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

by David Nees

  “I don’t think we should give up any of our distance advantage. I’m guessing we’ve given Dan and the others quite a head start.”

  “Don’t disagree. We’ll need some separation for ourselves when we get to the river.”

  They started west again. An hour later, the tracker showed them a cleared area with large leaves that had been laid down. He spoke excitedly in his own language.

  “The group stayed here,” Marcus said. He knelt down and examined the leaves. “It doesn’t look like they slept though. Maybe when the rain came, they just started walking again. They didn’t have to worry about following a trail.”

  “That’s good. More separation.”

  The three men moved out now even more quickly. A little over an hour later, the tracker stopped. He cast around, looking for a sign.

  “Lost the trail,” Roland said.

  Then there was a whoop, and the tracker came back to the men. He gestured to the north and spoke rapidly in his own tongue. The two men started forward, but the little man stopped them. He motioned for them to go carefully. Slowly, so they wouldn’t leave a trace.

  “I think he wants to not leave a sign of the change in direction. It will help confuse the soldiers following,” Marcus said.

  “We can only hope.”

  They slipped through the forest and, after a half hour, their tracker picked up his pace again. The trail, which had been very faint at the change of direction, now was clearer as the hostages had started to hike faster.

  “At some point they’ll be turning back to the river,” Roland said.

  “We’ll follow. We have to hope there’s an extra dugout for us at whatever village Muko leads them to.”

  “If not, we’re shit out of luck.”

  “Unless Muko’s guy here can improvise.

  They continued north.

  Later in the afternoon, the tracker stopped again and began to search for the trail.

  “Maybe they turned back to the river?” Marcus gestured to the east for the tracker.

  “Let’s hope so,” Roland said. Frankly, I’m getting tired of tramping through the jungle. I have bug bites on top of bug bites and the sweat bees keep tormenting me whenever we stop. How the hell do they find us so fast anyway?”

  “Beats me. I’m afraid to take off my boots.”

  “Don’t. The stink will kill us.”

  “But my feet could be rotting.”

  “You can bet on that if we don’t get out of here soon.”

  “Rather be in the desert,” Marcus mumbled.

  There was another whoop. The men knew what it meant. They moved forward, being careful to not leave any trace. Again, after a half hour of walking, the pace picked up as the tracker could see the trail more clearly.

  “Anyone coming behind us will see this trail,” Marcus said.

  “Yeah. I don’t think the change of direction will deceive them. The only thing we’ll get out of it is a delay.”

  That night they stopped to rest until the moon came up and then set out again, heading east.

  *

  The hostage group gathered in the center of the compound. Everyone drank deeply from the bottled water. Dan handed out the last of his power bars. He rigged a carry sack from part of a ground cloth and rope and loaded Reichard up with the spare water.

  “Time to help carry the load,” Dan said. He turned to Muko and motioned for him to lead. “Let’s go.”

  They walked until dawn and then rested for an hour. Muko was acting more excited. Santu talked to him and reported back to Dan.

  “Muko says we’re getting close. He won’t know exactly where the village is until he gets to the river. But he says it’s not too far.”

  “We make it today?”

  Santu nodded.

  After the hour was up, Dan roused the group. Yvette had heard their conversation and had reported it to the other hostages. Their enthusiasm rose and with it, their energy. They moved even faster now, not worrying about any trail they left. Speed was important. Get to the village and the safety of the river.

  They continued through the day with brief stops to rest. With every rest though, the sweat bees settled in. Some ignored the tiny insects which didn’t sting but got into one’s eyes and crawled around the mouth in search of the salty sweat. Some of the hostages, Marie was one of them, kept up a frantic flapping with their arms in a futile attempt to fend them off. Little did she know they were massed on her back drinking from her sweat-drenched shirt.

  In the afternoon Muko let out a triumphant wooo hooo and there, through the brush, they could see the river. It looked like molten copper with a sheen on its surface from the late afternoon sun. Muko dashed through the brush to the river’s edge to scan it in both directions. After a few minutes of searching, he came back and announced to Santu that the village was a short hike to the north, to their left.

  Without waiting for a reply, he set out, and the group quickly followed. Late in the day, Muko stopped and talked with Santu. He had a serious look on his face.

  Santu came over to Dan. “Muko says that you must treat him like your property. I will do the talking like in the other village. I’ll make you out to be a powerful shaman, not necessarily a sorcerer. Sorcerers are generally evil and dangerous. If the chief feels powerful, strong, he will have his men kill anyone suspected of being a sorcerer. They do it in a brutal manner. They take the man and start beating him from his legs up. They beat the sorcerer’s spirit out of his body so it can’t act. It’s a painful way to die. In the end all his bones are broken and he’s dragged off into the bush, out of the village.

  “You’re saying that can happen to me?”

  “I will tell the chief you are a shaman. They can be good or bad. He will not want to kill a good shaman. That will bring bad luck to the village.” Santu had a grave look on his face. “We must not stay the night. Maybe we should wait and enter the village tomorrow morning.”

  Dan thought about the suggestion. He didn’t relish sitting still, not knowing how much head start he had.

  “No. Too big a chance Mputu could catch up to us. He probably knows this chief and has him in his pocket. We go now and get on the river tonight.”

  Santu sighed and went back to speak with Muko.

  Chapter 46

  ___________________________________

  S antu called out the general greeting, koko, koko, as they entered the clearing at the edge of the village. It was a cluster of fifteen shacks and huts of varying stages of completion. They ranged from wooden stick walls with mud chinking to one with two metal sides. Most had thatched roofs, but one of them had a metal roof. The buildings ran along a wide path which seemed to be the main “road”. In the center of the village there was a gazebo-like structure. The main path led away from this center in two opposite directions. Two side lanes led off of the main path with more modest stick structures on them.

  “We’ll head to the building with the metal roof,” Santu said, pointing to a building near the end of the main path. “That should be the chief’s house.”

  “You’re taking the lead?” Dan asked.

  Santu nodded. “I speak Swahili, which they’ll understand. I don’t think they speak much French here.”

  “And Muko and the other tracker?”

  Santu shook his head. “No one here will speak their language. I will act like they belong to me. Many blacks, as I’ve told you, own pygmies. Even to this day. It is what the chief will understand and expect.”

  Dan shook his head. “And I’m the shaman.”

  Santu nodded. “Be ready to use the scotch and the cigarettes. We’re going to have to bribe the chief to get him to order men on the river at night.”

  He looked around as they walked towards the larger house. Some people had come to the doorways of their huts to stare at the strange procession comprising two pygmies, three black men and seven whites, one fully armed.

  “And we don’t want to spend the night here,” Santu said.
r />   Children started approaching the group as they walked into the village. They came up to the ex-hostages, avoiding Dan, who looked more intimidating with his Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder. The young volunteers smiled at the kids who tried to reach into their pockets, looking for money or treats of some sort.

  As they neared the house, a man came out from an adjacent building and approached the small, ragged band. He had a machete slung through a belt on his waist. His stance in front of the column stopped it. The man spoke to Santu in what Dan guessed was Swahili. The conversation went back and forth for a minute or two. Then man then turned, walked to the large house. and disappeared inside.

  “What’s up?” Dan asked.

  “He wanted to know who we are and what we want. I said we were escorting an important shaman…that’s you…to the big city of Donga. They know of it, but it sounds like no one has ever been there. I said you were invited by the chief of Donga, who is very powerful.”

  “And he’s going to help?”

  “I didn’t ask. That is for the chief. I said we brought gifts for the chief and that you had an important message for him.”

  “And what the hell is my message supposed to be?”

  Santu shrugged. “Make one up. I’m trying to get an audience with the chief instead of us being turned away by this village guard.”

  The group waited for a full ten minutes in the growing heat. Sweat bees and flies attacked them as they stood in the open. Everyone was swatting at their face in a futile attempt to keep the flies from biting and the bees from crawling in their eyes and ears.

  Finally, the door opened, and the man came out. Accompanying him was another man with an old bolt-action rifle cradled in his arm. It looked to be a Belgian Mauser with a five-shot magazine. The wooden stock was cracked and partly missing. Wire was wrapped around it to secure it to the barrel. Still, thought Dan, if it didn’t explode when fired, it was a deadly weapon. It fired a 7.65 by 53mm round.

  Behind this second guard, a third man appeared carrying a chair. Just like in the other village. Sitting in the chair imparts authority. After setting the chair down in front of the house, the man who brought it out waved the group forward and told them to sit on the ground. Dan and Santu sat together at the front. The rest of the group—the volunteers, their two guides, and the two pygmies—sat behind them.

  When everyone had settled themselves down, the door opened and a large man, a good six feet tall, emerged from the house. He looked powerfully built with a protruding belly. His face bore scars, either from ritual scarification or from knife wounds. He had deep-set eyes under thick eyebrows. His eyes were yellow, indicating the effects of a hepatitis infection now or in the past.

  He sat down and stared at Santu and Dan sitting in the dirt before him. Then he turned and spoke to the man who had brought out the chair who was standing next to him. The man listened and then spoke to Santu.

  “You have gifts for Chief Kinkela?”

  “Ndiyo, yes,” Santu answered in Swahili.

  The man spoke to the chief and then went into the house. I a moment he returned with a blanket which he laid on the dirt in between the chief and the two men sitting on the ground.

  “We’ll make a big deal of this,” Santu said to Dan in a whisper. “This is going to be our only chance to make the right impression.”

  Dan nodded. The chief sat and waited, his brooding eyes alternately on Santu and Dan.

  “Chief Kinkela, I am the speaker for this man, a shaman of great power. He was asked to find and rescue these people behind us. The big chief of Donga wants to see him when he brings these people back. The chief of Donga is responsible for the great forest. He protects it. This man is called Daniel Mlezi. He works for the Donga chief.”

  The chief put up his hand to stop Santu.

  “I have never seen a white who was a shaman or protector. They don’t know our forests.” His voice was low and thick. “They don’t protect them or our animals. We protect our forest, not the Donga chief. Who is he? I have not seen him in all my life.”

  Santu swallowed hard. This was not going in the right direction.

  “Chief Kinkela, you have not seen the Donga chief because he knows you protect your forest. The forest around your village. He can put his attention to the other parts of the forest. He tells everyone how well you do this and he is glad you are chief here in this village.”

  “Then why does he never come to see me?”

  “I don’t know his mind, Chief Kinkela. But when he sent Daniel Mlezi to find these lost people, the Donga chief asked him to visit you. To give you gifts of his appreciation, to give you a prophecy, and to ask a small favor of you in return.”

  “What is the favor?”

  “First let us give you the gifts we brought.”

  Santu turned to Dan. “Get out the two bottles of scotch and a carton of cigarettes and give them to me. I’ll put them on the blanket.”

  “What about the bottle of gin?”

  “We will save it for the favor.”

  Santu took the two bottles of Johnny Walker Black Label and put them gently on the blanket. Then he placed the carton of cigarettes next to the two bottles.

  “This is Chief Donga’s gifts of appreciation to you Chief Kinkela.”

  Santu sat back and smiled at the chief, who eyed the gifts without any reaction. He turned to the man next to him and nodded. The man gathered up the blanket, cradling the gifts inside and carried it back into the house.

  “Now what is this prophecy?” the chief asked.

  Santu turned and spoke in a low voice, in English. “What do you have for me?”

  Dan had been thinking. “Tell the chief that it is a word of wisdom as well as prophecy. He must know about Mputu. He’s probably trying to keep him from wiping out his village. Tell him the forest spirits are not happy with Mputu. They know he is killing the gorillas and cutting down the trees so other men can dig up the ground looking for rocks to take away. Tell the chief the spirits want him to resist Mputu. They will help protect him.” Dan thought for a moment. “The prophecy is that if he keeps protecting the forest, he will have good fortune. He will prosper and enjoy many wives and children.”

  “That all you have?”

  Dan looked at Santu. “Embellish it however you want.”

  Santu almost sighed, but held back. “I’ll leave out the gorillas. They may hunt them for their meat. I don’t want to upset him.”

  He turned to the chief.

  “Chief Kinkela, Daniel Mlezi says that you must be wary of the General Mputu. The spirits have turned against him. They caused his camp to burn down and chased him and his men into the forest. He lets others cut down the trees and dig holes in the ground, looking for rocks. These men do not care about the forest. When they come, the animals leave and villages starve. The rivers stop giving fish for the people and they go hungry. Do not trust Mputu. If you continue to protect the forest, you will have a long life, many wives, and many children. You will be able to feed them all and be fat and happy. Your wives will all get along and respect you. He says he will put his blessing and the blessing of the spirits that protect him around you and your village. Others will envy your wealth.”

  The chief again remained impassive. Neither Santu nor Dan could read his reaction. Finally, he spoke.

  “And what is the favor you seek from me?”

  “Daniel Mlezi and Chief Donga want you to provide boats to take these people back to the chief. He is waiting for them.”

  “It is a long way to Donga. The boatmen may not even know the way.”

  “It is down the river. We will guide them. They will get paid when they arrive. I will ask Chief Donga to send them back with more gifts if you give him this favor.”

  “I will think about this. Tomorrow I will give you my answer.”

  He got up and turned to go back into the house. Santu spoke out before he could walk away.

  “Chief Kinkela, we must travel today. We must leave now. T
he shaman says we cannot wait.”

  The chief turned back to Santu, obviously not happy with this disruption of his protocol.

  “We do not go on the river at night. Be careful that you do not cause me to not go on the river at all.”

  With that, he turned again and walked into the house. The two guards walked forward.

  “You can stay in the square tonight and wait for Chief Kinkela to speak with you in the morning.” He pointed to the gazebo in the center of the village.

  Chapter 47

  ___________________________________

  T he group assembled under the canopy roof.

  “What the hell does Mlezi mean?” Dan asked.

  “Guardian in Swahili. I thought it would be appropriate.”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “We can’t spend the night,” he said.

  “Can’t spend it here at least,” Santu added. “The chief is not convinced about us. I can see it. He might try to have us killed tonight.”

  “Why?” Reichard asked.

  “Maybe because he thinks Dan is dangerous. Maybe because he wants to gain Mputu’s favor.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We need something dramatic to convince the chief of your power,” Santu said, turning to Dan. “So far it’s only been words.”

  He thought for a moment, then his face lit up.

  “You got an idea?” Dan asked.

  “Remember how Muko reacted to your camouflage suit? He swore you could become a forest spirit.” Santu looked at Dan. “How about you leave? I can tell the chief you were upset that he wouldn’t help us tonight, so you went into the forest. I can tell him a lot of things, but if you come back with that suit on, we’ll act shocked and afraid. You can run around a bit and then disappear back into the bush.”

  “They won’t follow me?”

  Santu shook his head. “They’ll be afraid to. The most they will do is stand guard all night so you can’t attack the chief. The other villagers will barricade themselves in their huts.”

  Dan thought about the idea for a moment. “Worth a try. When I come back, you can go to the chief and say that he has to send us off in boats tonight in order for me to not curse the village.”