Spirit King: Return of the Crown

by Dashiel Douglas

  Wilem turned to his attorney, unsure whether he should respond to this allegation. His attorney gestured for him to answer.

  Wilem VanLuten: “I don’t have the exact figures, but that sounds about right.”

  Panelist (Vietnam): “Mr. VanLuten. You sit before this panel and try to distance yourself from the assassination of President Amani. But the truth is, it was your idea to kill him. Then you provided President Dimka the means to execute the plan. Not only that, but you also suggested to make it look as though the Shuja rebels were responsible. Is that not a fair representation of your involvement?”

  Wilem VanLuten: Wilem stiffened, veins protruding on his temples. “I want to remind this panel that I am not the one under investigation here.” Wilem’s attorney clutched his elbow to calm him. Wilem angrily thrust the attorney’s hand off. “Even if that’s a fair representation, and I’m not saying that it is, I have immunity, so why does it matter!”

  Wilem’s callousness riled the panelists. They vied to respond to his question, overlapping one another with scorn. The Senegalese interviewer’s voice rose above the rest.

  Panelist (Senegal): “Mr. VanLuten, do you not realize that your actions set in motion a genocide in Malunga? I don’t think we have to remind you that over a half a million Shujas were killed. Innocent men, women, and children were butchered all because the Borutus were led to believe that the Shuja rebels assassinated President Amani, which was your suggestion!”

  Wilem VanLuten: “Well, I couldn’t have known that would happen!” Wilem shouted. “What kind of people would slaughter their own countrymen like that? I just wanted to do business. It’s not my fault the Borutus are savages!”

  Panelist (Senegal): “Mr. VanLuten, your anger isn’t helping anyone. I would encourage you to take a break to get a hold of yourself before you say something that you’ll regret.”

  Wilem VanLuten: “No. I’m fine. Let’s finish this so I can get out of this godforsaken country.”

  Panelist (Germany): “As you wish. Please tell the panel who recorded your conversation with Dimka.”

  Wilem VanLuten: “General Nyoko suggested we hold the meeting at the cottage so he could set up the recording. Obviously, neither Dimka nor I knew what he was planning. Nyoko was shrewd. He wanted something in his back pocket in case he ever needed leverage—you know, for a ‘rainy day.’” Wilem shrugged, “That’s how things work in Africa.”

  Panelist (Senegal): “Africa may work that way, but it’s thanks to people like you,” she simmered. The other panelists reeled her in, reminding her to stay focused on the matter at hand. “My apologies. My personal feelings have no place in this hearing. So, getting back to the recording, are you saying that President Dimka never knew it existed?”

  Wilem VanLuten: “That’s correct.” The panelists shuffled anxiously through their documents. They searched for evidence of Dimka’s involvement in the recovery of the recording, which would link him to the killing of D’Melo’s parents.

  Wilem elucidated, “Nyoko only told Dimka that Dr. Bantu had some incriminating evidence against him. He couldn’t say what that evidence was exactly. If Dimka discovered it was a recording of our conversation, he would have known that Nyoko betrayed him.”

  Panelist (Germany): “So how did the recording get into the hands of Dr. Bantu?”

  Wilem VanLuten: “When this court was investigating Dimka and Nyoko back in 2004 for the assassination and the Shuja genocide, Nyoko set up an exile for himself. Kuzbejistan was going to grant him asylum, but for one million dollars. He didn’t have that much money on hand, so he blackmailed me. He knew I’d pay him the money, whereas Dimka was more likely to pay him with a bullet through his skull.

  “The general called me to set up a meeting to exchange the money for the recording. I couldn’t risk being seen with Nyoko because of the ICC’s unsavory allegations against him. That would have reflected poorly on me and Pharma. I also couldn’t send Zac because a meeting between General Nyoko and a mercenary who at one time trained Shuja rebels would have raised eyebrows. So I sent my assistant, Jasiri Tomu. But I didn’t tell her the contents of exchange.” Wilem’s gaze briefly dropped to the table. In all that he had done, the only thing he seemed to regret was Jasiri’s death. Jasiri had been with Wilem from his earliest days in Africa.

  “I sent Zac with Jasiri to shadow her. The exchange went smoothly. But in the days following, I noticed that Jasiri was acting strange. She was distant and unusually fidgety. Then she said she needed to fly to England to take care of her sick father. Her father had visited her only a month earlier and seemed as healthy and spry as a person half his age.

  “My gut was telling me that something was wrong. So I asked Zac whether he was with Jasiri the whole time—up to the meeting with Nyoko and until they returned. He assured me that she never left his sight. But then he remembered that after the exchange, Jasiri said she was having stomach trouble and dashed off to the bathroom.

  “Zac knew that Jasiri was a trusted employee—well, I’d even call her a friend. So he didn’t have a reason to doubt her. But after a couple of minutes, he got nervous. He shot to the bathroom. By the time he got there, Jasiri was already on her way out. She was only in there for a short time, but obviously long enough to copy the part of the recording that you’ve heard.”

  Panelist (Vietnam): “Pardon the interruption, but I’m confused, Mr. VanLuten. You mentioned that Ms. Tomu didn’t know what was being exchanged. So why would she have been prepared to make a copy of the recording?”

  Wilem VanLuten: “Well, I didn’t say that Jasiri didn’t know. I said that I didn’t tell her. I assume that when Nyoko called to set up the meeting, Jasiri never disconnected her end when she passed the call to my phone. That’s the only thing I can figure. So, unbeknownst to me, she must have overheard our conversation.

  “At first, it didn’t make sense why Jasiri would risk her life to copy the recording. But after she died, I discovered that her mother was Shuja. You see, in Malunga, you take on the tribe of your father. So the Tribal Records Office registered her as a Borutu. Apparently, Jasiri’s mother was brutally killed in the genocide. So the recording was her chance to get justice for her mother and all Shujas.

  “Now, to finish answering your original question, on the day Jasiri was to leave for England, she became gravely ill. She was rushed to the hospital. Dr. Bantu was the physician who treated her. Jasiri must have realized that she wasn’t going to survive. So she slipped Dr. Bantu the copy of the recording before she died.”

  Panelist (Vietnam): “I believe you are again leaving out pertinent information. How did Ms. Tomu die?”

  Wilem VanLuten: “Apparently, she ate a poisonous mushroom.”

  Panelist (Germany): “That particular deadly mushroom, Death Cap, isn’t found in Central Africa. How did it get to Malunga?”

  Wilem VanLuten: “I don’t know.”

  Panelist (Germany): The interviewer held up a document. “At that time, you were based in South Africa, where Death Cap grows. This is quite a coincidence. Mr. VanLuten, I want to remind you that your immunity is dependent on your full cooperation and truthful testimony. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, how did that poisonous mushroom end up in Jasiri’s breakfast?”

  Wilem VanLuten: Wilem sighed lamentably. “I brought it from South Africa at the request of General Nyoko. He threatened the cook at the restaurant where Jasiri ate every morning. The cook mixed the mushroom into her meal.”

  Panelist (Vietnam): “Before we move on, Mr. VanLuten, you should know that Ms. Tomu did not die from the mushroom. The autopsy revealed that she died by asphyxiation. Someone suffocated her.”

  Wilem sagged heavily in his chair, while the panel thumbed through the next set of documents.

  Panelist (Brazil): “Please tell us about your involvement in the killing of Dr. Bantu and Diata Bantu.”

  Wilem turned
to his attorney, who then addressed the panel.

  Jake Swarnson (VanLuten’s Attorney): “Before Mr. VanLuten answers this question, he wants the panel to confirm that his immunity deal extends to the matter of the Bantus.”

  Panelist (Senegal): “It does. Whatever Mr. VanLuten offers in this hearing that implicates himself in the commission of a crime, he will have full immunity from. We just want all the truth to come out so people can begin to heal from what happened.”

  Wilem VanLuten: “General Nyoko wanted to track down the Bantus. I recommended that he hire Zac. He paid Zac $10,000 to kill them and/or recover the recording. Nyoko instructed him to make it look like an accident. So on Christmas morning 2008, in Washington, D.C., Zac stole an SUV. He drove it into the Bantus’ car and pushed them in front of a truck. He then staged the SUV to appear as if the driver was drunk. Zac was sure that no one could have survived the accident, but only the mother was killed.

  “After the car wreck, Dr. Bantu and his son, D’Melo, disappeared. A few months ago, Zac found them again, this time in Philadelphia. He went to the Bantu house on a Sunday evening because Dr. Bantu and D’Melo were always at home at that time. But that night, only Dr. Bantu was there. He roughed up the doctor to get him to hand over the recording. Dr. Bantu refused. Zac shot him and fled before the police arrived. Zac planned to return to kill D’Melo once things settled down with the police. But D’Melo unexpectedly left for Kipaji.”

  After six hours, the investigative hearing concluded.

  Panelist (Senegal): “That’s all the questions we have for you, Mr. VanLuten. While we are shocked at your depravity and clear lack of remorse, we assure you that your immunity deal will be honored.”

  The Senegalese interviewer closed her file, disgusted. She turned to the stenographer. “This is off the record.” The stenographer ceased typing.

  “Mr. VanLuten, what I say now is solely from me and does not represent this panel or the ICC. You are the most vile human being I have ever come across—and trust me, sitting on this panel, I’ve heard things that would make most people curl up in a corner and never leave their house. You instigated one of the most horrifying tragedies this world has ever suffered, wreaking destruction upon a country and hundreds of thousands of innocent lives. One day, Mr. VanLuten, the fire of justice will find you in all the murky darkness you slither in. And when she does, I’ll be there basking in her light, smiling most gratifyingly.”

  Wilem yawned. “Am I free to leave now?”

  “Unfortunately, you are,” she sighed.

  Wilem rose and straightened his suit. As he exited the ICC, clamoring reporters scaled the steps. “Mr. VanLuten! Mr. VanLuten!”

  Wilem halted at the top stair. “I just want to say one thing. The reason I came clean about Dimka is because the people of Malunga deserve justice. They are good, hard-working people. They deserve a better president. I innocently got caught up in Dimka’s devious plots. That was my mistake. I should have blown the whistle on him long ago. If I did,” Wilem sniffled, rubbing his eyes as if crying, “maybe I could have prevented the genocide. The one thing that gives me comfort is that Dimka will spent the rest of his miserable life behind bars.”

  Wilem descended the steps. A reporter shouted, “Mr. VanLuten, Pharma has rescinded its offer for you to be CEO. What are you going to do now?”

  Wilem grinned, “I’ve proven myself to be a rainmaker, able to make pharmaceutical companies rich. And trust me, that’s all they care about. So rest assured, before long, I’ll be at the top once again.” Wilem strode to the vehicle waiting to whisk him to the airport.

  Just as he reached the car, D’Melo stepped in front of him. Wilem studied D’Melo’s face, feeling like he knew him from something. “Excuse me, son. I have a plane to catch.”

  D’Melo didn’t budge.

  “Hey!” Wilem snarled, trying to nudge D’Melo aside. “Let me in my car!”

  “Mr. VanLuten,” D’Melo said evenly, “you are under arrest for conspiracy to kill Dr. Imari Bantu and Diata Bantu.”

  Wilem glared patronizingly at D’Melo. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he smirked. “But it doesn’t even matter. You can’t arrest me.” Wilem reached inside his jacket for the immunity agreement. “See here?” he tapped the agreement agitatedly. “It says I’m immune from prosecution in the United States and can’t be extradited to Malunga. So you can get out of my way now!”

  “Mr. VanLuten, before I do that, there’s someone who wants meet you.” D’Melo gestured to a slender and stately African man.

  Wilem didn’t seem to know who he was.

  “Surely you recognize this gentleman. He’s the new president of Malunga, Taj Amani. You probably knew his father better. You remember him, right? You had him killed.”

  Momentarily stunned, Wilem inclined his head, mortified. “Even so,” he huffed. “There’s nothing you can do to me.” He waved the immunity document in D’Melo’s face. “Malunga can’t touch me!”

  “That’s true,” D’Melo conceded. “Malunga can’t prosecute you. But I guess you haven’t heard.” D’Melo clutched Taj’s shoulder. “President Amani granted independence to Kipaji.” Blood drained from Wilem’s ashen face. “So Kipaji is now a sovereign nation, with the power of prosecution. And because you conspired to murder two Kipaji citizens—my mom and dad—Kipaji is fully within its rights to bring you to justice.

  “Did your agreement,” D’Melo pointed to the document that was now dangling at Wilem’s side, “include immunity from prosecution in Kipaji?” Wilem was silent, squeezing his temples defeatedly. “Aww,” D’Melo shrugged. “That’s a shame. I guess the ‘best lawyers in the country’ missed that one when they okayed the agreement.

  “But there’s some good news for you,” D’Melo noted. “Kipaji has never had a need for a prison, so President Amani has graciously agreed to keep you in the Malungan prison,” D’Melo gloated, “you know—the prison that you built. You’ll be very comfortable there. It’s brand-new. And you’ll have the honor of being its first inmate.

  “It’s ironic, don’t you think? You spent millions of dollars to build—” D’Melo paused to recall the exact words from Wilem’s interview, ‘the most secure and harsh prison in Africa. It will break even the most hardened of criminals.’ And, as it turns out, you built it for yourself. Well, actually, that’s not true. You won’t be alone. You’ll have a cellmate. And lucky for you, he’s your friend, Zachariah. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about,” D’Melo said sarcastically. “I mean, being that he’ll be in prison for the rest of his life because you rolled over on him in your testimony.”

  Wilem’s breath became ragged. He wobbled on the brink of passing out.

  The ICC panelist from Senegal strutted over. “Wow, the fire of justice acts quickly! Do you feel the burn yet, Mr. VanLuten?” She threw her arms to her sides and lifted her face into the sunlight. “Do you know what this is, Mr. VanLuten? This is me basking in the light of justice.” She winked at D’Melo before waltzing off, victorious.

  A pair of conjurers marched over to Wilem. They clasped his arms and escorted him to the airport, where a plane awaited to fly him to Malunga. Ululation rang out from a bystander in the captivated crowd. D’Melo craned his neck to see who it was. His heart swelled. It was Zara.

  The weight anchoring D’Melo’s heart was finally cut loose. His parents’ killers had been brought to justice. He could breathe.

  Zara bounced over to him. “You did it!” she cheered.

  “No. We all did it,” he said, overwhelming gratitude dripping from his eyes.

  They ventured off to catch a bus bound for Nečzia. Zara nestled her head in its favorite spot—D’Melo’s shoulder.

  “You know,” D’Melo observed. “That was the absolute worst ululation I’ve ever heard. I thought someone was stepping on a cat’s tail.

  “What a jerk.”

&n
bsp; About the Author

  DASHIEL DOUGLAS is an adventurer and unabashed dream chaser. His thirsty soul and love of the world’s beautiful cultures and peoples led him to set sail from the shores of America to the promise of adventure across the Atlantic to Africa. The magic of Africa inspired him to write his first book, This Is Africa: A Dream Chaser’s Odyssey. In Spirit King, Dashiel continues to artfully weave the allure of Africa into his storytelling, while bringing to life the charm of Eastern Europe. He currently lives between the Czech Republic and wherever his dreams take him next.