“I know, it was stupid,” D’Melo lamented. “But I’ve thought more about it. As long as Dimka believes I have the recording, he can’t do anything to Kavu.”
“Yeah, but what happens after we release the recording to the public? Then there will be nothing to stop Dimka from killing Kavu.”
D’Melo lowered his gaze. “I know. But that was always a risk. The silver lining is, Kavu may now question his loyalty to Malunga. If so, maybe I can convince him to escape with us. One way or another, I have to save Kavu.”
“Have you completely lost your mind? Kavu escaping with us would mean that he’d have to know our plan, and that the recording is in Kipaji. That puts all of us at risk.” She paced fretfully. “Whether you like it or not, Dimka is the only father Kavu has ever known. How do you know he won’t go straight to Dimka and tell him about our plan?”
“I’m the only real family he has,” D’Melo shot back. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“I think you want family so bad that it’s clouding your judgment. I’ve never seen you so out of sorts. What if Kavu’s the spy? What if he was sent here to get information out of you? Has that even crossed your mind? You barely know him, and yet it seems like you lose all sense of reason when it comes to him.”
“Well, I’ll take my chances,” D’Melo said, his voice tight with irritation. “I can’t leave Kavu’s life in the hands of that madman. Dimka sat by and watched half a million people be butchered!”
“You’ll take your chances?” Zara bristled. “You’re willing to risk having Dimka get the recording and—”
D’Melo cut her off. “He’s my brother! He’s the only family I have left in this world.” He rose rigidly. “Of all people, I would have thought that you’d understand what it’s like not having any family.”
Zara took a calming breath, then tried to reason, “Baba and your mother protected this secret and sacrificed their lives for it. They understood how much was at stake. If Dimka gets that recording, he’ll get away with the Shuja genocide and continue his tyrannical rule over the people of Malunga. Have you thought about that?”
“You’re seriously asking whether I’ve thought about my parents?” D’Melo said, his voice shaking. “That’s pretty much all I think about! And I’m pretty sure that Baba and my mom would want me to save their other son. Have you thought about that?”
Chapter Fourteen
A Change of Plans
On an okapi, Milpisi trekked over Choma Mountain to the Malungan border. A small prop plane awaited him there, its propellers stirring clouds of dust off the makeshift runway. A Malungan soldier ushered Milpisi into the plane. Thirty minutes later, the plane touched down at a deserted airport on the outskirts of Yandun. Milpisi was met by three presidential vehicles. The motorcade raced down cleared roads toward the Presidential Palace.
Meanwhile, President Dimka lay in his large, ornate bed. His sweaty, sallow face floated atop silk sheets and a lavish duvet. Wilem VanLuten stood in the doorway. Having received word of Dimka’s failing health, he had immediately chartered a private jet from South Africa.
He slid a chair to Dimka’s bedside.
“Ahh, look who it is!” Dimka choked out, his voice gravelly. His doctor offered water to quench his parched throat. “So, I have to die to get my friend to visit me, huh?” Dimka said, half jokingly. “Apparently, I have stage four pancreatic cancer. The doctors at the hospital were delicately preparing me for my demise. Do you know what I told them?”
Wilem scooted closer, as Dimka struggled to push the words from his lips.
“I said I’ve had worse and that I’d be back on the squash court by week’s end, beating all of them, as I’ve done for the past thirty years.” Dimka’s cackle broke into a dry, ragged cough.
Wilem forced a laugh, figuring he could humor Dimka during what seemed likely to be his last moments on earth. He slumped in his chair, pondering his suddenly dubious future. He knew that when Dimka died, his free pass to exploit the Nyumbani went with him.
A presidential guard whisked into the room and whispered in Dimka’s ear.
“You can speak freely,” Dimka rasped. “This man—” He tilted his head toward Wilem, “knows all my dirty secrets.” He laughed, then revealed what the guard told him. “Wilem, apparently my real doctor will be here in a few minutes.”
Dimka lifted his head wearily and addressed the people in the room. “Why such gloomy faces? You’re starting to make me feel like I’m sick or something. This is nothing more serious than a cold. I’ll be back and ordering you around first thing tomorrow morning.”
Wilem forced a dubious grin to his lips. Wilem knew that no medicine could help Dimka now. His death was imminent.
The presidential motorcade screeched into the palace grounds. A guard rushed to meet Milpisi. They hustled him into the palace and up a winding staircase to the president’s bedroom. Along the way, the guard briefed Milpisi on Dimka’s condition.
“Dr. Akachi,” Dimka sputtered when Milpisi entered. “Glad you could make it.”
Dimka ordered everyone out of the room. Wilem, however, didn’t budge. Milpisi’s eyes darted insistently to Dimka, The elixir has to remain a secret.
Dimka asked Wilem to allow them a private moment. During the few encounters Milpisi had had with Dimka, he had never heard him use such a respectful tone with anyone. Wilem rose stiffly, straightened his suit, and sauntered out.
Dimka’s years of heavy drinking had taken a toll on his body. “As you can see, I need a dose,” he said, struggling for breath.
Milpisi stared at him, battling sickening regret that he had made a deal that required him to save Dimka—a man who had committed the most heinous acts of cruelty the region had ever endured. Worse still, this was the third time he had administered the nectar to Dimka, who treated the elixir as a license to lead a destructive life, for himself and others. Milpisi slid the chombo from the wooden vial, trying to mask his reluctance, and kept his end of the bargain.
When Milpisi emerged from the bedroom, he was whisked back to the motorcade. As he settled in the car, he heard a familiar voice. A presidential guard ordered the gate open. For a
moment, he thought he was seeing D’Melo. But he quickly realized, Oh, Great Spirit! That’s Kavu! He’s now the president’s top security officer!
Soldiers were only elevated to such a high position after years of exemplary service and unshakable loyalty to the country. The security officers’ only responsibility was to protect the president. And, being the head of presidential security, Kavu was without a doubt the president’s most trusted officer.
The sweet scent of morning dew wafted into Wilem’s immaculate quarters. Whenever he visited the palace, he was given the room reserved for Dimka’s most honored guests. In the prior two weeks alone, the room had been graced by the king of Eswatini and the prime minister of Nečzia.
Rapid thumps vibrated the dense wooden door. Wilem’s presence was requested in the presidential study. He checked his appearance and departed from his room, readying himself to hear the news of Dimka’s death.
He entered the study to a sight he could scarcely believe. Dimka was sitting behind his desk smoking a cigar, soaking up his pre-breakfast whiskey and jovially chatting up his doctor, the Vice President, and General Nyoko.
Wilem narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Mr. President?” He murmured, unable to contain his astonishment.
“Did you think you’d get rid of me that easily?” Dimka chuckled, behind a haze of smoke.
The doctor shrugged, grinning. “He must have nine lives.”
Although no one else seemed to think much of Dimka’s miraculous recovery, Wilem knew it just wasn’t medically possible. His mind flew back to the evening before. Who was that guy? Dimka’s “real doctor”? What did he do? Wilem’s ambitions thrust his thoughts from bewildered to opportunistic.
Wilem requested a private
audience with the president. With a flick of Dimka’s hand, everyone vacated the room.
Wilem got straight down to business. “How?” he asked gravely.
Dimka reclined in his oversized presidential chair. He puffed out a defiant cloud of smoke.
“Come on,” Wilem pressed. “I know your so-called ‘real doctor’ gave you something. What was it?”
Dimka took a lengthy drag on his cigar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Realizing that Dimka wasn’t going to divulge the secret without motivation, Wilem resorted to his deal-making philosophy—everyone has their price. “Would $25 million help you know what I’m talking about? All I want is access to whatever medicine that doctor gave you. Then, if my technicians confirm that it can do for others what it did for you, another $25 million is yours.”
Dimka blew smoke rings in Wilem’s direction.
Wilem grew impatient. He knew that whatever Milpisi gave Dimka would revolutionize medicine. Bringing this miracle drug to Pharma’s board of directors would definitely lock up the CEO position for him. The cockles of his heart warmed as he imagined heading the wealthiest pharmaceutical company the world had ever seen. Visualizing his photo on the cover of Fortune magazine, which Helen and her new husband would certainly see, spurred Wilem to land this deal at all costs.
“Listen, I don’t think you understand. What that doctor has could be the greatest medical breakthrough in nearly a century.”
“Oh, my friend,” Dimka said, waving a finger enticingly. “Do you mean penicillin? That’s child’s play compared to this!”
Wilem leaned forward, nearly salivating at the thought of controlling this medicine. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend. How about $100 million in Pharma stock, on top of a $50 million cash payment. Once we announce this new drug, our stock price will shoot through the roof. You’ll be a billionaire overnight.”
Dimka’s silence returned.
“Okay.” Wilem rose tensely. He straightened his suit jacket. “I can’t offer more than that,” he grumbled, his throat tight with ire. “I’m trying to make you one of the richest men in the world.” He stalked toward the exit.
“My friend, do you give up so easily in all your business deals?” Dimka said, chuckling. “I can tell you what you want to know, but you won’t be able to access it anyway.”
Wilem returned to his chair. “What do you mean? Is it in another country?”
“I wish it was that simple.”
Dimka told Wilem about the Tree of Life. However, he neglected to mention his agreement with Milpisi to keep it a secret. “It produces a medicine that has no equal. But the problem is, warriors with special capabilities make Kipaji impenetrable.”
Wilem didn’t believe for one second that any country was impenetrable. As a marine, he had seen firsthand the firepower of modern-day weaponry.
“You don’t understand,” Dimka said. “It’s a place that is protected by a power that we cannot fathom. I’ve witnessed it myself. I was part of an attempted invasion of Kipaji after Malunga gained independence from the Brits. Every time we attacked, some sort of natural phenomenon wiped out our soldiers. Most of us couldn’t even get halfway up Choma Mountain. We were swept down by flash floods and tremendous wind gusts. The unfortunate ones who reached the summit perished ingloriously. There were hurricanes, volcanic eruptions, lava falls, and tornadoes . . . but not ordinary tornadoes. These tornadoes whirled with steam that seemed to be directed to targets, and literally melted our soldiers’ skin.
“I know you’re thinking that we were defeated because our military wasn’t up to Western standards. Well, I’ve got news for you. The Brits tried before us with even less success. If they know you’re coming, you won’t get anywhere near the Tree. Why else do you think we haven’t already taken the nectar?”
“So, that’s it!” Wilem brightened. “We get through without them knowing. All we need is one person to slip in and get a sample of the nectar and a clip from the Tree. We can easily reproduce the nectar in our labs. And who knows, we may even be able to grow a genetically modified tree, one that can generate ten times or even a hundred times as much nectar.”
Dimka lifted his chin questioningly. “But how could someone get to the Tree unnoticed?”
Just then, there was a rap on the door. It was Kavu.
“Sorry, sir. I don’t mean to interrupt, but your motorcade is prepared to take you to the military parade.”
Dimka’s eyes beamed. He interlaced his fingers and propped his elbows on his desk. He whispered to Wilem out of the corner of his mouth. “The answer is standing in the doorway.”
Dimka gestured for Kavu to join them.
Kavu obediently came to attention. “Yes, sir!” He saluted, standing tall and stiff.
“Kavu, you recently entered Kipaji without the Council’s approval, right? How did you manage that?”
“Well,” Kavu explained, “I am given privileges because I saved the Choma chief’s life some time ago. The Chomas, therefore, invite me to certain special occasions. But I’m not permitted to go any farther than Choma Mountain without a warrior escort.”
Dimka shot Wilem a glance, What do you think?
Wilem nodded.
“Kavu,” Dimka said, with an air of formality broaching a proposition. “You’ve been my top security officer for three months now. I suspect that at least a part of you misses field missions. I mean, you were the best young soldier this country has ever had.”
A faint smile animated Kavu’s otherwise stoic face. “Well, thank you, sir. That is quite a compliment coming from Malunga’s most celebrated soldier.”
“Would you be interested in a special operation? It’s dangerous, but if successful, it would catapult Malunga into world leadership. Finally, those pompous Western countries will be begging us for help!”
“Absolutely, sir! And thank you for trusting me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you or this great country.”
Dimka then summoned General Nyoko. He explained the situation but omitted the part about him becoming a billionaire. “We must do this for the people of Malunga who are suffering unnecessarily,” he said, putting a spin on the story as usual. “The answer to their suffering is just across the border. Kipajis have selfishly used the nectar for their own people for centuries and have shared it with no one. They are officially a part of Malunga, yet they thumb their noses at us.”
Dimka began to outline his plan, but then Kavu humbly chimed in.
“Sorry, sir. If I may.”
Dimka gestured for Kavu to continue.
“Even if I can get into Kipaji,” Kavu said, “I wouldn’t be able to find the Tree. I’ve heard it’s invisible.”
Wilem’s face contorted. “It’s what? How can that be possible?”
“I don’t know,” Kavu responded politely. “But one time, the Choma chief, a big fan of homemade palm wine, had too much to drink. His lips began to move freely and independent of prudence. He told me many things about Kipaji that are difficult to believe. But now that the president has confirmed the power of the Tree, it’s all starting to make sense. The chief complained about the Tree being controlled by a single person. Apparently, the only one who can make the Tree appear is—”
Wilem completed Kavu’s sentence. “Let me guess: the ‘real doctor’?” He rubbed his chin intensely. “There has to be another way.”
“Well, maybe there is,” Kavu said. “I’ve been invited to Mujiza Jakanda’s funeral in two days’ time.”
“Okay,” Dimka said, wanting more. “But how do you get a sample from an invisible tree?”
“When I saved the chief, a villager was killed by the Shuja rebels. I wasn’t permitted to attend his funeral, but the chief requested that I come to the celebration afterward. At the celebration, I overheard people talking about the ascension ritual that happened at the Tree.
I was curious, so I waited for the chief to be sufficiently drunk, then asked about it. I thought he would have his warriors escort me straight out of Kipaji, never to be invited back. But he didn’t. He seemed happy to tell me. He said Milpisi—the ‘real doctor,’ as you call him—unveiled the Tree after funerals so that everyone could summon their ancestors to welcome the new soul into the eternal realm.
“This would be the only opportunity to get to the Tree,” Kavu said. “I just need to be close enough when Milpisi unveils it.”
“I like that!” Wilem said, worked up. “So, you think this can work?”
“I believe so, sir. But I can’t imagine that I will be able to get the sample in secret. I would probably need to fight my way out of Kipaji. And honestly, although I’m confident in my skills as a soldier, I won’t be able to fend off several Kipaji warriors by myself.”
“General,” Dimka asked Nyoko, “do you have any trusted soldiers who could help Kavu escape Kipaji?”
The general seemed apprehensive. He explained that most Malungan soldiers wouldn’t even consider fighting anywhere near where Kipajis commune with their ancestors.
Wilem scoffed, “What’s up with you people and this ancestor stuff? First the Shujas, now the Borutus too! They’re not even your ancestors. Why would your soldiers care about them?”
The room fell uncomfortably silent. Dimka knew that Wilem’s callousness, particularly regarding the immense reverence that Malungans have for ancestors, would halt the operation before it even began.
“Wilem,” Dimka said, attempting to smooth things over. “You’ve been in Africa long enough to know that it doesn’t matter whose ancestors they are. Our people have great respect for those who have come before us. We are only here because of them. Their spirits protect us and influence the prosperity of our lives. The soldiers will not upset the Kipaji tradition, especially during a funeral.”
General Nyoko added, in his deep raspy voice, “Even if some soldiers agree, it’s unlikely they would be able to get Kavu out alive. The Kipaji warriors are said to possess extraordinary abilities.”
Spirit King: Return of the Crown Page 29
