‘There is another photo of Boink shooting the man in the head.’
I remembered that, too.
‘They weren’t the photos shown to Colonel Fink, by the way. What he saw was a woman having her arms hacked off in a village occupied by soldiers. There’s also a picture of a truck rolling up, the window’s down and Lockhart can clearly be seen leaning out the window. Colonel Lis-souba – I assume it’s him – is coming over to meet him. Her phone ran out of battery power at that point in your journey.’
Why didn’t I think of using a damn cell phone to capture evidence – especially after the business with Fallon and the photo he took of me in Afghanistan and posted on his blog? Maybe because my cell was a base model – no extras, no camera.
‘The phone was your strategy all along,’ I said.
‘What do you want us to say?’ said Cheung. ‘There were twenty – count ’em – witnesses to your assault on Lockhart. I told you that we would have to use every trick in the book.’
‘When did you find out about the pictures?’
‘You really didn’t know she’d taken them?’ Macri asked.
‘No. I’d have had Lockhart behind bars the moment we’d arrived back at Cyangugu had I known about them.’
‘I interviewed everyone who was with you in the DRC,’ said Cheung. ‘Leila and Ayesha came forward and told me about the phone a week ago. I think you owe her.’
Or maybe now we were about even.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘You’ve already thanked us,’ said Macri.
‘You played it a certain way to make sure Lockhart got nailed. Trotting out all those witnesses that were getting us nowhere . . . It was all just a diversion.’
‘It’s called a tactic where we come from,’ said Macri.
‘We had to make some kind of show of putting up a defense. If we hadn’t, Fink wouldn’t have been prepared to believe we knew nothing about those photos. We just had to stage Leila and company’s late arrival to give us time to set it all up. Luckily, Fink wanted to believe it after he saw that photo.’
‘And if the phone had come up in discovery,’ I said, ‘the case against me would’ve been dismissed and Lockhart wouldn’t have stepped foot in the US ever again. You kept the cell a secret so that the trial would go ahead, and Lockhart would make an appearance and you could put a noose around his neck.’
‘We figured you’d think it was worth it,’ said Cheung.
I grinned. ‘You guys are the most unlawyer-like lawyers I’ve ever met. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. While I think of it, Leila insisted that she was going to sue the Air Force. That still going to happen?’
Cheung shook his head. ‘Before anything else, the Air Force had her sign a waiver the thickness of a telephone book. And you brought her back without a scratch. What’s she got to litigate about?’
Macri turned into my street and parked out front of my accommodation block, behind my old Pontiac.
‘We’ll pick you up in an hour and a half,’ said Cheung.
‘We’re drinking. You’re buying,’ Macri informed me.
Seemed fair to me.
Ten minutes later I was sitting on the end of my bed with a single malt, feeling it evaporate up the back of my nose, and the relief I felt that I was free gave me a shiver. There was a knock on the door. ‘Don’t want any,’ I called out.
‘It’s Arlen,’ came the reply. ‘Open up.’
I let him in.
‘Hey, I missed you over at the courthouse,’ he said, his spirits brimming. ‘Congratulations, buddy.’ He shook my hand warmly, a smile full of genuine pleasure on his face.
‘You were in on it,’ I said.
‘What are friends for?’
‘Did you put the idea in Cheung’s head?’
‘I don’t think he’d recall it quite like that. Justice has a blindfold. Sometimes she needs a little help pinning the tail on the donkey’s ass.’
‘The investigation turn up anything useful yet?’
Arlen’s smile flickered. ‘Charles White. Former Marine Recon, honorably discharged three years ago, rank of sergeant. Went to work for FN Herstal. Lasted six months and then fell off the radar. Interpol believes he has connections with Somali pirates. He’s a weapons trader, with plenty of connections to the military and military industry here in the US. He lives in Rio de Janeiro and is believed to be moving around on false passports. As for André LeDuc? No idea where he is. Interpol has a brief. Piers Pietersen is greedy and rich but clean, as far as we can tell.’
‘I want in.’
‘We’ve got people on it.’
‘But they’re just people,’ I said.
He snorted. ‘You’ve reminded me. The Article 15 non-judicial punishment. The CO has come to a decision.’
‘And?’
‘He told me to tell you that for pistol whipping Lockhart with your government-issue Sig, you’re going to forfeit one week’s pay.’
I’d gotten off lightly.
‘He also told me to tell you that if you’d clubbed Lockhart with the butt of your M4, he’d have bought you a beer. ’
‘He said that?’
‘Word for word.’
Maybe the old man wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
‘Oh, by the way, apparently you missed out on the Air Force Cross – though you don’t know that. For what it’s worth, I think you deserved to get it and so does Central Command. It’s pissed at the Secretary of the Air Force for turning you down.’
There wasn’t much to regret here. I wasn’t even supposed to know that I could have won it.
‘So instead, you’re getting the Silver Star – next one down. CENT-COM was persistent and the SECAF caved, probably because of all the publicity.’
‘Okay.’ There wasn’t much else to say. The action in Afghanistan was a distant memory. I couldn’t remember most of the details, other than some of the people in my section lost their lives.
‘More importantly, I also heard that you’re now officially one of the world’s sexiest people,’ he said, grinning, the magazine open on the floor in the corner of the room. ‘Don’t they know they’re only encouraging you?’
And I was going to get to a bar while the magazine was still on the newsstands after all. ‘Call me Number Twelve from now on.’
‘Think I’ll stick with Vin.’
‘You wanna drink?’ I asked him as I moved to the kitchenette.
‘No, I’m still on the treadmill.’
‘Tell me about the ransom.’
‘What’s there to tell?’
‘I heard you received a demand three days after we went missing – for Twenny and Leila and no one else.’
‘You heard right. We think they were never going to let anyone get out alive – just take the money and run. At the time the ransom demand came through, Lockhart and Lissouba probably believed everyone not held hostage was already dead.’
‘What about Boink?’ I asked.
‘What about him?’
I took a mouthful of scotch.
‘Oh . . . right. Well, unfortunately, the only evidence we had for that incident was lost. Damn iPhone.’
I heard movement outside the front door, followed by a knock. ‘Yo, Cooper. You in there, dog?’
Speak of the devil. It was Boink. I opened the door. Leila and Ayesha swept in, followed by Twenny and Boink, who took his bowler hat off but still had to duck to enter.
‘Dere he is!’ said Twenny. We shook, a weird combination of moves that I followed as best I could.
‘Vin!’ said Leila, embracing me, her French perfume doing likewise. ‘We just wanted to come and congratulate you, you know.’
‘Yes, congratulations on the win!’ said Ayesha, pecking me on the cheek.
‘Hey, soldier man,’ said Boink. We bumped knuckles. ‘Congrats, yo.’
I introduced Arlen. When we were done, he excused himself and I saw him to the door. He took a brown envelope from his blouse inside pocket. ‘H
ave a look when you get a quiet moment.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Just have a look. I don’t want to spoil the news,’ he said.
I shrugged, folded the envelope, put it on the kitchenette bench.
My rich and infuential friends didn’t stay long but long enough to tell me that they’d spent a considerable amount of money trying to locate Francis. While not confirmed, they’d only just now received word that he’d been found alive and still had both legs.
‘So you’ve heard that Deryck and I are going to adopt a child from the Congo?’ Leila asked me. Deryck’s diamond flashed on her engagement finger.
‘It’s on the news,’ I said.
‘But what they don’t know yet is that Deryck and I . . . we’re having a baby.’
‘The ol’ flashioned way, you feel me?’ said Twenny, grinning.
‘We wanted you to be among the first to know,’ she said. ‘It’s a boy. We’re gonna name him after . . . can you guess?’
‘You’re not going to name him . . . Cooper,’ I said.
Leila cleared her throat and looked at Twenny, a little embarrassed. ‘Well, no, sorry. I . . . we . . . We’re going to name him . . . Zaire.’
‘After the river,’ I said. The river?
‘Duke and I are also having a baby,’ said Ayesha. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ I said. ‘It’s congratulations all round!’ The bump told me she had to be three months gone, which put her in the Congo at the time. In fact, Ryder had told me that Ayesha had fallen pregnant because of the rape, but they’d decided to keep it and bring it into the world together. ‘Ayesha wants to break the cycle of violence,’ he told me.
I went into the kitchenette and fxed drinks for those of us who weren’t pregnant. While doing this, I thanked Leila for saving my ass, and she apologized for being a complete psycho bitch. Actually, she didn’t. But, whatever, we buried the machete.
Twenny took me aside. ‘The stories in the media, ’bout you and Leila. They true?’
I raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Yeah, thought they was bullshit.’
He punched me in the arm.
‘How’s Peanut?’ I asked.
‘The same as he always was, but he does drawings. You should see them – frightening, man. He says they’re his dreams. I get them too. I spoke with a doctor. He says the dreams will fade.’
I wished him luck with that.
We rejoined the others. All four said that if there were ever anything they could do for me that I should call. I wondered how long they’d remember my name. We said goodbye, they left and I cleaned up a little. It was time for me to leave too, go back to my apartment in the ’burbs of DC. I threw my things in a bag and walked to the front door before turning for a last look around. Arlen’s envelope caught my eye – I’d forgotten to collect it. I picked it up off the bench and lifted the fap. There were a couple of sheets of official-looking paper inside, a report from Oak Ridge Police Forensics. Oak Ridge, Tennessee – that was where Anna had been shot, at the Department of Energy’s Oak Ridge depleted uranium storage facility. I skimmed the sheets, then went over them a second time, and had to take a seat on the edge of the bed when the impact of the news hit me.
After completing laser analyses on the trajectories of all the bullets fired in Anna’s last fateful moments, Oak Ridge forensics had found the missing slug. They discovered it buried in a tree trunk half a mile from the room in which she was killed. This was the bullet, the one foren-sics believed had blown a hole in Anna’s chest. The gun I fired was a Colt. 45. The newly recovered bullet was a 9mm round fired by a Glock. Forensics had matched it to the gun used by the nutbag who was wrestling Anna when she was fatally wounded.
Jesus . . . I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes and breathed.
Author’s note
While Ghost Watch is a work of fction, there’s plenty of fact woven into the narrative. The Democratic Republic of Congo is a mess and has been for a very long time. Since 1994, when the genocide going on in Rwanda officially ended there and moved across the border, it’s estimated more than four million people, mostly innocent citizens and bystanders, have been slaughtered in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
There’s a recently expanded UN force (MONUC) of twenty thousand operating in the North Kivu area of the DRC, where much of Ghost Watch takes place, but reports suggest that it is largely ineffective at curbing the violence between the warring Tutsi and Hutus and other factions and interests. And sometimes actually exacerbates it.
The situation has been made worse in recent years with the realization by First World nations the United States, China and Russia that there’s significant and diverse mineral wealth in the area, and each promotes its interests by supporting a local army (there are at least six fighting in the DRC) with money, logistical support, training and arms.
You wouldn’t want to live there.
I’ve been aware of the misery going on in the Congo since 1987, when a buddy of mine decided that he was going to Zaire (as the DRC was then called) to check out the gorillas made famous by the late Dian Fossey.
Vaguely interested in perhaps making this trek myself, I started to poke around through various news sources. They painted a pretty horrendous picture. My pal changed his mind and went to South America instead. I went to Amsterdam.
All these years later, I can’t say definitively why I decided to send Cooper to Africa. It might have been the rumour I’d heard that the US had a secret training base in Rwanda, on the border with the DRC. But the discovery of a new US military command being formed to oversee America’s national interests on the African continent (AFRICOM) sealed it.
I have to say that I found researching the recent history of the DRC, and the eyewitness reports of massacres happening there, harrowing to say the least.
Ghost Watch contains some pretty grizzly scenes based on that research, but they don’t compare to the gruesome reality. Frankly, had I not pulled my punches a little, I fear I might have taken this story somewhere else.
A couple of months into the writing of Ghost Watch, Laurant Nkunda, the former DRC general who went on to form and lead the National Congress for the Defense of the People (CNDP), a Tutsi militia supported by Rwanda, was arrested in Rwanda. Nkunda’s arrest came at the insistence of his former employer, the government of the DRC. The charges against him relate to various human rights violations and war crimes including rape, murder, the use of child soldiers and so on. He’s being held under house arrest somewhere in Rwanda.
As one of my characters says in the story’s narrative, I don’t think he will ever come to trial, or be handed over to the DRC. I’ll be surprised if this monster doesn’t simply disappear. If ever there was a war criminal that deserved justice, it’s Laurant Nkunda.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Lieutenant Colonel Mike ‘Panda’ Pandolfo (USAF, ret.) for his tireless support, wealth of knowledge and unerring eye while I was writing Ghost Watch. Panda has helped me considerably for the past couple of years. In fact, he has almost moved from ‘tech support’ to ‘co-collaborator’, and now I’ve said that, the guy will probably ask me for a raise. Panda recently retired from the Air Force. After so many years in uniform, that’s a big life change. I’d to take this opportunity to thank him publicly for the lifetime of service he has selfessly given (the guy flew in the Vietnam War, for chrissakes!).
Thanks also to Special Agent Elizabeth Richards, AFOSI, for assistance with OSI procedures, documentation and photo reference.
Thanks to Michael Jordan, USMC, ret., for technical support on weapons, ammunition, legal issues, and editorial assistance.
Thanks to Patrick Le Barbenchon from Eurocopter, and also Robert Holtsbaum and Loic Porcheron at Australian Aerospace, for help and technical support on the Puma SA360.
Thanks to Patricia Rollins for French lessons and editorial assistance.
Thanks to my attorney, Eric Feig, for keeping the
dogs at bay.
Thanks to Emma Rafferty and Sarina Rowell, my editors at Pan Macmillan.
And thanks to Rod Morrison, my publisher at Pan Mac. It’d be amateur hour at snake gully without you all.
Ghost Watch Page 45
