by David Nees
Santu came back with an armful of pizzas. The four men dug in. Santu was less enthused about the food than the other three. After eating, Dan got up and took out his satellite phone.
“Got to call the boss,” he said as he stepped outside. The others sat back with beers and turned on the television to watch the local Goma programming.
Outside on the porch overlooking the lake, Dan connected with Jane.
“We’ve established that Zhang lives outside of Goma, on a coffee plantation,” he said. “I need you to find out where it is. That’s going to be the best place to complete the mission. I don’t want to leave a trail around town of searching for this plantation. I’d just be laying some breadcrumbs down for people to follow.”
“Do you know anything else? That’s not a lot to go on.”
“He could be leasing, but I’m guessing he purchased it. We’re told he’s restoring the place, so it was probably owned by an expat and abandoned. My guess is during the rebellions in the nineties. Maybe a Brit? They invested heavily in the east.”
“I’ll do some research. Warren can hack into the DRC files and look at the properties on record.”
“Hopefully there’ll be records.”
“How much time will you need?” Jane asked.
“Have to find where the plantation is. Once we know where it is, I have to reconnoiter the area and set up a hide. I’ve got no idea of his security, but I imagine it’s pretty robust.”
“Especially since he’s working with the local warlords.”
“Yeah. We can try to find out who, but my focus is really Zhang.”
“I’ll call you when I know something,” Jane said.
“Better I call you…in twenty-four hours. You never know what I’ll be doing when you call.”
Dan hung up the phone and went back inside.
“Santu,” Dan called out, “can you take us out? I think Roland wants to see some of the nightlife.”
“Got that right,” Roland said.
“I got some recommendations while getting the pizzas,” Santu replied. He got up and led the group outside.
“We drive,” Santu said. “First stop is Petit Bruxelles. A woman from Kinshasa owns it, but she’s there most weekends. It has a large group of expats that go there. There’s a statue out front that Roland will like.”
“A beautiful, naked girl, no doubt,” Roland said.
Santu just smiled.
After arriving, they walked up to the club. Out in front was a statue of a boy urinating.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Roland said.
“You like it?” Santu asked.
“Looks out of place, if you ask me. I prefer naked ladies.”
“It’s supposed to be a copy of a statue symbolizing the Belgian capital. It signifies our ties to that country, although nobody looks back on that period with any pleasant feelings.”
Inside, a disc jockey was playing records—the popular dance music of the DRC, much of it in the rhumba style.
“Good French-Congolese food,” Santu said, “but the waitresses only speak French and Swahili.”
The men ordered a round of beers and a plate of mikata, deep-fried dough balls and sambaza, the salted Lake Kivu sardines.
“Just the food to soak up the alcohol,” Roland declared.
There was a diverse group in the nightclub. It looked like a mix of traders, UN officials and some medical-type workers. The ratio was seventy percent men and thirty percent women.
“I’m surprised at the number of Western women here,” Dan remarked.
“It is a safe place,” Santu replied. Many work in hospitals in the area, or with different relief groups. Not too many work for the UN, which is made up of mostly men.”
Dan watched Roland scan the crowd. The predator out hunting? The idea caused him to smile. Roland was a gentle, good-natured giant of a man, capable of killing with his bare hands as effectively as with a firearm. He was quite the gentleman, but here, he looked more like a hunter.
After the second round of beers, Roland stood up.
“Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely for you two,” he pointed to Dan and Marcus. “I’m off to see what I can scare up.”
“Found your prey?” Dan asked.
“Shame on you,” Roland said. “That’s why I’m not sure I should call you a gentleman. I’m off to rescue a beautiful woman from the boredom of dancing with her female friend. There seem to be no men here willing the take on the challenge of offering her more excitement and entertainment. I’m sure Santu, a man from Kinshasa, understands.”
He saluted and headed across the room.
“Sometimes the evening’s entertainment is watching Roland either score a win or strike out. It’s fun either way,” Marcus said.
Roland strolled up to a table with six people around it, four men and two women. “Pardon mademoiselle,” he said to a tall woman with dark, flowing hair and eyes.
She looked up at Roland, having to strain her neck to look into his face. He understood his height could intimidate, so he didn’t stand too close.
“I could not help but be captured by your beautiful dancing. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Roland’s French was being stretched to its limits.
“Oui, mias attends le groupe,” she replied.
Roland struggled to translate in his head.
“Wait for the band,” she said in English. “They will come out in a few minutes.”
“Bien,” Roland said. “May I sit down?”
The woman looked at her companions, who either shrugged or nodded. Roland reached out and grabbed a free chair and pulled it up to the table, in between the two women.
“My name if Roland, what is yours?” He stuck out his hand.
“Yvette, Yvette Bisset,” she replied. She took his hand with a firm grip.
“First base,” said Marcus as they watched Roland sit down.
Yvette had a self-confidence that came through with her direct stare into Roland’s eyes. She smiled at him.
“Are you a good dancer?” she said in English.
“Most women I dance with haven’t complained. “I don’t step on toes, at least.”
“Can you keep the rhythm?”
“Mademoiselle, rhythm is my middle name.”
The woman to Roland’s left laughed as did some of the men at the table. Yvette smiled.
“I apologize for my manners,” she said, and she introduced everyone else around the table. Roland greeted them all.
“I won’t ask you to repeat their names,” Yvette said.
“Thank you.”
Soon the band came out and completed their setup. They launched into a foot-tapping, body-shaking piece. People began to move onto the dance floor. Yvette raised her eyebrows.
Roland stood up and offered her his hand.
They went out onto the dance floor and soon were lost in the crowd. Roland stayed in synch with his partner and occasionally grabbed her hands and twirled her around as if they were doing the jitterbug. Yvette refrained from the more expressive butt-twerking moves that seemed so prevalent. However, she moved her hips and torso in a thoroughly seductive manner, accentuating the beat of the music. The piece ended with her spinning back into Roland’s arms, with one leg tipped high in the air.
She laughed as Roland righted her. They stayed out for two more pieces and then headed back to the table.
“So, you have replaced me as your dance partner for the night?” the other woman asked Yvette with a laugh.
“You are fun to dance with, Marie, but I don’t think you can catch me like Roland here.”
Roland ordered a Turbo King beer from the waitress, and Yvette ordered a kwilu rum cocktail.
They went back out on the floor after a brief break. When they got back, the group was getting ready to leave.
“We’re going now,” Marie said.
Roland looked at Yvette. “Would you like to come and meet my friends? Maybe you could stay and show us aro
und. We’ll make sure you get safely back to your hotel.”
“Who are your friends?”
“I work with two other men. We work for Global Resources, a world-wide mining business. We’re here to explore opportunities for sustainable mining in the DRC. We have a man with us from Kinshasa to help us navigate the process.”
“Let me meet them.” She turned to her friends. “Can you wait a minute so I can meet Roland’s friends?”
Roland smiled and led her back to the table. Dan and the others got up when Roland introduced them to Yvette.
“You don’t have to stand for me,” she said.
“That’s the way we were raised,” Marcus said.
“If you guys check out, Yvette might consider exploring some other spots with us.” He turned to her, “I know they might look…sketchy, we say in English—”
“You mean, not quite right?”
Roland nodded. “But I assure you they were well raised, as Marcus says. I trust them with my life. Even Santu here, who I’ve known only for a week. He’s fearless, a crocodile hunter.”
“Vraiment?”
Santu shook his head and gave her an embarrassed smile. “No, not really. Roland exaggerates.”
“Un moment,” she said and ran off to her friends.
She came back and announced she would go out with them based on Roland’s recommendations.
“So, it is up to you to see that they behave,” she told him.
“Oui mademoiselle. Je promets, I promise.
Chapter 19
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W hen the band stopped playing and the disc jockey came back, the group left.
“We go to the Kivu Club next. It has a more daring atmosphere,” Yvette said.
She directed Dan how to get there. They walked into a dark, red tinged interior with music pounding out the typical African beat.
A mixed crowd of Africans and whites were standing at the bar, sitting at tables, dancing on the floor. Waitresses were hurrying back and forth between the tables and the bar with trays piled high with drinks.
Roland, who stood a half a head taller than anyone else in the room, found them a table in a corner.
“This is like a bar scene in a Mad Max movie,” Marcus said, after they sat down.
Dab ordered beers for the men and a rum drink for Yvette.
“Its more lively,” she said. “And the band is better here. But it’s a safe space, so many expats hang out here.”
Yvette had long, wavy, black hair and dark, flashing eyes. Her smile lit up her face, with her teeth shining in contrast to her tanned face. She had a long, thin nose and full lips which moved expressively when she spoke.
Dan could see Roland was smitten, and he didn’t blame him. Yvette was a beautiful woman, although not looking like the typical cosmopolitan French woman one could come across in any large French city. Her strong, sturdy presence augmented her classic French look.
“What do you do here in the DRC?” Dan asked.
“I work with an organization, African Wildlife Relief. I’m working with Maiko National Park. We’re trying to push back against the mining encroaching on the parkland, on its eastern border.”
She gave Dan a stern look.
“Roland says you are all with Global Resources and are here to find mining opportunities. I hope you will not make our problem worse.”
Dan shook his head.
“No. We are looking to get involved, but we want to do it responsibly. Coltan is on the verge of becoming a conflict ore. We want to change that.”
She studied Dan with her dark eyes for a moment, as if evaluating the truth of what he said. “I hope you are right. It’s not just the forest we lose, the hardwoods, but we lose the gorillas. The lowland gorillas are endangered. When they cut down the forest, the soldiers often kill the gorillas. It’s a trophy for them. They can brag about their prowess.”
She slipped into French in her enthusiasm to explain the situation to Dan. He nodded to let her know he could follow the conversation. “The animals also bring a considerable price on the market, so there is a double incentive to kill them.”
“How does your organization help?” Dan asked.
“We go into the forest and map where the gorilla groups are. The authorities can then increase the protection in that area. If we find groups near the edge of the mining areas, we try to get the authorities to defend that part of the park.”
“Are you successful?” Roland asked.
“Sometimes. It can be very frustrating.”
“What brought you here to the big city?” Roland asked. “It was definitely my lucky day.”
Yvette smiled at him.
“We get some days off after two weeks in the bush. My work involves a lot of hiking and camping in the forest.”
“The jungle, you mean.” Now Santu spoke up.
“Not like the jungles near the Congo river and its branches. This jungle is not that wet. But it’s still a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What about rebel groups?” Marcus asked. “We’ve heard they are all around. Are there groups in the park?”
Yvette nodded her head.
“We come across their abandoned camps once in a while. Our guides are very concerned and they are careful to steer us away from where they think the camps are located.”
“You’ve never come across an active rebel camp?” Dan asked.
She shook her head.
“What would happen if you did?” Dan asked further.
“I don’t know. Being a group of westerners, we might not be killed, but who knows? One could just not come back from an excursion…never be found.”
“Damn!” exclaimed Roland. “Sounds like you need more protection. Does anyone carry weapons? Do you have any military with you?”
“Sometimes, but they would be overwhelmed by rebels. They aren’t experienced fighters. I sometimes think we’re better off not being armed, presenting no threat.”
“Except that you would know where the camp is. You’re mapping the area, are you not?”
Yvette nodded.
“Do you know of a Zhang Jian? He’s the CEO of Beautiful Earth Resources?” Dan asked.
Yvette looked up with a fire in her eyes. “Indeed. Quite a name, isn’t it? He’s not doing much for the beautiful earth, I can tell you that.”
“Why do you say that?” Marcus asked.
Roland stood up.
“Break time. We didn’t take this beautiful lady out to quiz her. And I want to dance with her.” He held out his hand, “Mademoiselle s'il vous plaît.”
Yvette stood up, smiling.
“Order another round of drinks. We’ll be thirsty when we get back.”
They disappeared onto the dance floor.
“This girl could be a wealth of information. I wonder if she knows where Zhang’s plantation is.” Marcus said.
“Let’s not ask her. Jane is working on that. Remember, limit the bread crumbs.”
“You speak in code?” Santu asked.
“Just an inside joke,” Marcus said. “Nothing you would think funny.”
The waitress, a buxom young woman with intricate braids in her hair, brought another round of drinks to the table. After two more songs, Roland and Yvette came back to the table. Both of them were smiling and covered in perspiration.
“Quite a workout?” Marcus asked.
“In the heat, yeah. But I can handle it. She inspires me.” He leaned close to her and whispered. “Such a combination of grace and sultriness.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
They sat down.
Now Santu spoke up. “I’m Congolese. It pains me to hear that our government doesn’t support protecting our wonderful resources. No offense to you, mademoiselle, but we shouldn’t have to rely on your organization to do our work for us.”
Yvette took a long sip from her drink. “You are correct. But you have so few resources, no money to spend
to hire the people and equipment to do the job.”
“That is another embarrassment for us. We have so much wealth and so much poverty.”
“And…I hope I’m not being indelicate…so much corruption.”
Santu nodded. Dan could see the sadness in his face.
“Take, for example, your Regional Deputy Minister for the Interior. He’s in charge of the flora and fauna and controls the mining. Yet he seems to be in the pocket of Zhang Jian. I hear that Mr. Zhang is angling to take over the government’s showcase mining area. He promises to clean it up and make it a poster book example of ecological mining practices.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it.”
“Are you talking about Dieu Merci Bakasa?” Santu asked.
“They very one.”
Dan’s attention perked up at that. Here was some corroboration of a connection between Zhang and Bakasa.
Roland gave Dan sharp look indicating he should steer the conversation away from the current issues and to more general topics. Finally, Dan stood up.
“I have to go back to the hotel.”
He handed the keys to Roland.
“We’ll take a taxi. You take the Toyota. Make sure you both get back safely. And don’t stay out all night.”
“Yes Dad,” Roland replied.
Dan, Marcus, and Santu got up and left.
“Do you have any other places we should check out?” Roland asked Yvette.
She had an excited look on her face.
“Chez Ntemba. It’s a local’s place. The music is hotter, the dancing hotter, the crowd more active. Most whites avoid it.”
“But we can go?”
“I’d never go alone or even with Marie. But with you,” she paused and looked him up and down, “I think I’m safe.”
Roland smiled. “Glad I pass muster. Let’s go!”
Chapter 20
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C hez Ntemba hosted a sizeable crowd. It spilled out onto the patio and the street. Motorcycles and scooters constantly drove up and departed. The African music with its beguiling thumping beat spilled out to the street. Roland and Yvette parked a half-block away and walked back to the club.
