by Jack Ford
Cooper snapped in irritation. ‘Have you or not?’
And Rosedale pulled out his metal cigar tube. ‘This any good to you?’
‘Yeah, perfect.’ Cooper took it and scooped up a sample of the insects. ‘Okay, all done here. I’m ready to go.’
‘Great. Actually, Thomas, before we decide anything else, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet. His name’s Father O’Malley. I think you’ll be very interested to speak to him.’
91
Father O’Malley waved enthusiastically to Rosedale and Cooper.
‘Hello! Hello…! Rosedale, I’m glad ye could come back. Ah, this must be Thomas, who you were telling me about. Spoke highly of ye. Fancy a cup of tea? It’s one of the few luxuries I insist on having here.’
With his strong Irish accent as reassuring as it was welcoming, Cooper immediately warmed to Father O’Malley, a tall smooth skinned Afro-Irish man with hazel eyes and a smile which said it was okay.
Cooper followed him with interest into the small brick house which was tastefully yet simply decorated.
‘Take a seat, Rosedale. Thomas, grab anything to sit on. There’s no airs nor graces here.’
Cooper sat down on a small, hard square stool, topped off with a colorfully decorated cushion. ‘Thank you, Father.’
Father O’Malley’s rounded face shone brightly as he sat down himself. He smiled with delight as he slapped his hands into his lap. ‘Well, this is nice… Thomas, tell me, have ye ever been to Ireland?’
‘Yes, Father, once. About five years ago, I was lucky enough to go to County Kerry for a few days.’
‘Oh, that’s certainly some place to visit. Many a happy summer I spent there as a boy. What was it that took ye there, Thomas? Ye can’t know what a delight it is for me to be able to talk about my homeland. As ye can imagine, I don’t often get the pleasure to speak of such things.’
‘I was assigned a job, many years ago, trying to find a racehorse. The owners had taken out a loan for it which they weren’t paying back.’
Father O’Malley, tut-tutted. ‘Who would do such a thing? Tell me, though, did you manage to find the horse?’
‘I did Father, but it wasn’t a particularly happy ending. The owners started a fire at their property, trying to make it look like an accident to claim on the insurance. Unfortunately, the fire got out of control and the stables caught alight, killing all the livestock.’
The priest who’d been leaning forward, and seemed to be hanging on Cooper’s every word, drew physically back. Shock in his voice. ‘Saints and mothers preserve us, what a wicked thing to do. Rosedale, have you ever heard such a thing?’
Rosedale grinned and said, ‘No, father.’
‘No indeed. Now let me make that tea, before we all die of thirst.’
*
Five minutes later, Father O’Malley was enjoying his cup of tea, explaining about the orphanage he ran.
‘I was born here but grew up in Ireland, but I came back to help in 1997. But during the civil war, this place was briefly occupied by the armed forces, and we had to move to another area. But with the grace of God, we survived. It’s a terrible thing but here, in the DRC, children are the most vulnerable and the recruitment of children for different militia groups is still happening. These children are trained to torture and kill. Never get to have a childhood. They come here disturbed and traumatized. So many of the children we care for have been subjected to forced labor in the mines and half the girls here have been forcibly prostituted. ’Tis an awful fact but thousands of women and girls in this country have been raped, and a lot of these children in this orphanage are the product of that crime or have simply been thrown out of their homes after being accused of witchcraft.’
Cooper put his tea down to the side, having surprisingly enjoyed the drink which he’d always equated with the British. ‘You do an amazing job here, you should be proud of yourself.’
‘To be sure, it’s not me, it’s the good Lord who drives me on. Filling me up with the spirit of Christ… I see you’re smiling, Thomas, does that amuse you? I take it you’re not a believer.’
‘Oh, it’s not that, Father, and please don’t think for one minute I’m disrespecting you or your faith. You’d be surprised what I believe in. It’s just what you said, I find ironic. You talk about the spirit of Christ, and no-one gives it a second thought, but when the people of the DRC talk about spirits, a lot of people look on them like they’re crazy.’
‘’Tis true what you say Thomas, and another time, I’d be happy to talk to you about it, but sadly, I have to make my way to Kalundu, so I fear we’re short of time, and Rosedale here tells me you want to know about the cursed land which the locals speak about.’
‘I do, and if you know anything about Papa Bemba, I’d be grateful if you could tell me.’
Father O’Malley’s face darkened. ‘As a priest I have to look at everyone as a child of God. And at times, especially working here, in the DRC, that faith – that belief, Thomas – has surely been tested, but none more so than dealing with that man, with Papa Bemba. It isn’t often you come across true wickedness, even here. I believe there is redemption in everyone. I’ve met soldiers who’ve carried out the worst kind of atrocities known to man, but even in them I can usually see something inside. Some glimmer of hope that one day they’ll ask for forgiveness and atone for their crimes. But with Bemba, I felt a chill, Thomas, so I did. A chill that I’m certain I would only feel if it was the devil himself.’
Cooper smiled, liking the priest more every minute. ‘What can you tell me about the land?’
‘As you know the belief in the spirit world is part of everyday life, but sadly this goes hand in hand with the darker side. The side which sees witchcraft, Kindoki, as a powerful force. And whether ’tis there or not, if you believe in it, then ultimately it will affect your life just the same. Now a couple of years ago, the land you’re talking about was where people lived. But slowly over time a fear grew.’
Cooper asked. ‘What kind of fear?’
‘That the land was possessed.’
Rosedale, who’d been sitting quietly, said, ‘Where did that idea come from?’
‘Well, when things happen to people here, they want to know the reason for it… as we all do. But if there is no explanation, or perhaps if there is no explanation which they like, then it’ll be put down to bad spirits. Witchcraft. People started to get ill, and sadly in this area, illness is very common. But when people started to get sick on the particular area of land you’re talking about, a rumour spread that it was from a powerful Kindoki force.’
Cooper frowned. ‘But if like you say disease is commonplace why was it different this time?’
‘Oh now, Thomas, don’t get me wrong, all illness here is put down to some kind of bad spirit, but the fear which this illness generated was something I hadn’t seen in all my time. And the source, I believe, and it’s only a guess, mind, was Bemba himself. Putting fear into the heart of people.’
‘Why do you think he would do that?’
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought over time, and I believe it was for power. I’ve always believed the greatest commodity for mankind is the grasp of power. The thought is, if you have power, then the spirit world will want to talk to you, and if the spirit world wants to talk to you that means the community will listen, and do what you ask of them. Because, Thomas, they don’t want to make the spirits unhappy by not listening to who they see as the chosen one. It’s something my parents believed, as does a lot of my family.’
‘And you think that was all there was to it? Just for power?’
‘It’s difficult to say. The illness which went round, Bemba was always at the forefront of it, promising to heal the sick, even promising to keep them safe from being ill.’
Cooper said, ‘Would that be for an exchange?’
‘Yes, it was. And as people didn’t have money, they gave him their land.’
‘And nobody stopped him?’
&nbs
p; ‘Who would stop him? There’s no police around here. The only rule is from the spirit world or from a gun. And they have no reason to stop him, Thomas. You see, to a lot of people, Bemba was trying to help, guided by the spirits, and they saw it as only right to give the spirits something in return, even if they didn’t get well… though a lot of them did.’
‘They got better because of Bemba?’
‘Well that’s what they said, but who knows what this illness was. People get well all the time after being ill. Though, like I say, this illness was something I’d never seen before. But to my mind, Thomas, it was just a question of chance, who did or didn’t get better. But either way, the family thanked Bemba, or the community did because he’d rid the neighborhood of witchcraft.’
‘At one of the villages we were in, Father, a young boy died. And I was wondering if it was the same symptoms as the illness you describe… He had huge boils and sores as well as blisters all over him, which wept heavily with pus. I think he must’ve had a pretty painful death.’
Father O’Malley nodded. ‘Aye, Thomas, that sounds like it.’
‘Is the illness still widespread?’
‘No, not really. Though there’s a village further away from here. It’s the village after the refugee camp, if you know where that is. But anyway, that seems to have had an outbreak recently. Though when I say outbreak, I don’t think it’s contagious meself.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, I’ve been around it several times, and I’m of the mindset, if the good Lord wants to take me, he will. But it seems he wants me to work hard for me place in heaven, because I haven’t even had a sneeze in over two years. I was exposed to the illness on various occasions and so were some of the nuns who work here, and again, not even a cough. So I think it must be bacterial rather than viral, wouldn’t you say? Problem is there’s no aid or health care here, so as hard and unfair as it seems, if you’re seriously ill, the odds are really against you.’
‘And I guess that’s where Bemba comes in. The idea of getting well would be worth paying out for, or in this case would be worth giving your land for. You’ve got nothing to lose, I guess. Those that get well put it down to Bemba, and those that didn’t, well the community put it down to having the Kindoki force inside them.’
Father O’Malley nodded vigorously. ‘Exactly.’
‘And what about the land?’ asked Cooper.
‘What about it? The community no longer lived on it, they’d moved away. Fearful of the witchcraft living there. So giving it up as an exchange wasn’t a problem. Even the militia are afraid of the land. Haven’t you noticed in that area it’s almost militia-free? Well, that’s because of the fear of the power of Kindoki. The militia groups have stayed well away, so I suppose some good has come out of this.’
‘And what’s Bemba doing with the land?’
‘I have me suspicions, but I’d rather not say. I hope you’ll respect that. Life is difficult enough here without bringing the devil to the door.’
‘Can I ask you one other thing though, Father? Have you ever heard of an Emmanuel Mutombo?’
Even though it was just the tiniest of movements, Cooper saw it.
The sudden jerk of the head.
The change in breathing; a reflex action from the change in heart rate and blood flow.
The shuffle of feet, telling him of Father O’Malley’s discomfort and his unconscious desire to leave the situation.
And Cooper knew these things were all key ways to tell if someone was lying. And Father O’Malley was. Hell, wasn’t he just. Question was, why?
‘No… No… No, I’ve never heard of him.’
Cooper smiled. Knew another tell-tale sign was the repetition of words. ‘Thanks anyway, Father.’
Father O’Malley clapped his hands and leapt up to his feet. ‘Now, I hope ye can forgive me, but I really need to get on me way. Perhaps you’ll come by another time, and I can show you round then, but if I don’t see either of you again, look after yourselves and I’ll be sure to say a prayer for both of ye.’
Cooper shook Father O’Malley’s hand. ‘I appreciate you giving us your time.’
‘Not at all. But you could do me one thing though. Can I ask a favor?’
‘Anything.’
A wistful look came into the priest’s eyes. ‘Well if ever ye find yourself back in the Emerald Isle again, Thomas, have a pint of Guinness for me. And then send it my love, for I doubt I’ll ever set eyes on it again.’
92
In the early hours of the morning, Rosedale and Cooper sat in the Toyota, discussing Father O’Malley on their way to a tiny village, south of their base camp.
Cooper said. ‘I liked him. There was something genuine about him.’
‘Father O’Malley?’
‘Yeah, where did you meet him?’
‘In one of the villages, when I was asking round about the plane.’
‘He seems a good guy. But…’
Rosedale turned left on the road. ‘But you think he was lying about not knowing Emmanuel?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Oh yeah, hell yeah, without a doubt. Everyone in this place seems to have something to hide.’
Woods flashed into Cooper’s mind. ‘Believe me it’s not just here people are hiding things… Anyhow, listen, before we go to the village, I’d like to go and see a mine.’
Rosedale looked puzzled. ‘Which one? The Condor Atlantic mine? You thinking of going back there?’
‘No, about twenty miles from here, there’s another mine I looked up when I was back in DC.’
‘What about it?’
‘I’m just curious to see a conflict mine for myself, I guess. All this talk about the difference between conflict-free and conflict mines, and the stuff I told you about what Donald Parker and Nadbury Electronics are supposed to be doing with their mines and cell-phones and computer parts. Well, it makes me curious. So what do you say, Rosedale?’
Rosedale said, ‘I say, which way?’
93
Cooper and Rosedale sat hidden halfway up a densely scrubbed green hillside, peering down at an excavated, exposed area of earth with a few dozen makeshift wooden structures covered in sheet plastic.
The hillside was a hive of activity as young men wearing rags hammered, dug, worked away.
Cooper estimated there were about a hundred people, walking single file in various lines which snaked around the undulating site where groups of tired-looking men with pickaxes stood in cloudy brown pools, hacking away at kneehigh mud edges which dislodged and dropped down into the water at their feet.
Even from where Rosedale and Cooper sat they could hear the constant metallic percussion of pickaxes clinking against rocks. And Cooper watched men pulling basketball-sized chunks of wet earth from the water into flexible yellow buckets with handles on both sides. The weight of the buckets clearly making it necessary for two men to carry them, as they struggled up the winding track to higher ground and a waiting truck.
Rosedale handed Cooper his Steiner military binoculars, which he lifted to his eyes, following the line of yellow buckets. ‘Jesus, Rosedale, some of them are just kids. The ones at the back can’t be older than eight or nine.’
‘I know, makes me want to go down there, Thomas.’
Continuing to watch, Cooper felt the rage begin to engulf him. He could see the children struggling to drag the heavy buckets along. He could also see the fearful expressions they held on their faces as the armed guards stood at vantage points around the whole operation. Chatting and smoking and laughing.
There was a sudden loud noise but Cooper couldn’t make out what it was or where it was coming from. Then, without warning, the sound of clanking axes stopped. And he stared intently into the binoculars. Swept the whole site from left to right.
Rosedale said, ‘Can you see what’s happening?’
Over to the left by a mound of mud, Cooper saw one of the guards standing over a pair of children. One of them had collapsed.
The other was struggling and terrified and trying quickly and desperately to shovel the heavy, soggy mud back into their upturned bucket. From the guards there were angry, threatening gestures whilst the children in another line backed away in fear.
A guard pointed his gun towards the collapsed boy.
And Cooper’s stomach tightened. He was only yards away from being able to help, but all he could do was sit and watch. Sit and watch as the single bullet was fired at the boy’s head. Blowing away half his skull. Blood mixing with the muddy earth.
The sound of the shot echoed through the trees and up around the natural basin of hills, causing hundreds of birds to take to the air, screeching and crying as if they were lamenting for the boy.
The noise of the birds masked the sound of the second shot which killed the other child as he struggled to drag the bucket alone. Trying to run. Trying to escape from somewhere inescapable.
And Rosedale put his hand over Cooper’s mouth as he cried, curling up into a ball. He tried to fight Rosedale off as he went for his gun. But his arm was gripped and twisted by Rosedale until he dropped it.
‘Leave it, Thomas, there’s nothing you can do to save them. You knew this is what a conflict mine was like but you wanted to see it. Those two kids are dead already. If you go down there more people will get killed… I’m sorry but this is one of those times you have to let it go.’
94
‘What difference does it make? So the guy knew Simon Ballard a long time ago.’
John Woods threw the file Teddy Adleman had given him on the small coffee table in front of him. He sat back and crossed his legs and then, agitated, uncrossed them and leant forward. He leant back again and said, ‘It’s more than just knowing him, Teddy. Jesus, turns out the guy was doing business with him.’
‘So what? A lot of people probably did business with Ballard back then. Innocently doing business with him. Donald Parker would have had no more idea about Simon Ballard’s fanatical ideology than his neighbor did or the mailman. Parker was a business man and so was Ballard. Let’s be sensible, here. Look at it properly. They were in a couple of the same business and trade organizations, which means at times they went to the same meetings and conferences. If there had been something out of the ordinary, the intelligence services would’ve picked it up at the time. But he’s clean, John. There’s nothing on Parker apart from the fact that the man was unfortunate enough to cross paths unintentionally with Simon Ballard. It doesn’t mean anything.’