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

by David Nees

  “Right. That should do it.”

  “What if he sends men to kill me, like you described?”

  “Not while you’re awake and armed. What I described earlier is done in the late night when the victim is asleep.” Santu nudged Dan. “You should go now. It’s getting late. You need to leave and then reappear while everyone can still see you.”

  Dan nodded and grabbed his pack and rifle and walked away from the group. He acted angry with a scowl on his face, stomping along, glaring at any children or adults nearby. Then he disappeared into the forest.

  As Dan disappeared, Santu ran up to the guard at the chief’s house and spoke to him in rapid Swahili. The guard quickly went into the house and returned with the chief.

  “Chief Kinkela,” Santu said. “When I explained to Daniel Mlezi that you would not help us tonight, he grew very angry and left.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m afraid he will change into his forest spirit and return. He sometimes disappears into the forest to turn into a spirit…a powerful one. He has that ability. If he comes back, he might curse the village.”

  “You did not stop him?” The chief’s voice was now threatening.

  “I do not have the power to stop him. I try to please him so he will not use his power against me or others.”

  Santu now feared retaliation from the chief, possibly before Dan could return. The chief started towards him. Then they heard a howl coming from the forest. It was an unearthly sound, not like any animal of the jungle. It was followed by a squeal that approximated the death sound of a bush pig.

  The chief stopped in his tracks. There was a rustling and cracking of sticks from the direction of where Dan had entered the forest. Out stepped a large, hairy-looking figure. Leaves covered its body. Its face was partly hidden, but what one could see was black as night with eyes shining brightly out, darting around. The figure lurched and jumped one way and the next. A guttural grunt came from it. Muko and the other pygmy tracker gave out startled whoops and backed against the poles supporting the gazebo roof. They held their spears at the ready, watching, wide-eyed.

  The figure charged at some children staring at it, and they screamed and ran into their huts. It began to move in the towards the chief. Santu noticed the guard with the old rifle raise his weapon. He jumped out and waved his hands.

  “Don’t shoot!” he shouted. “You’ll put a curse on the entire village.”

  The man hesitated, and Santu ran forward to the figure. He gestured wildly and spoke in rapid English.

  “They don’t understand the language. I’m trying to get you to not curse the village or kill anyone. You should act hard to please and then settle down and turn to go back into the bush. I think you’ve scared them. The guard is ready to shoot you with that old rifle.”

  The figure shook its head violently and danced around in a circle, stomping its feet angrily. Santu kept up a nonsense dialogue in English while gesturing wildly. If Dan started forward, Santu would jump back, but always pushing his hands out as if to ward off the spirit.

  Finally, Dan turned and fled back into the bush. Once away from the clearing, he grabbed his pack and rifle and then quietly moved further into the forest.

  Santu went up to the chief, who stood transfixed, his dark eyes now wide. “I told him you did not mean to insult him after Daniel Mlezi gave you good gifts. The spirit has calmed down now. I think it will find Daniel Mlezi and go back into his body.”

  Santu stepped closer to the chief. “If Daniel Mlezi comes back, give us canoes and help us to leave, tonight. Then you will save yourselves from being cursed and dying. You will have Daniel Mlezi’s powerful forest spirit protecting you.”

  The chief looked at Santu for a long moment. His eyes now not so wide with fear, but looking cautious. He nodded and turned to his guard. In his local language, which Santu could understand only a little, he ordered the man to round up three boatmen and bring them to him.

  While the boatmen were being rounded up, Dan took off his ghillie suit and put it in his pack. He washed the mud off of his face as best he could. He let a few minutes pass before he headed back into the village. If the demonstration worked, they would be on their way. If it didn’t, he would take the chief captive and force the boatmen to take them. That route was full of additional problems. Hope I don’t have to go down that road.

  Three boatmen were brought to the chief. He took them inside his house and spoke to them. Santu could hear their voices rising in protest. He could hear the chief’s voice overriding them. A fist was slammed down on a table and the boatmen went silent. They heard the chief’s voice, low and threatening. Santu couldn’t hear what was said, but the men came out with fear in their eyes and headed for their dugouts pulled up on the bank.

  Just then Dan reappeared, exactly as he left, pack and rifle slung over his shoulder. He walked up to the gazebo. The trackers shrank back as he approached. It was an unscripted touch that everyone could see. Santu came up, acting cautiously, and spoke to Dan in English.

  “We got the boats,” he said. “Don’t smile yet.”

  Santu walked over to the chief. Please show us the boats and we will go. Daniel Mlezi will leave the village in peace.

  The chief led the procession to the river’s edge. The boatmen were standing nervously in the water next to their dugouts. They were afraid to look directly at Dan, the white who could change into a forest spirit.

  When they were assembled around the canoes, Santu turned to Dan.

  “We’re ready to go.”

  “There’s a fourth dugout,” Dan said, pointing to the river bank. “That one has to be for Marcus and Roland,” Dan said. “We have to get the chief to agree.”

  Santu thought for a moment. “Take out the bottle of gin and give it to me.”

  Santu took the bottle and handed it to the chief. “Daniel Mlelzi offers you an additional gift. There are two warriors coming after us. They have been given power by the shaman. They have brought destruction to Mputu and his men. They will not harm you or the village, but you must send them on their way as soon as they arrive.” He pointed to the fourth canoe. “In that boat.”

  He pointed to the gin. “That is your gift. But these are dangerous men. You do not want to make them angry or have them stay around. They are more powerful than twenty armed fighters. They can’t be killed with Daniel Mlezi’s spirit protecting them.”

  The chief nodded. He seemed cowed by the extraordinary events he had witnessed.

  The group clamored into the dugouts. They were long and narrow. Everyone sat in the bottom and gripped the sides, trying to not rock them. Santu joined them, climbing on board in front of Dan.

  “He will put his forest spirit over the village, making you strong against all enemies.”

  The dugouts backed into the current. Their bows swung downstream. The men started the outboards and the three long canoes head off towards Donga.

  Chapter 48

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  M arcus and Roland moved through the late night with the moon providing enough light for the tracker to follow the trail. They were headed east now, back towards the river. When day came, they picked up the pace and soon the tracker stopped and crouched down.

  Marcus and Roland crept forward with the tracker to find themselves at the edge of Mputu’s compound.

  “Full circle,” whispered Roland.

  The tracker looked back at him and put his hand to his mouth. The three studied the compound for some time. Nothing stirred.

  “No one’s here,” Marcus said. “Let’s go check it out.”

  Both men stepped into the open with their AKs at the ready. They moved past the bodies from the ambush and past the burned-out shack that had housed the hostages. In the center of the compound they could see multiple footprints: hiking boots and running shoes that didn’t seem to be from any rebel soldiers. There were empty water bottles left on the ground.

  “I thi
nk the group was here,” Roland said.

  “They found some water?”

  Roland nodded. “Let’s check out the commander’s house. Maybe some supplies in there.

  Inside the house, the desk was strewn with papers indicating that someone had rifled through it. Behind the desk, against the wall, a cabinet door was open showing a few half-filled liquor bottles with glasses on the shelves.

  “Not much in the way of alcohol,” Marcus said.

  “Maybe Dan took some full bottles.”

  Marcus went into the back room. There was some knocking around and he came out with an armful of bottled water.

  “Stock up.”

  The two men stuffed their packs with the water and took some outside for the tracker. The man drank eagerly from a bottle and stuck the others in his own small pack.

  “We got anything for the chief when we get to a village?”

  “I’ve got a few MRE’s left. We can give him those and we can demonstrate how to heat them,” Roland said.

  “Good idea. That seemed to impress Muko and his buddies.”

  “Here’s the deal though. We don’t spend any extra time in the village. If Dan came through, he’ll have paved the way for us. We don’t want to stop. If Mputu catches up, we’ll have a hell of a firefight on our hands. Better to get a canoe and get the hell out.”

  “Roger that.”

  After one last look around, they set off following the group’s trail east.

  The tracker moved more quickly now, seeming to be eager to catch up with Muko and the other tracker. When they reached the river, he let out a short wooo hooo. It sounded like a victory cry to Marcus. The tracker immediately cast around and in a short while found the trail going north. It was clear to see, even for Marcus and Roland. It seemed to the men that the group now had concentrated on speed, making no attempt to move carefully and hide their passing.

  Shortly after noon, they came to the village. The three stopped at the edge and surveyed the layout.

  “The chief will be in the building with the metal roof,” Marcus said.

  Roland pointed to the house at the far end of the main path. “We go right up to it. We can pantomime a canoe and offer the MREs. I can demonstrate if we need to impress him.”

  “No telling what Dan said about us. I’m sure he built us up so the chief would help.”

  “You notice? Only one dugout on the river bank. The group must have taken the others,” Roland said.

  “Let’s go and make this happen.”

  The three men walked purposively towards the large house. Along the way, children peered at them but didn’t approach. Adults turned away or went back inside their huts as they passed.

  “You notice that?” Roland asked.

  “Yeah. They act afraid of us. Maybe Dan told them we were dangerous.”

  “We certainly look the part…and smell it as well.”

  As they neared the house, the guard with an old bolt-action Mauser stepped out from the building and approached them.

  Marcus and Roland walked right up to the man. The tracker hung back.

  “Mtumbwi,” Marcus said, using the Swahili word for dugout canoe. He pointed to the river.

  The man said something in rapid Swahili which neither Marcus nor Roland could follow. The tracker seemed to understand some of the words and shrank back farther.

  “Mtumbwi,” Marcus said again, pointing to himself and the others and then the river. “Sasa, now,” he said with some force.

  The man looked at Marcus who stood a half head taller them him. Roland stepped up. His height towered over the man. The guard turned and hurried back into the house.

  A moment later the guard came back out followed by a man with a scarred face and deep-set eyes. He was thickly built and looked to have much strength. Marcus had his Kalashnikov slung over his chest in the low ready position. Roland was holding his in his hands, ready to fire. Five men followed the chief out. They arranged themselves alongside of him. Only one of them was armed, the guard with the Mauser. The others carried machetes.

  “If this goes sideways, you take the ones on the left, I’ll do the right,” Roland said in a low voice. “Leave the chief alive. We’ll need him.”

  “Hopefully we won’t have to go that far.”

  The chief intoned a speech which he seemed to have rehearsed. His voice was strong and low. Neither Marcus nor Roland could understand him.

  “The shaman, Daniel Mlezi, said you would come to us. He said you are great warriors and cannot be killed. He said I was to help you. I can see you are big and strong and can kill many men. We do not want to be killed. We do not want your violence or anger put upon us. I will help you so that our village is protected. We do not want bad spirits brought to our village. We are a peaceful people and have no wish to harm anyone.”

  When he was done, Marcus nodded as if he understood. He noticed their tracker now looked less alarmed and cast an admiring glance as him.

  “Time to show him the MREs. I’ll pantomime and you show them the magic of heat without fire,” Marcus said.

  Roland grunted his assent and lowered his rifle. He took off his backpack and brought out one of the meals with its heater pouch. Marcus made shoveling motions with his hands, indicating that it contained food to eat.

  “Make him feel the pouch before you activate it,” he said to Roland.

  Roland took the meal pouch and touched it. He held it up to his face and then reached out for the chief to touch the plastic. With a gesture to wait a moment, Roland put some water in the heater pouch, again touched and food pouch and put it to his face. Then he placed the food pouch inside the heater bag and folded the top. He set the bag down, propping it against his leg. Hydrogen gas started venting from the bag. The chief and the others stared intently at what seemed to be smoke coming out of the bag.

  When the heating was complete, Roland took the food pouch out of the bag and held it out to the chief. The man touched the pouched and pulled his hand back. He let out an exclamation in his local language and stepped back. His yellow eyes were now wide in fear.

  “Time to repeat the demand,” Roland said.

  “Mtumbwi, sasa,” Marcus said. He pointed to the river.

  The chief nodded and started for the river bank. His men followed along with Marcus, Roland, and the tracker.

  When they got to the bank, one guard went off to retrieve the boatman. He returned with a wiry man who wore shorts, a Lakers T-shirt, and running shoes with broken laces. He looked reluctant. The chief started talking to him in a firm voice. The man seemed to object but was overridden by the chief’s strong voice and presence. In the end, he climbed into his dugout and lowered his outboard motor. Roland took out five more of the meals and gave them to the chief. The man handled them gingerly, as if they were bombs.

  “Asante, thank you,” Marcus said in Swahili as he and Roland got into the canoe. Two men pushed it back out into the stream and the man cranked the motor to life. The canoe turned and headed downstream. The chief with the rest of the village behind him watched silently as they disappeared down the river.

  Chapter 49

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  T hrough Santu, Dan was able to tell the boatman to keep the three dugouts close together. They were moving much more slowly now because of the darkness. Sandbars were a problem, but the biggest danger was running into snags, downed trees and limbs that could grab the boat and turn it sideways to the current. If that were to happen, the boat could easily capsize and people could drown in the dark.

  “We need to shut the motors off before we get to the village where we started,” Dan said to Santu. “Some of Mputu’s men may have gone there to intercept us. We don’t want to have them hear us motor past. They could come after us.”

  Well before the village, the three canoes pulled together and everyone helped to hold them tight. The boatmen shut off the motors and the boats drifted down with the current. Everyone on board crouched down and lowered t
heir heads. From the shore, it would look like a group of logs that were drifting by themselves downstream. No one would suspect it was the escaping hostages. When safely past the village, the motors were started up, and shortly after dawn, they reached Donga.

  *

  Marcus, Roland, and the tracker sat low in the canoe and bailed out the water that came splashing over the sides. The boatman drove the dugout with a wide-open throttle. It seemed to Marcus that he wanted to get the trip done as quickly as possible and get rid of what he imagined to be a dangerous cargo.

  There was no slowing down or trying to float past the embarkment village when they came to it. As the village came into view, both men could see armed rebels on the bank, probably drawn there by the sound of the motor. They started shooting at the canoe. The staccato of the automatic fire rang out from the shore along with the accompanying muzzle flashes. Water spouts shot up where the bullets hit the river and the deadly zing of bullets whistled overhead.

  Without a word, both men shouldered their rifles and fired back in multiple short automatic bursts. The bullets splashed near the shore, short of the targets, but Marcus and Roland walked their shots up the bank, and two soldiers fell to the ground. The others dove for cover. Roland sent two more bursts in their direction as the dugout sped away. Soon a curve in the river shielded them from further gunfire.

  “You think they’ll follow?” Roland asked.

  “Doubt it. They probably don’t have much appetite for trading fire with us. We dropped a couple of them already.”

  Still, Marcus turned around to watch to the rear as they motored along. The boatman’s eyes were wide with fear. He’d seen what the chief had described—that these were warriors protected by a powerful spirit and couldn’t be killed. The rebel’s shots had missed them completely, and these two had killed some of the men on the bank.