleeves displaying the muscular forearms related to his long-term interest in the martial arts. Galela with his back to him was still instantly recognizable. Broad shoulders, a thick muscular neck, and a height of 193 cm still suggested great physical power and dominance—a power which had been instrumental in saving Christian’s life.
Mike immediately stood up on seeing them walk out through the sliding door and called out.
“Christian, great to see you!” before closing the space between them with two big strides, grinning broadly and then taking Christian in a firm embrace.
“Great to see you too, Mike. It doesn’t seem like nine years; you look as fit and healthy as when I last saw you in Cape Town,” Christian said, before turning to introduce Emmanuel.
Galela pushed his chair back from the table and waited for Christian to disentangle himself from Mike before grasping Christian’s hand and with a knowing smile, saying:
“Good to see you, young man. You have turned out to be the spitting image of your dad. Come and sit down; we have got lots to talk about and not much time, I think.”
The large green umbrella shaded the table from the early morning sun, but not the dazzling glare from the crystal-clear swimming pool. Christian positioned himself with his back to the swimming pool to reduce the glare, while Mike and Galela reached for their sunglasses. It was, Christian felt, a little surreal, almost like a scene from some spy movie, two genuine spooks in sunglasses, he with information for the next mission.
“Would you like coffee or breakfast?” Mike said as he pulled out a long sealed cardboard tube from a brown leather bag next to his chair.
“I will have bacon and eggs and sausages,” Emmanuel quickly replied, scanning the menu, while Mike extracted what appeared to be a map from the cardboard tube.
“Nothing for me,” Christian said to the waiter who was now taking Emmanuel’s order.
Christian watched Mike straighten out the rolled up paper. He placed the pepper grinder on one corner, then the saltshaker on the other, and finally the sugar bowl at the bottom edge to prevent the paper curling up. Christian moved a little closer to see what had been unfurled. It was, from the markings, a satellite map on which a line had been drawn indicating the Congolese and Rwandan borders. On the Congolese side was marked North and South Kivu, and in the northern part of the map, there were three distinct triangles; one was circled. All were approximately fifteen to twenty kilometres inside the Congo, he estimated according to the scale on the side of the map. Christian wanted to ask how they had satellite maps when South Africa had no satellites. Mike, reading his mind, pointed at the bottom of the
map where it was stamped International Intelligence Community.
“Those are the three locations where we think Isabella might be held,” Galela said. “We have asked our friends in IIC to monitor that region and they have narrowed it down to that site there which has been circled, which also is the closest to one of the largest mining operations at Mount Golgotha and has a fully functional airport next to it for the export of ore to Goma. This is the magnified version of that circled area.”
Christian and Emmanuel looked at the high-powered high-resolution photograph that Galela overlaid on the map. The detail was remarkable, almost as though someone had flown above it in a helicopter and photographed it from approximately eight hundred metres. It was a compound with one large multiform Weston style villa, surrounded on all sides by fences with one road leading to the main gate. All buildings were clearly visible, with fifteen or twenty small huts scattered throughout for security and some workers. There were sentry towers placed on each corner of the compound overseeing the airport. To Christian, it looked a formidable fortress.
“Isabella has her mobile phone with her,” Mike said more as a statement then a question.
“Yes, she does, but I don’t know whether it has been confiscated or switched off or disabled, as she hasn’t replied to any of my text messages.”
“That doesn’t matter; we have checked. Kariba has created his own telecommunications tower which means we were able to access her phone. We have confirmed that the circle is currently the place where she’s kept. The other places with silver triangles are where we have received other GPS coordinates. He obviously keeps moving her around.”
Old Lovers Don't Die Page 26
