Blood Gold in the Congo

by Peter Ralph

  “Who are they? How come they’re protesting? Who’s the guy with the goatee?” Joseph asked.

  “They’re troublemakers,” Faraday replied. “That’s all. His name is Paul Blundo. He’s a Communist sympathizer.”

  “What does he mean about the army murdering innocents?”

  “I don’t know. Probably rebels killed by the soldiers. Don’t be concerned. It’s all lies.”

  The motorcade pulled up at the front of the palace. The soldiers led Faraday, Joseph, and the Greenmount people through double doors into a large meeting room. General Zamenka sat at a long, elevated table with three advisers on either side of him. In front of the table were two rows of chairs. The heavily armed soldiers took up positions on either side of the doors.

  “How is your hotel? Did you sleep well?” Zamenka asked.

  “Quite comfortable, and yes, I had a good night’s sleep,” Joseph replied.

  “Really?” Zamenka smirked. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Joseph replied, puzzled by the general’s smirk. “It’s the first time I have seen the river. It is magnificent. Can you swim in it?”

  “I can’t.” Zamenka laughed. “But that’s because I can’t swim. If I could, I wouldn’t, though. It’s dirty, and there’s always the chance of a crocodile lurking.”

  “So close to the port?”

  “I am told children and dogs regularly disappear. If you want to swim, use the hotel’s pools.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  “I know now why you didn’t want a girl last night. You already had one back at your hotel. I hear she is beautiful – I can understand why you were anxious to get back,” General Zamenka said, looking down at Joseph.

  “She’s an old friend,” Joseph said.

  “An old friend.” Zamenka laughed, slapping his thigh, and his advisers joined in the laughter.

  “What’s he on about?” Faraday whispered.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  The Greenmount people were well-prepared, and for the next three hours, they pitched their proposal by PowerPoint, by video, and by rolling out maps and detailed plans. George Faraday added explanatory comments when Zamenka’s advisers raised queries. Zamenka looked bored and occasionally dozed off, only to wake up with a start and demand to know what was going on. No one dared laugh.

  After the Greenmount people had finished their presentation and left, Faraday said, “It’s a good project, General. It will result in thousands of jobs, receipt of foreign currency, and significant tax revenue.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Zamenka said, and then, looking at Joseph, he began speaking in Lingala.

  Much to Joseph’s surprise, Faraday responded in the same dialect, and the two men engaged in animated conversation. Joseph could only understand the occasional word, but it was apparent Zamenka was dominating the conversation, and while Faraday was shaking his head, the look on his face said he was acceding.

  A few minutes later, Zamenka stood up, shook hands with Faraday, and embraced Joseph. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, then ordered his soldiers to take them back to the hotel.

  As soon as they were in the car, Joseph said, “I never knew you spoke Lingala. Hardly anyone in the village spoke or understood it. I picked up a few of your words. What were you discussing?”

  “I’ve been coming here for forty years. They say there are twenty languages and more than two hundred dialects spoken in the Congo. There would only be a handful I don’t understand. General Zamenka didn’t think a national hero should hear our conversation. He was protecting you.”

  “Rubbish! He doesn’t trust me. How much did he screw out of you?”

  “Greenmount’s investment just increased to $900 million.”

  “$100 million,” Joseph said, “payable in the Virgin Islands or Zurich, I suppose.”

  “It’s nothing,” Faraday replied. “They’re getting one of the best copper resources in the world. It’s worth north of $3 billion.”

  “I understand how private consortiums like Greenmount can pay bribes, but how do the big public companies do it? They’ve got responsibilities to shareholders. Surely their boards don’t condone criminal acts?”

  “There are always ways.” Faraday laughed. “Are we having dinner tonight?”

  “I think I’ll eat in my room,” Joseph replied. “The travel’s starting to take its toll.”

  CHAPTER 14

  ..................

  OUT OF RESPECT, JOSEPH HAD had his cellphone on silent for the meeting with Zamenka, but had seen an email from Ron Patterson pop up and was dying to read it. Disappointingly, Ron hadn’t come up with anything on Liberty Investments. He said there were a maze of different lawyers’ and accountants’ nominee companies behind Liberty, so finding who controlled and owned the shares was impossible. The real owners had gone to a lot of trouble to conceal themselves, but this wasn’t unusual – the keystone to international money laundering and tax avoidance was secrecy.

  Marc Boucher was another story. He was a mining gun for sale to the highest bidder. Better known as Jacques Le Roux, he had managed gold mines all over Africa and had a reputation for extreme brutality. In early 2001, he had authorized blasting at an underground mine in South Africa without evacuating the workers, and twenty miners had died. The South African authorities had charged him, and there was a newspaper photograph of him standing in front of the court surrounded by well-dressed white men, presumably lawyers. He had applied for bail and, once it had been granted, had absconded to the Congo, where he changed his name to Marc Boucher. The South African government’s numerous extradition applications had fallen on deaf Congolese ears.

  Joseph quickly Googled Le Roux and got more than two hundred hits, mainly newspapers. He was a ruthless operator who always took a percentage of the gold mined, rather than working for a salary. The owners, whoever they were, surely must have known Boucher’s background before they hired him. Joseph pondered for a few minutes before emailing Ron, asking him to dig around the archives on George Faraday and to look at his deals in Katanga around 1992 to 1995. He also asked him to find out who owned the mine where the workers had been killed in South Africa.

  Joseph lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and reflecting on how everything in life had a reason. Why had his life been spared by a white man who he had hated but now loved? Why had he won gold in Beijing? Had soldiers killed his mother and sister, and if so, who ordered their deaths? Why was he back in the country of his birth?

  The answer to one of those questions lay in his village. Perhaps once he had an explanation, the fog hanging over his destiny would lift. He Googled airports in Katanga and then brought up a map of the province. Satisfied with his calculations, he punched Maya’s number into his cell. She answered, “Maya Tansi speaking.”

  “Maya, it’s me.”

  “Ah, Mr. America. I didn’t think you’d call. Are you calling because you want to or feel you have to? Is your conscience troubling you?”

  “That’s silly. Of course, I want to meet up with you again. That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to the village on Saturday morning. I want to see Yannick. Can you come with me?”

  There was a long pause. “It’s such short notice. I’d like to, but I can’t. The hospital’s short-staffed, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to get eight days off.”

  “Eight days? You’ll be back in Kinshasa on Sunday night.”

  “That’s impossible. Even if we’re on the first flight and could use the road from Lubumbashi, which we can’t, it would still take nearly twelve hours. We’d arrive at nightfall and have to return at first light in the morning. Oh, and I realize you’re a national treasure, and they might let you use the road, but it will only be with a full army guard. I don’t fancy traveling with thugs and rapists. The only other route takes three days. It’s not Los Angeles, you know.”

  “So I keep getting told,” Joseph said. “Are you quite finished? I have a private plane we can use. We can fly out of Ki
nshasa at 6:00 a.m. and land in Lubumbashi just after eight. From there we’ll take a helicopter, and even with one stop to refuel at Kilwa, we’ll be at the village just before midday. How does that sound?”

  “You own a plane? Oh my God! I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s not mine. My father chartered it for the trip. He worries about my safety.”

  “And the helicopter?”

  “I haven’t arranged it yet, but there’s nothing the State Department guys can’t seem to do. I’m going to ask them in the morning. Don’t worry, there won’t be a problem. Are you coming with me?”

  “Yes, yes, of course I am.”

  “Where will I pick you up?”

  There was another pause. “I-I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  “Maya, I don’t care where you live. There’s no reason to be ashamed.”

  “I’m not. I said I’d meet you at the airport.”

  “As you wish. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t be – and, Joseph, thank you for thinking of me. Goodnight.”

  He went to bed early, pulling the sheet up around his neck. He wondered whether he’d find his calling when he returned to his village.

  The following morning, George Faraday and Jack Costigan were having breakfast when Joseph entered the restaurant and told them what he had planned for the weekend.

  “I don’t like it,” Faraday said. “Some of the world’s most influential mining executives are here. They’re going to want to be looked after and entertained over the weekend.”

  “I’m sure you can take good care of them.”

  “What? I thought you said we were going to Katanga.”

  “Not we. Just me and a friend.”

  “That’s not happening. I told your father I’d look after you. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Look after me?” Joseph laughed. “I don’t want to be rude, but these are my people, and you are old and weak. I can protect myself, but I don’t want to be worrying about you.”

  “No, I’m coming, and that’s final.”

  “George, this is a private matter. I’m going back to my village to hopefully see my siblings. They fled the village, but I’m hoping they’ve returned. I don’t want you there. I’ll be back on Sunday night for next week’s round of meetings. If that’s not satisfactory, I’ll be on a commercial flight to LA this afternoon, and you can handle Bodho, Zamenka, and the mining companies yourself.”

  “Jesus!” Costigan said. “You wouldn’t. We’re just starting to make ground.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “I’m going to talk to your father. I’m responsible for you.”

  “Do whatever you like, George, but nothing is going to stop me. You seem to think I’m still the twelve-year-old boy you bought all those years ago. I’m not!”

  “It’s only two days,” Costigan said. “He’ll be okay. If the negotiations fall apart, we’ll be a laughing-stock. Worse, the Chinese will be here the minute we leave.”

  “All right, Joseph, have it your way,” Faraday said, “but you have a funny way of showing gratitude.”

  “Gratitude? You virtually strong-armed me into coming, and you weren’t doing it for me. I was your meal ticket into the palace. Don’t talk to me about gratitude, George.”

  “Funny that. I didn’t hear you objecting when I told you how much money we might make, and how you might own your own Gulfstream.”

  “No, I didn’t, because of the respect my father has for you, but understand this – I don’t like the way you make money. It’s dirty,” Joseph said, standing up. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour. Jack, will there be any problems arranging the helicopter?”

  “Consider it done.”

  CHAPTER 15

  ..................

  THE FIRST GLIMMER OF SUNLIGHT peeped over the horizon as Joseph’s motorcade pulled into the airport. President Bodho and General Zamenka had insisted he take a security detail, but he had tactfully declined, saying he wanted to spend some time with Maya alone. After much debate they had agreed but wouldn’t hear of him getting a taxi.

  Maya was waiting in the terminal. When she saw him, she gasped. “God, you’re huge,” she said, trying to get a hand around his bicep. “Why are you carrying your cellphone in an armband? You’re not going on a training run, are you?”

  “You saw me the other night. I haven’t changed since then,” Joseph said, laughing. “And it’s safer on my arm than in my pocket.”

  “You weren’t wearing a T-shirt then. Of course, I knew you were big, but you’re far more muscly in real life than you appear on television. I watched every event in the decathlon, and you looked small next to that German.”

  “Compared to Wolfgang, I am. He’s six foot eight inches tall and weighs 260 pounds. Give me your bag.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. It’s light. I’m so excited.”

  “Okay, let’s get moving.”

  As they climbed the stairs, they were greeted by the flight attendant, who said, “Good morning, Mr. Muamba. What a beautiful green your blouse is, Ms. Tansi.”

  “Thank you,” Maya said, gazing around the plane. “Joseph, I can’t believe this is just for us. I’ve never seen anything as luxurious. It’s so extravagant. How many crew members are there?”

  “Captain, co-pilot, and flight attendant. That’s it. Kick your Nikes off and put your feet up,” Joseph said, sitting down.

  Maya took the seat opposite him. “It feels almost wrong to be wearing jeans in this opulence. I should’ve worn my best clothes.”

  “You chose well,” Joseph said, as the plane taxied into position for takeoff. “If the village is anything like what it was, we’re going to come back caked in dirt.”

  Twenty minutes later, the flight attendant took their breakfast orders, and after he’d gone, Maya said, “It’s embarrassing. We have one person dedicated to looking after us. You live an amazing life.”

  “It’s unusual for me too. I’ve been on small charter planes, but nothing like this.”

  “How was your week?” Maya asked. “Did you do a lot of big deals?”

  Joseph pushed his chair into the upright position, clenched his hands, and looked out the window. “We’re flying over the richest and most concentrated mineral resources in the world, and the people are getting nothing for them. It’s terrible. No deal gets done without Bodho, Zamenka, and who knows how many others getting paid off. The Western companies and the Chinese are raping the country. The people get paid a pittance, and the copper, gold, and cobalt is transferred out of the country at way less than market value, so the government collects no taxes. It’s shockingly corrupt.”

  “You must have known of the corruption before you came back. You’d only have needed to spend an hour on the Internet.”

  “Of course, but I never realized the extent. I didn’t think public companies listed on the world’s largest stock exchanges paid bribes.”

  “And they do?”

  “Yesterday an Australian mining company agreed to pay nearly $500 million to rehabilitate the environment, compensate landholders, build roads, and provide housing rather than huts. George Faraday told me Bodho and Zamenka will provide invoices and documentation to support the payment, but the country will be lucky to see $100 million. God, the Australians were found guilty of paying $300 million in bribes to Saddam Hussein. Apparently, they didn’t learn anything.”

  “Are they the worst?”

  “No, they’re all the same.”

  “What about the Chinese?”

  “They give the appearance of being fair and caring. They build roads, medical centers, and hospitals, but for every dollar they spend, they get four back. They’re the same as the Westerners, but rather than brutal rape, they do it gently. The leaders of the American companies hate their slyness.”

  “Poor Boss,” Maya smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. “It’s the Congo, and it’s not going to change just because you won a gold
medal. I worked late last night and only got a few hours’ sleep. I’m going to have a short snooze. Would you like to read the Times?”

  “Sure.”

  Maya pushed her seat back and closed her eyes. The sound of Joseph rustling the newspaper soothed her into a light doze, but she jerked upright upon his exclamation, “Jesus!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry,” he said, holding up the newspaper and pointing to a photo on the bottom of the front page. “I saw him. He was in front of the palace protesting two days ago. He hanged himself in prison.”

  “Paul Blundo,” Maya said. “He was a thorn in the government’s side, exposing politicians, administrators, and the army for what they are. He didn’t hang himself. How could he? What would have he used? The first things they take are shoelaces and belts. The number of prisoners who ‘hang themselves’ is staggering.”

  “Are you saying they murdered him?”

  “He and many others,” Maya said, closing her eyes again.

  About thirty minutes from Lubumbashi, the plane hit light turbulence, and Maya woke up with a start.

  “It’s okay,” Joseph said. “You were out like a light. I was watching you. Who would’ve thought a skinny, scruffy kid would grow up to be so beautiful?”

  “And I was thinking about you. You were so serious when we were kids, and nothing has changed. You’re only two years older than Yannick and me. Yet, when we were little, it seemed like so much more. That’s why we called you Boss.” Maya laughed. “Is it so hard to smile? Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

  “Perhaps if you’d seen and heard what I have in the last few days, you too might find it hard to laugh.”

  “Oh, Joseph, I’ve lived it for the past five years. Everyone in the Congo has. It’s a way of life. You’ve been enjoying the land of milk and honey. That’s why you’re shocked. Welcome to my world.”

  Joseph bit his bottom lip and said, “You’d better tighten your seatbelt.”

  “Will the Blackhawk be waiting for us when we land?”

  “I doubt it’s going to be a Blackhawk.” Joseph smiled. “The pilot’s going to be waiting for us.”