Once Upon the Congo

by Applewhite, Claire; Harper, Chap

  “Joseph, this is Barbos Vieux. Can you clear an airstrip for me? Good. Hopefully, we can do some business.”

  Barbos got the instructions to a secluded airstrip in the Central African Republic, close to the border with the DRC. His men were not happy with the prospect of flying into a LRA encampment. One thing in Barbos’s favor, however, was Kony’s diminished army, as well as his lack of supplies and money. At one time, Joseph Kony led a force feared by the armies of at least four African countries. Many people in the free world embarked on a campaign to eradicate him, including a special unit from the U.S. So far none had been successful. Kony, always one step ahead of his pursuers, had mastered the jungle like Geronimo had mastered southwestern America.

  Kony wondered why Barbos was so anxious to risk a vacation to the Congo. Kony’s forces had shrunk and weakened. They were strapped for supplies from constant running and hiding. His exhausted group of raiders and rapists would welcome an infusion of money.

  The answer must be related to the group at the Kisangani airport. Kony’s agents had kept him well informed, as they were-placed in the country. Two army trucks, two Humvees, and a couple of helicopters had traveled overland from Kinshasa. Hell, Kony sensed half of Africa knew about the Haitian’s Congo excursion. No one knew where they were going, since the expedition organizers kept that detail a closely guarded secret. Bruny had flatly refused to tell the DRC military officials or anyone else that inquired who loaned out soldiers for the mission. He didn’t want to have rebels waiting on him. Once on site, Bruny expected that one or more of the traveling circuses of militant factions might attack to see what they could steal.

  Kony’s landing strip was a pressing problem for Barbos. The pilot had pored over an aviation map, and nothing was there. A savanna appeared on a topo map, but no airstrip was indicated. Barbos’s twin turbo prop Gulfstream needed 3000 feet of runway for landing and take-off, better than the 5000 feet Chris’s Learjet 70 required. They had left Tanzania in darkness, but in daylight, they were ready to land. The pilot had keyed in the coordinates and was lining up his plane with an imaginary airfield. As they descended to a thousand feet, a dirt airstrip, cut out of the brush for a small single engine plane, became visible. Barbos’s pilot set the plane down amid a torrent of dust and debris blowing from the back and sides of the big aircraft. Small bushes slapped at the wings as they went by. At the end of the airstrip, the Gulfstream bumped to a stop on a grassy area. The pilot rushed out to assess damage to the plane. He had landed without killing anyone, but taking off would be a different animal. He put most of Barbos’s crew to work cutting brush and smoothing out the runway, which he judged to be one thousand yards shy of acceptable.

  Five uniformed LRA waited near the end of the runway. Kony wasn’t with them, and Barbos wasn’t expecting him to be a part of the welcoming party. Joseph Kony had survived by staying away from his main forces and moving around to new camps almost daily. He rarely used communication devices. He only answered Barbos’s satellite call because he recognized the number, and he actually needed Barbos’s services. Since the bush didn’t always provide enough game to keep his force of about two hundred soldiers fed, food was in short supply. Anticipating Kony’s needs, Barbos’s crew began to unload crates of canned food, flour, rice, coffee and other essentials.

  The five LRA loaded the crates on a jeep and took off after taking close up pictures of each one of Barbos’ crew members. Their only instructions were to wait by the plane. While they waited, Barbos helped his crew rebuild an airstrip that might actually allow them to take off. Several hours later a jeep emerged from the nearby forest. Three uniformed officers got out and requested that Barbos accompany them back to their camp. Barbos grabbed a backpack and handed it to a coal-black colonel with several scars on his face. The colonel tossed the backpack in the back seat and invited Barbos to sit next to him in the front. Once seated, a blindfold was placed over Barbos’s eyes.

  They blasted over the savanna and drove down a narrow path into the forest. The little Jeep dodged trees, rocks, and large drop-offs, until finally; they came to a small clearing beside a stream deep in the jungle. The colonel removed the blindfold and ushered Barbos to a shelter made from canvas and camouflage netting. Sitting in a folding director’s chair, smoking a cigarette, was Joseph Kony.

  “Barbos, it is good to see you. Thanks for the food and coffee. I will share a cup with you, if you like.” He smiled, and motioned for two young children to pour some coffee for his guest. Though the children looked to be both under twelve years of age, both were equipped with automatic weapons.

  “Thanks. I trust you have some documents for us?” Barbos asked.

  “Yes. They will cost you two thousand apiece. Did you bring U.S. dollars?” he said, and pointed to the backpack beside Barbos.

  “Yes. Can I see the documents?” An aide to Kony handed Barbos a stack of visas designed to affix inside passports. They looked official, as well they should. After all, they were actual visas stolen from the government. Most visas don’t require a picture, but these did. Each visa featured a picture of a gorilla in the jungle, with the visa holder’s photograph placed on the upper right hand corner. All that was required was to take the gummed label on the back of the visa, and put it on a blank page of a passport. They were perfect.

  Barbos opened his backpack and paid him. Kony looked up and said, “And there is another five thousand for the use of our airstrip.”

  Barbos did not blink, though he was beginning to realize he probably wouldn’t leave there alive unless he emptied his backpack.

  “Two thousand apiece for using our armed guards getting to the camp.”

  Barbos dug deeper into his backpack.

  “Ten thousand for the pleasure of a personal interview with the world famous Joseph Kony. I am famous, you know. The Invisible Children’s organization wears T-shirts with my picture on it.” Barbos was about out of cash and relieved to not receive more cash demands from Kony.

  “Now tell me, Barbos, about this expedition into the Congo. What’s it really about?

  “Not sure. At first I felt it had to do with Papa Doc’s gold he shipped to Africa many years ago. But I doubt he hid gold in the Congo. My guess is a mine of some sort, discovered by an expedition that took place in 1966. Pretty secret stuff, and something tells me the mine is in the middle of the goddamn Congo, where you are likely to find a pygmy’s arrow in your ass,” Barbos said with total honesty.

  “Pygmies have shotguns now, to supplement their arrows with shit on them. Here’s what I want you to do. You will take two of my men. They will dress as civilians, but will have weapons. I want a fifty percent cut of anything you get. When you bring my men back, I want a plane load of food as well. Do all that and you can live your life without fear,” he said with a quirky smile.

  Barbos knew full well what “living your life without fear” meant. He would be slaughtered as soon as the plane landed. Better to kill his two men when the time came, and never show up in Africa again.

  Barbos was loaded back in the jeep, blindfolded, and driven back to his aircraft with two of Kony’s most loyal men. He cursed himself for having being put in this ‘no win’ situation. The last time he dealt with Kony, he was to return with money for a drug deal on a desolate helicopter landing site in the Sudan. He knew he was going to be shot as soon as he stepped out of the ‘copter. Instead he dropped the money from about three thousand feet, with a note saying the aircraft was losing oil pressure and needed to fly back for repairs. Even then they shot at him. Yet, if he wanted to follow Chris’s trail he must have documents to land in Kisangani.

  The big plane bounced around on the runway and took off just before crashing into an African thorn tree. Now heading to the same airport where Chris, Mit, and Modesto had just lifted off in helicopters, Barbos hoped he could rent or charter one. He was on the phone to the terminal and noticed every word he said was being monitored by Kony’s goons. They also shared a satellite phone for reporting
to their boss. Barbos realized that although these guys might have proper paperwork, they had to be on every watch list from Interpol to the local sheriff’s office in Greenwood, Mississippi. Barbos signaled to one of his men directly behind Kony’s nosy soldiers. They were listening intently to his conversation. Barbos’ man was Henry Dumoune, former Tonton Macoutes, a man who never hesitated to kill. The Tonton placed two rounds into their skulls from a .22 caliber pistol, and pitched the two Kony employees out of the plane many miles from the airstrip. Most likely they landed atop a tree in the heavily forested jungle where a hungry leopard might find them for an easy meal.

  In a few hours Barbos landed at Kisangani, clearing customs without incident. One helicopter and a small single-engine plane were available for rent. Barbos took both and transferred his weapons hidden on the Gulfstream. The only information he could get from the airport was the others had gone in a northeast direction. Barbos felt that by this time, Kony realized the report from his two guys was not coming. If he had assets on the ground in that region, they would swing into action.

  When Barbos took off from the airport and turned north, he spotted a white vehicle. It pulled out of the woods and stopped. Two passengers got out. One fired what appeared to be a rocket-propelled grenade at the helicopter. The pilot took quick evasive action and avoided the missile, which exploded in a nearby field. The men on the ground opened with automatic fire, scoring a few hits on non-critical parts of the aircraft. The single-engine plane dropped a wing, made a pass, and fired on the small pickup truck with the two AK-47s. Both occupants were hit multiple times, and the truck was riddled with bullet holes. Barbos’s two plane air force moved out of range. After an hour of searching, the helicopter spied a small caravan on a road leading to the north. Barbos decided to land both aircraft in a large clearing and wait. Later, the caravan would be closer to their target. Armed with eight men and automatic weapons, he would be able to grab at least part of whatever was found. He just didn’t yet know how he would do it—or when.

  Chapter 21

  Lu Flies

  Lu dialed her phone as fast as she could while getting dressed. She was yelling orders at everyone around her—spa employees were not exempt. Everyone was jumping and scurrying, either complying or moving quickly to avoid her completely. She was in full combat mode and noticed Angel, Gretchen, and Zoe stood with mouths open and ready to move at her command. Finally she connected with one of their pilots. Lu hoped she didn’t ruin his day but knew it would be greatly altered.

  “Listen, Bill, this is Lu. No, I’m not fucking okay! Chris and the boys are being followed by this drug lord skunkfuck Barbos Vieux. You talked to the other pilot, and they were going to a place in Tanzania on a lion hunt. Can you find the airfield where his jet landed? Call me as soon as you find out, and have the plane fired up for us when we get back to Botswana.”

  She had tried Chris, but knew if he was hunting lions he would have the phone turned off. They had taken Lu’s jet to South Africa and rented a van for the drive to the Spa. As true jet setters, Chris and Lu had their own airplanes. Even though they flew commercial airlines from London to Africa, they both had their pilots fly their planes over for side trips. Chris brought his plane for the lion and for the side trip to the Congo. Lu brought her jet to go wherever for spas, shopping and sightseeing. Although Chris’s Lear Jet was very fast, it only had a 2000 mile range which meant extra refueling stops in the super-sized world of Africa. Lu had opted for a Challenger 605 which had fourteen seats and a 4000 mile range. The top speed was close to the Lear and was made by the same company.

  Lu dialed the lodge and talked to the main desk to request they pack bags for each of the women. Zoe got on and told them to round up her husband, Roland, for him to pack her things and meet them at the airport. Angel and Gretchen explained what they wanted packed. They ran towards the van and piled in, with Zoe’s satellite phone in constant use. They had to drive to Durbin, where Lu’s pilot was frantically filing multiple flight plans. First he would fly to Gaborne, Botswana, where they would meet Roland and pick up their luggage for the trip. They were hoping the helicopter was not in use so it could fly the luggage over. Then they would fly to Mbeya, Tanzania to warn Chris, Mit, and Modesto.

  “If they have shot a lion, I hope they don’t drag that damn thing home to nail on the wall. I will not put up with that shit,” said Angel.

  “I don’t know. What if it’s a lion rug and placed on the floor in front of the fireplace. Pretty sexy, huh?” Gretchen said.

  Lu reminded her that she lived in Santo Domingo and didn’t have a fireplace.

  “Maybe I would have one put in just for the lion rug.”

  “If they shot a bear that would be perfect for our place in Austria,” said Angel.

  Lu was refusing to get in on the rug conversation. Besides, she was simultaneously driving and talking on the phone. In the thirty-minute travel time between the airport and the spa, Lu had talked to most of the population of southern Africa. On board the jet the calls kept going out from Lu, but she was using the phone she had left onboard. She became more and more confused. After landing in Botswana and everything was loaded, she announced there was no need to go to Tanzania.

  “Our boys have left Tanzania and are headed to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. So are we. There is a secret delegation or expedition from Haiti going there, too. All I know is we are on our way to Kisangani. I have contacted a friend from Haiti who works in the State Department in the DRC. He will have visas and a couple of para-military types waiting for us at the airport along with a large helicopter fitted with a pilot. We need everyone’s picture and a copy of your passport, and I’ll have it faxed before we leave,” Lu said through gritted teeth. She was pissed and had thoughts of shooting Chris herself since he left out a very important piece of information about the post-lion hunt trip. She was also scared that Barbos might get there first.

  Lu walked up to everyone and took their picture on her cell phone. She handed the phone to an aide who ran at full speed toward the terminal. No one spoke to her, being fully aware of her temper. Zoe, however, was not enlightened, and made the mistake of asking what Barbos had to do with any of this. With fire spurting from her mouth, Lu gave an answer.

  “He wants to kill us all—remove our heads—and fuck our skulls!! How do I know what he wants—he’s your best buddy!” Lu went to the front of the plane and sat in the pilot’s cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  Zoe started to cry, and her husband and the other girls consoled her.

  “We have learned not to speak to her when she’s mad. Psycho! She will kill anything that breathes,” said Angel.

  “She and all of us have a reason to be mad. Our husbands knew we didn’t want them on that expedition. They tricked us with that lion hunt shit. Did they really even go on a hunt?” asked Gretchen.

  “Yes, I heard Lu talking to them in Tanzania. Chris shot thirteen lions and the rest only got one. Of course the one they got was about to eat Chris’s head. He had a .50 caliber semi-automatic and they placed him in an area where no lions had ever come in before. Chris is damn lucky to be alive and Lu knows it—another reason she is so upset,” said Angel.

  With the documents faxed, the big jet lifted off, and Lu came back into the main cabin. She apologized to Zoe for being a raging bitch. Zoe apologized for being a really shitty spy.

  “If I had been better trained and ruthless, you guys would be getting your butts rubbed by some muscle bound native spa employee about now,” Zoe said with a smile. Even Lu laughed.

  Lu reported to the group they would get to Kisangani by late afternoon and might have time before dark to fly into the area where Chris, Mit, and Modesto had landed in the helicopter. She would have to ask the pilot if that was possible.

  “Whoa! Do you mean you know where they are? asked Angel.

  “Pretty much. I got hold of Plato and browbeat him. He gave me the coordinates from the old journal of a Dr. Parke who was on the Henry
Stanley expedition of 1887. From what I could find out, there was an ancient quarry on top of a bluff in the middle of the Aruwimi River. The last expedition there was put together by John Cole. Five people were killed on that small safari in 1966. The mine is jointly owned by the Haitian government and John Cole’s family. Reports say his son is with the group going there now. My guess is half of frigging Africa knows something’s up in the Congo. They won’t know exactly where until they follow everyone headed in that direction. I have a feeling it will look like Woodstock before it all over,” said Lu with a resolve that trouble was brewing.

  Lu suggested everyone recline their seats, have a drink, and get some rest. It would be a long flight, as most are in Africa.

  Henri Miot had not lived in the Democratic Republic of the Congo long. Two years before, he had taken a position working in the DRC State Department on the recommendation of Modesto Tejeda, who became the Assistant Attorney General of the Dominican Republic. Modesto had known Henri while working cases jointly with Haiti and was impressed with his knowledge of the law and his superior language skills. The DRC had a bad habit of stealing Haiti’s brightest stars and paying them at least twice what they could get back home. Henri was offered three times his salary, and his wife was offered a job as the principal of a local high school in Kinshasa. The classes were taught in French, but both could speak English with a southern accent if needed. Henri knew Lu through Modesto and Gretchen and was glad to rush the visas over, along with a large helicopter. He had to scout several airports to find one, but assured airport officials there was no shortage of money from Lu and her friends.