Warlord

by James Steel

  All five helicopters disappear back into the night and the crowd in the street listen to the sound of them fading into the darkness. The buildings on the hill are burning furiously and light up the whole valley with orange and yellow flames.

  Gabriel and Marcel look at each other open-mouthed. It is fifteen minutes since the first shell woke them up.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dieudonné Rukuba stands in front of a large audience seated in neat rows. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this press conference to announce the foundation of the new Republic of Kivu.

  ‘I would especially like to welcome our distinguished guests from the United Nations, African Union, European Union and United States.’ Rukuba gestures to the people sitting in the front row, staring at him with guarded expressions, wary of having any connection with this strange, new and unknown quantity.

  Rukuba’s hand sweeps on and around the room. ‘Also to our esteemed NGO workers from Kivu and our valued colleagues from the Kivu People’s Party and the Kivu Defence Force, welcome one and all.’

  Rukuba’s French is impeccable and he speaks in a calm soft voice. He is in no hurry, adjusts the microphone, pauses and coughs slightly before beginning his main speech.

  It’s 7th May, only three days after the opening battle of the campaign in Lubonga. He is standing at a podium on a raised platform at the front of the large dining room in Hotel Bruxelles on the lakeshore five miles outside Goma; they judged the city itself too volatile to hold the meeting, as crowds have been out on the streets. The room is from the 1950s colonial heyday of Kivu and has elegant curving arches along both sides. The audience of two hundred people eyes him warily and stewards from the Kivu People’s Party in cheap suits hover nervously at the edges checking everything is set up right.

  Press photographers crab around in front of the podium trying to be unobtrusive whilst getting the right angle for their shots. TV cameras on tripods poke out of the arches on either side of the room and are packed in at the back behind the chairs, their operators hunched over their view-finders. All the big networks, news agencies and papers have scrambled their correspondents to fly out to Goma: BBC, Al Jazeera, CNN, France Press, Reuters, AP, New York Times, The Times, The Telegraph, Le Monde.

  Rukuba is wearing his traditional white robes and looks very tall, serene and statesmanlike, a blaze of bright light set off against a large green flag of the Republic of Kivu behind him. It is based on the Congolese flag but instead of a sky-blue field divided diagonally by a red stripe it has a bright green background with a red stripe across it.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Mr Dieudonné Rukuba and I am the President of the Transitional Administration that now governs the new Republic of Kivu. I will give a short speech and then take questions from the floor.

  ‘You will have heard the statement from the President of the Democratic Republic of Congo yesterday announcing the establishment of the new state on a ninety-nine-year lease and giving it his blessing.

  ‘We are profoundly grateful to the President for his help and support in the establishment of this exciting new venture, which we believe will at last bring peace to the region as well as economic development and prosperity.’

  He pauses and takes a sip from his water glass.

  At the back of the room, standing to one side watching through the arches are Alex, Col and Yamba, out of their army fatigues for the first time in months and dressed in chinos and casual shirts. They all have their arms folded across their chests, watching intently.

  Sophie Cecil-Black is squeezed into the middle of one of the rows of chairs. She wishes they were further apart; her long legs have to twist to one side uncomfortably. However, like the rest of the people in the room, she is rapt with attention. She cannot believe what she is hearing. She has met Rukuba before through some work he was doing with the Kivu People’s Party. He came for a tour round Hope Street’s big rehabilitation and training facility for street kids outside Goma and was charming, but she is still sure that there is something very fishy about the deal. Nothing in the Congo is as it seems.

  ‘So what is my vision for Kivu? My vision is for a strong and peaceful country. As part of the establishment of that I would like to introduce Monsieur Fang Wu, the representative of the Kivu Investment Fund.’ He gestures to Fang who is sitting at a table on the platform next to him. Fang gets up and bows low to the audience and sits down again; Sophie is surprised at how tall he is.

  ‘With the aid of a six-billion-dollar investment programme from our Chinese partners, we will be able to establish a new network of tarmac roads and proper bridges in Kivu. This will be followed by a large programme of agricultural investment to produce dairy products, fruit and fresh flowers for the EU and Middle Eastern markets as part of the East African Trade Federation, which we have been allowed to join, whilst Congo as a whole has not.

  ‘At the same time all of the mines will be taken into nationalised ownership and, with a large investment in mechanisation, will be able to produce many times more than they currently do. We estimate revenues of a billion dollars a year for the new state. As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we have big plans.’

  Rukuba pauses and looks out over the audience. They are staring at him, either not able to take in what he is saying or not trusting him. Either way he is prepared for a rough ride at the Q&A session.

  ‘Obviously you will be wondering how all this can be achieved given the poor security situation in the province. Well, I can tell you now that the newly established Kivu Defence Force has already struck very severe blows against the FDLR, the most intransigent of the militias, who for decades have terrorised the people of the province. After our brave servicemen have eliminated this organisation in a few weeks time we will offer a two-week period for the remaining militias to consider whether they want to disarm and join in a peace conference. Former militia soldiers will be disarmed, retrained for civilian jobs and given work in the reconstruction of the country.’

  His voice drops almost to a whisper. ‘However, I can also tell you now, ladies and gentlemen, that those who do not surrender will meet with the same ruthless response that my men have given to the FDLR. I am determined to crush once and for all the lawlessness of Kivu province.’

  Alex studies him hard as he says this and feels a slight shiver run up his spine. There is something menacingly intense about how Rukuba says such hard words in such a quiet way.

  He thinks about the raids going out tonight: he will helicopter back to base as soon as this session is finished, in order to be in the Ops Room to command them. Mordechai and Unit 17 studied the mountain of information they retrieved from Lubonga and quickly put together an entire order of battle for the FDLR with locations and details of defences.

  For the three nights since then all the men of First Regiment have been hard at work on helicopter raids across the province. The main inhabited area of Kivu is a semicircle two hundred miles in diameter, well within Mi-17 range, so they have been able to hit key FDLR installations across the whole area. Ammunition dumps, barracks and command centres have all been smashed in the middle of the night using their advantages of night vision capability, speed, surprise and heavy artillery.

  The enemy hasn’t known what has hit them and every raid they carry out yields more intelligence that feeds into Mordechai’s analysis system to generate more targets for the next night. They have also sent details of comptoir links to the Rwandans who are busy shutting down the group’s mineral trading network and passing their bank account details to the EU and American authorities to freeze their assets. The FDLR and its support network is being dismantled from all sides.

  Rukuba continues, ‘So, that is a very brief summary of our plans and what we have achieved so far. Now I am sure that you will all have many questions that I am willing to answer.’

  He looks at the audience who just stare back at him, still unable to comprehend the scale of what they have just heard.

  Chapter Thirty
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  Joseph squats on the ground and looks up as eleven more prisoners are brought into the razor-wire cage.

  It’s early afternoon and these are the ones captured in last night’s raids. They look shell-shocked, eyes staring, deep circles of exhaustion under them. He shuffles up to the men squatting on the earth next to him to make room. There are over a hundred guys in the prison already and more come in every night.

  Like him they were attacked by surprise with great speed and violence, their comrades slaughtered around them and then yanked out of the life they knew. They have come from the low shed next to the helipads where they have been photographed, fingerprinted and had biometric data taken with a simple swab of the inside of their cheeks as soon as they touch down. Once they have been documented, they are interrogated, pumped for information by Rwandan interrogators using the shock of capture, threats and lots of screaming and shouting.

  Joseph hears it every night. With that and the constant thudding of the helicopters taking off and landing, the bright arc light illuminating him at night and columns of troops marching back and forth to the helicopters, he hasn’t slept much since he was captured.

  He looks up at the white soldier patrolling outside the wire, his rifle held across his chest ready to shoot him. He still has no idea who these men are. Despite an aggressive interrogation he hasn’t actually been hurt and a medic has dressed the swelling wound on the side of his face. He’s been told that Lieutenant Karuta is in the hospital block up the hill having the grenade splinters taken out of his legs but he can’t be sure that is true. Whoever the soldiers are they seem more interested in the old génocidaires like Karuta: all the guys put into the razor-wire prison are young men in their teens and twenties, too young to have participated in the Rwandan genocide.

  The new prisoners slump on the ground as soon as there is space and stare ahead of them in shock. Joseph and the others are too depressed to say anything; he hugs his knees and wonders what the hell is going to happen to him.

  Rukuba continues the press conference.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am now willing to take questions from the floor. I am happy to take them in French or English.’

  He says this to get some response from his audience, who are still trying to think through the inconsistencies and ramifications of his brief speech. Slowly journalists start putting up their hands.

  ‘Yes, over there.’ He gestures to a veteran hack who stands up.

  ‘Bill Jakowski, New York Times. Er, Mr Rukuba, you will know that the United Nations Security Council is still debating the extraordinary announcement from Kinshasa in a closed session at this moment in time. What do you anticipate will be their response to the Kinshasa announcement and to the plans that you have just unveiled for this new …’ he stumbles over his words as he tries to think how to encapsulate them ‘…commercial, market, state, entity …’ Uncharacteristically he dries up and sits down.

  Rukuba doesn’t miss a beat. The delivery continues as smoothly and calmly as before but this time in perfect English.

  ‘Well, thank you for your very pertinent question, Mr Jakowski, I always read your work on Africa with interest. My response is to say that this is primarily a domestic internal issue for Congo rather than one of international relations and therefore I do not think that the United Nations will need to become involved.

  ‘If the legitimate government of a sovereign state decides to subdivide and lease a part of that state then that is entirely within their power to do so. UN troops in Kivu have been instructed to return to base for the moment but my Transitional Administration may continue to call on their services depending on how the security situation evolves.

  ‘The government of Congo was elected in a UN-sponsored and approved election. Do you think that the government of the Democratic Republic of Congo has the right to decide what happens in its own country, Mr Jakowski?’

  Bill Jakowski has written at length on the corrupt nature of the DRC government but suddenly this doesn’t seem the right forum to air his views so he keeps quiet.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Rukuba gestures generously to a woman near the front.

  She stands and another American accent sounds in the room. ‘Sarah Hollands, Associated Press. I think Bill had it right there when he wasn’t sure how to define this new entity that we are talking about. Could you talk a little more to what exactly is going to be the nature of this new government and, more specifically, will it be democratic?’

  ‘Thank you, Sarah. Yes, what we are proposing is a world-first. I agree it is confusing but it will function in effect as a sovereign state. As President of the Transitional Administration I have suspended the previous constitution of Kivu and declared a state of emergency that will last until the security situation is resolved. After that there will be a period of consultation with the people of Kivu on the new constitution and then some form of elections will be held.’

  She cuts right back at him. ‘Mr Rukuba, “some form of elections” doesn’t sound very convincing to the international community.’

  Rukuba is unfazed. ‘As I say, there will be a period of consultation with the people of Kivu and it is not for me to judge the will of the people.’ He smiles charmingly and takes the next question.

  ‘Sophie Cecil-Black, Hope Street – we’re an NGO in Kivu as I believe you know?’ Rukuba smiles and nods. ‘I am sure everyone in this room is very glad that you are tackling the issue of the FDLR but I wonder how you have been able to do it when UN forces and the Congolese army have been trying and failing since 2003?’

  At the back of the room Alex, Col and Yamba all exchange looks. Alex knew the issue of the Kivu Defence Force was bound to come up at some point; white mercenaries have a bad reputation in Africa. He is used to being regarded by diplomats and NGO workers as a life form somewhere between rodents and jackals. He watches the tall, striking-looking girl in the green tee shirt carefully. Something about her name rings a bell in his head.

  Rukuba continues his smooth rebuttals. ‘Well, I am sure that you would not expect me to be able to comment on such a sensitive security issue at a time when our forces are engaged in active …’

  ‘Are white mercenaries involved? I have heard reports of sightings from my field workers upcountry.’

  Rukuba is for once forced to give ground. ‘Some security consultants have been hired but I cannot go into more details now. Yes, next question please.’

  The Q&A goes on and the general air of suspicion and hostility continues from the press. The diplomats from the UN, EU, AU and USA don’t ask any questions at this stage, letting the journos and NGO people do the spadework as they try and work Rukuba out.

  He continues to be charming and generally holds his own but has to be downright evasive on a number of points. Alex thinks he is doing a good job in a hostile atmosphere. He likes and admires Rukuba; he can scarcely believe that the vision of a new world for Kivu that the two of them set out to achieve is actually coming to fruition. He is standing here listening to this wonderfully charismatic man announce the new state that they have both worked hard for a long time to set up. Deep inside him the insecurity that drove him here eases a little: ‘See, look at what I have created!’ he says to it.

  Eventually Rukuba holds up his elegant hand and says, ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think we have covered most of the main areas. In a minute I will invite you to attend an off-the-record buffet lunch on the terrace overlooking our delightful Lake Kivu, which will give me a chance to meet more of you in person. However, first I think it is important that we hear from one more speaker.’

  The audience looks baffled by this new addition to the programme.

  ‘We have all been debating the fascinating points of international law and development policy. However, I think that it is important that we do not get ahead of ourselves here and forget what the purpose of this new state is – to build a better, more secure world for the ordinary people of Kivu. The ordinary people that the international community h
as so far failed to protect.

  ‘So, to refocus our minds on this subject, I think it is important that we hear from the authentic voice of Kivu.’

  He nods towards the back of the room and one of the Kivu People’s Party attendants pushes a small figure forward down the central aisle. As she shuffles along, the correspondents and diplomats turn round and crane their necks to see who it is. She is short, stocky and barefoot and wears the simple, grubby pagne worn by the peasants in the province. As she moves past them people notice that she has a wet stain down the back of her dress.

  Rukuba leaves the platform, comes down the steps and walks up to meet her. He smiles, puts his arm around her and escorts her up the steps to the podium.

  Eve’s head can only just be seen over the wooden stand and Rukuba adjusts the microphone down to her mouth. She wonders how on earth she is going to get through this.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eve looks out over the elegant hotel dining room packed with diplomats, journalists and TV cameras focusing on her; she cannot comprehend them.

  They are from a world utterly alien to her upbringing in a small village of two hundred people, hours from the nearest road, and her recent existence in a shack made of twigs in a squalid refugee camp.

  She has to do the speech though to repay the kind man who has paid for her second operation and she just focuses on that and reads from the French text that Rukuba has written for her and that she has rehearsed until she knows it by rote. Her voice is picked up clearly by the microphone but it is a whisper and the audience of jaded hacks, NGO workers and career diplomats all sit forward on their seats straining their ears to hear her.