Death in the Congo: Book 5 in the Dan Stone series

by David Nees

  Now China was going to take more concrete steps to change all of that, beginning with its backyard. His mind raced with the myriad of details that needed to be worked out. The politicians had the vision; it was up to him and the other generals to make it happen. And there would be no forgiveness for failure.

  His aides walked quietly behind him. They understood when their superior officer wanted to be alone to think. They were conditioned by a lifetime of bowing to superior authority, even while having a certain amount of their own to exercise. They understood their place in a strict hierarchy, in a tradition that survived, even through the people’s revolution, from the days of the emperors.

  As much as he relished the next moves, as much as he understood the necessity for them, he had made a case to take the time to prepare properly. He needed to complete his negotiations with Djibouti for the lease on a new port facility. It would be the first foreign port for China in a strategic part of the world. The documents needed to be signed and in hand before they took the next steps. It was no guarantee that all his work wouldn’t come to naught, but it strengthened China’s ability to hold on to the port arrangement after they took action.

  He would also need to get his friend, General Zhang, back from the DRC. His work there, while important, was not in the same category of importance as to what was about to happen. So much to do…

  Wu snapped his fingers and his aides quickly caught up with him.

  “We must get back to headquarters,” he said. “I have to send out some communications.”

  *

  With a sigh, Dan got up from the bed. No rest for the weary. He changed his shirt and stepped out of his room. The air in the hallway was hot and thick, foreshadowing the heat that waited outside. He was heading to meet with Marcus and Roland at a local bar.

  Dan set out on foot for the five long blocks to the Chacha Bar located just off Rond-Point Forescom, with its statue of three soldiers erected to honor all the soldiers who were killed defending the country. Joseph Kabila, who supplanted Mobutu, had the monument built. The bar was Henry’s recommendation. It was a discreet place to talk business and offered very good Congolese food, even if the service was slow. Goat was a specialty.

  Dan hadn’t been seated for five minutes when Marcus and Roland appeared. As he expected, they stood out. Marcus had dark brown hair. He had let it grow long and with his beard starting to fill in, he looked like a mercenary. Roland had lighter hair, almost blond, also long with a beard growing. Both men were over six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds. They looked like professional football players. Roland was the larger of the two at six feet, three inches and weighing 225 pounds. Roland had actually played tight end in college. They were dressed in khaki pants and shirts and wore sturdy boots.

  There was nothing about their looks that helped them blend in. Dan could see people take notice of them. They walked with a confidence that expressed an ability to handle any situation as they strode to where he sat. Marcus wiped his brow with his sleeve as they joined Dan.

  “Damn, it’s hot. Worse than being in Mississippi,” he said.

  “We’re only four degrees south of the equator and at the edge of one of the largest tropical jungles in the world,” Dan replied. “How was your trip?”.

  Roland shrugged, as did Marcus.

  “As always, the seats are small and there’s not enough leg room,” Roland said. “Wish Jane could afford to fly us first class. Economy sucks.”

  “Wouldn’t we all like that. You know how much you two stand out, don’t you?”

  Marcus nodded. “You don’t exactly blend in either.”

  A server came up and the three of them ordered some local beer. Dan ordered a dark lager, Turbo King, while Marcus and Roland ordered Simba du Lion, a pale lager. The men were silent while taking a few sips of the cold brews. Marcus put the bottle to his forehead.

  “The AC is nice in here, but we still have to go outside,” he said.

  “Get used to it. We’ll be without AC for some time I expect. Anyway, we’ll hang out here until it gets dark. Hopefully, it’ll be cooler.”

  “You got your cover story down?” Marcus asked. “As you so ably pointed out, we don’t blend in. You are the master of the obvious.” He tipped his beer to Dan and took a swig.

  “Yeah. That was a lot of cramming.”

  Dan’s cover identity was a mining employee sent over to the DRC to see if his company, Global Resources, could acquire some coltan contracts. If he could source enough, the company was ready to invest in a refining operation to benefit and local economy. Most of the ore now mined was taken out of the DRC and refined in Rwanda or Burundi. Marcus and Roland were employed by the same company to provide security for Dan. If anyone checked, they would find Global Resources on the internet and there would be a phone contact menu if they called the published number.

  “Let’s hope it stands up,” Marcus said.

  “I won’t fool an expert. Any mining engineer would see through me. But I’m not supposed to be an engineer, just a salesman.”

  “An important one with two bodyguards,” Marcus said.

  “We always seem to have to protect your ass,” Roland said. “So, we collect our ‘supplies’ and then we have to get to Goma by car?”

  “It’s the only way,” Dan said. “The railroad isn’t reliable and may not go the all the way there. The Congo River is navigable to Kisangani, but there aren’t any boats that go there directly. Just barges pushed by tugs that go upriver and stop at towns along the way. It could take months and the barge you’re on may not even go that far. It all depends on the local demand wherever they stop. Local economic need always dictates their itinerary, so at each stop, the plans could change.”

  “Why don’t we fly?” Roland asked.

  Dan looked at him for a long moment. “The gear we have to bring. Did you forget about that?”

  “Oh, right.” A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “Jane arranged something for us, right?” Roland asked. He waved to the waiter to bring three more beers to the table.

  “She’s lined up a Toyota Land Cruiser with a roof rack. It’s got four-wheel drive and comes with extra fuel jugs. And we’ll have tents when we can’t find hotels.”

  “Let’s try not to camp in the bush,” Roland said. “I don’t think I want to wind up on a tiger’s dinner menu.”

  “Tigers are in India, dumbass,” Marcus said. He turned back to Dan. “You think there are any of those Watchers here in Africa?”

  “Hell if I know. Why’d you mention them?”

  “They seemed to be helpful in the past. They could be helpful here. We’re in a strange place, amigo.”

  Watchers were a loose group of men and women who had expanded powers of perception. They could see the forces of dark and light and understood Dan’s place in a larger battle against evil. He had been introduced to them in Mexico by a shaman who saved his life.

  After the second beer, the men ordered some dinner, a selection of Moambé and Satori. Moambé consisted of chicken or fish with cassava leaves, hot pepper sauce, bananas, rice, peanuts and palm nuts. Satori was a tasty fish dish, usually tilapia fillets, fried with pumpkin seeds, plantains, and garlic.

  “I’ll take the Satori over the Moambé,” Roland declared. “That pepper sauce is serious.”

  “And you didn’t even add the Pili Pili, the hot chili paste. Jane said the locals put it on everything.”

  “Maybe they have to burn out parasites. I don’t have that problem and prefer to keep my stomach lining intact.”

  “The ugly American,” Marcus said. “You can dress him up, but you can’t take him anywhere.”

  “Not sure you can even dress him up,” Dan said with a grin.

  “Fuck you guys,” Roland said. “I need another beer.”

  After the sun went down, the three left the bar and strolled down one of the streets back in the hotel's direction.

  “How undercover can we be if we’re getting a Land Cr
uiser and our weapons from the embassy?” Marcus asked.

  “The embassy’s going to give us an unopened crate. No one there knows what’s in it. An Agency operative will hand it over to us…at night. There won’t be introductions or conversation. They’ll know they gave it to one person, me, but they won’t know who I am. They won’t know anything about the two of you. They don’t know you’re here.”

  “And the four-wheeler?” Marcus asked.

  “Jane reserved it through the embassy. I have the dealer’s info and I’ll go pay for it tomorrow.”

  “We’re going to leave right away then?” Roland asked.

  “As soon as I get the Land Cruiser and pick up the gear crate. We’ll leave everything in the crate except for sidearms, which we can hide under the seats. We’ll bury the crate under our packed gear. It will also have embassy markings on it and be locked and sealed. Hopefully, if it’s discovered, that will keep prying eyes out.”

  “Sounds a little sketchy to me,” Roland said. “Since it’s our first and last night in Kinshasa, let’s see what the nightlife is like.”

  They made their rounds of the clubs in walking distance of Chacha and later that night grabbed a taxi whose driver took them to a late-night club frequented by locals. He promised hot music and hot women.

  “You gave him a big tip on those promises?” Marcus asked. “He won’t be around if they don’t pan out.”

  “That’s okay if it doesn’t. Probably keep Roland out of trouble,” Dan replied.

  They went in. The music was hot, as promised. Hot and loud. The three found a stand-up table in the corner and ordered a round of beers. The waiter tried to push the club’s signature drink on them, but Dan and the others wisely stuck to beer.

  Roland gazed around the room. It was filled with people laughing and drinking. To one side was a dance floor with a DJ playing popular tunes. It was African dance music. Its infectious beat made it hard to sit still.

  “Look at those women,” Roland exclaimed as he watched women dancing together or with a male partner. “I think I’m in love.”

  “They are good looking,” Marcus said.

  “Good looking, they’re gorgeous!” Roland said loudly over the music. “They’re so…so…nubile? That the right word?”

  “Curvaceous?” Dan offered.

  Marcus laughed. “They are well built and know how to move. Roland get out there and show them some moves.”

  “Man, I’d look stupid. They can really dance.”

  “You’ll look like the average white guy,” Marcus said. “I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of it.”

  Roland got up and walked to the dance floor.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to put himself on display,” Marcus said.

  “That probably isn’t the best idea you had,” Dan replied.

  “Agreed. But to get a chance to embarrass him is worth it. Maybe I can get a picture.” He stood up and took out his cell phone.

  Roland, although a bit awkward, held his own, and the girls were laughing and shrieking at his antics. They moved in a typical African dance style, gyrating with intricate pelvis thrusts and twists, all of which had roots in the ageless tribal village dances, but were now amped up in the modern, urban culture.

  Dan watched and had to admit to himself it was quite sexy. As he moved his gaze around the room, he noticed a group of men who didn’t seem to be amused by Roland’s antics, nor his commandeering multiple ladies into dancing with him.

  He tapped Marcus on the arm and nodded to the corner where the men were. Marcus looked and then looked back at Dan. His face had changed from one of laughter to one of business. No words needed to be passed. Dan knew Marcus understood. Identify a potential threat, keep them under surveillance, and be ready to respond.

  The evening went on until Roland got tired and came over to sit down. Two young, shapely women followed him and he grabbed some chairs for them to sit. He ordered drinks. Probably what they came over for, Dan thought.

  Roland used his limited French to talk to the girls, but he was unsuccessful in convincing either of them to come back to the hotel with Marcus and himself. He did get one of their phone numbers with a promise to meet him tomorrow if he wanted to go out. With that, they left to wander back to their group, which included the four men Dan and Marcus had noted earlier.

  One of them started arguing with the woman who had given Roland her number. The three men couldn’t hear the conversation over the music and other talking, but they could read the body language. She was giving as good as she got.

  Finally, she got up, her face looking fierce and, grabbing her girlfriend, left the bar. The man gave Roland a hard stare from across the room and then turned back to his friends.

  “Looks like you pissed someone off,” Marcus said. “Your first night in Kinshasa and you’re already causing trouble.”

  “He’s just jealous because I can dance and she likes me.”

  “Reason enough to jump you. Hopefully, he’s not some secret warlord or gang leader, just an overeager salesman or bureaucrat who won’t escalate things beyond what he can handle.”

  “That could get messy,” Marcus said.

  “Let’s avoid a scene. Getting arrested our first night in town is not the way to start the mission.”

  Roland still had his gaze directed towards the man across the room. “I don’t think he’s up to it,” he said.

  The four men got up and left after another fifteen minutes. Dan and the others had one more beer and then got up to leave.

  “Lots to do tomorrow if we want to get out on the road,” Dan said as they walked out. “First thing is to get the Toyota, then I’ll have the crate delivered as discreetly as possible.”

  From another corner of the room, a young man sat watching the scene play out. His attention was drawn to the three white men when they first came in. They didn’t look like typical western businessmen, who all seemed a little fat, out of shape, dressed expensively, and sweated profusely in the tropical heat. These men looked fit. If he were honest with himself, they looked like mercenaries. Although he could hardly imagine what mercenaries would be doing in Kinshasa. They would more likely be found in Goma or Kisangani. When Dan and his crew left, the young man got up to follow.

  Chapter 3

  ___________________________________

  D an and the other two men stepped out into the night. The heat was still present, along with the humidity, but not as fierce. The night’s air did not lessen the odors that still assaulted one’s nose. If anything, the slightly cooler air amplified them. They turned the corner and the four men from the bar stood in front of them.

  “Stay cool,” Dan said to Marcus and Roland. “We don’t want to escalate this.”

  “Roger that,” Marcus said.

  The man that had been arguing with the girl stepped forward, still out of range. He started off in French.

  “You think you’re better than me because you’re white? You’re in my country now, a black country. You don’t mess with our women, especially not ones we know. We take care of them ourselves.”

  “We’re sorry. My friend didn’t mean to be rude. He was just having fun. He likes to dance, even if he doesn’t dance so well.” Dan replied to the man in French. “Parlez-vous anglais?”

  The apology and question momentarily caught the man off guard. “I speak English. Your friend doesn’t speak French? He is stupid?”

  Dan noticed Marcus place a hand on Roland’s arm. Roland just stood there impassively, his sizeable body looking relaxed, but Dan knew he was poised for action.

  “Again, we apologize. With your permission, we’ll be on our way,” Dan said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll decide. After this gorilla apologizes. He’s the one who was rude, not you.”

  “Ah fuck,” Marcus blurted out. “Guys, you should go your way and we’ll go ours. He apologized,” he said, pointing to Dan. “Now you need to accept that before you start something that will end badly for y
ou.”

  “For us? You are in our country. We can beat you like dogs and the gendarmes will put you in jail. You don’t look like wealthy businessmen who have influence here. We know the police. They will listen to us.”

  “You should listen to my friend,” Roland finally said. “And you should have treated the young lady nicer. Maybe then she wouldn’t have walked out on you and now you have to jerk off tonight by yourself.”

  “Oh shit,” Dan muttered.

  One man in the group reached into his pocket and took out a switchblade knife.

  “Don’t go there,” Dan said in a sharp voice.

  Now all four of the men looked ready to go into action. Dan knew it wasn’t going to end well even after they neutralized the threat, which he had no doubt they would do.

  Just then, the man who had been watching inside the bar stepped up. He was tall and slightly built. He moved quick and had sharp eyes that glanced rapidly back and forth between both groups. He spoke rapidly in a native tongue. It wasn’t Swahili, which Dan had studied before he had departed on the mission. He guessed it was Lingala.

  The intruder engaged the leader of the group in a rapid discussion. With each response, the man seemed to drive home another point to the young man who had accosted the three. Finally, the two men shook hands with a snap of fingers after the shake, and they turned to go.

  Now the man who had followed them out of the bar turned to the three with a beaming smile that stretched across his face.

  “I am Santu Kayembe. My name means ‘saint’. My mother thought I might be one, but I disappointed her. I am only a normal human.” He held out his hand to Dan.

  “I am Victor James,” Dan replied using one of his many aliases. “What did you say to those men?”

  “I explained that you were undercover agents for our government. They brought you in to inform our president of any subversives trying to undermine his rule. He is very sensitive to holding on to his power and we have a lengthy history with western governments trying to overthrow our leaders.