by Jack Ford
‘But when will that be?’
Levi himself trying but failing not to worry. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Try again.’
Standing in the small communications room of Onyx, Levi said, ‘I will but it’s pointless. I’ve tried over twenty times today and yesterday… Why are you looking at me like that?’
Maddie said, ‘I’ve got an idea,’
Levi recognized a familiar look coming into her eyes. ‘Oh no. No. No way. If it’s what I think you’re thinking, you can count me out right now.’
117
The stench from the refugee camp was overpowering. Raw sewage and garbage and mud mixed together. A vast, sprawling sea of tents and tarpaulin with under-fed and undernourished women, men and children looking out, desperate, displaced by conflicts of war and misrule.
Cooper glanced around, walking behind the priest. ‘This better be good, Father. Don’t forget, I’m still got my gun in my pocket. Make one move, and you won’t have time to even say Amen.’
Having regained his composure slightly, Father O’Malley nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be making any moves, Thomas, you can be assured of that. Come on, it’s over here.’
O’Malley led Rosedale and Cooper across to a large white tent, set back away from the others.
And at the entrance, the priest drew back the thin piece of fabric which acted as the door. He stood for a moment. Looked solemn. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Is it in here?’
‘It is, Thomas.’
‘Then you go first, we’ll follow… Oh, and Father, remember what I said.’
Without answering, the priest stepped inside.
It was spacious, but stifling, with pools of water from the dripping roof gathering on the floor.
Father O’Malley led the two men across to the far end, where three people sat huddled in front of a thin, soiled mattress on the floor. On seeing the priest, they smiled in recognition. But a wary mistrust clouded their welcome when they saw Rosedale and Cooper come to stand by O’Malley’s side.
The priest rubbed his hands anxiously. ‘Thomas, I hope I’m right to trust you.’
‘It’s not us you need to worry about.’
Father O’Malley nodded to the three people. They moved aside, revealing a frail and sick man curled up under several layers of blankets.
‘Thomas, I’d like you to meet Emmanuel Mutombo.’
118
‘Why, this is another first. The president wanting to have late night chats with me.’
Woods got up and shook Parker’s hand, who was let into the small office just off the West Wing reception room by one of Woods’s junior advisors. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It’s hard to get a window sometimes. And midnight chats is where it’s at.’
Parker smoothed down his gray hair, sat down and moved his chair forward.
‘I don’t mean to be flippant, but I’m sure you haven’t brought me here to chat about your schedule, or even about the planning strategy of our campaign. Though I must say, Mr. President, I’m certainly curious. Night meetings at the White House have the flavor of a TV drama, don’t you think?’
Parker’s manner made Woods uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn’t know, classic movies are more my thing… But you’re right, I asked you in because I needed you to help me out on a couple of points.’
Parker shrugged. A supercilious smile spread across his face. ‘Shoot.’
‘Simon Ballard. Does the name mean anything to you?’
Parker’s response came quickly, didn’t disrupt his smile. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Totally.’
‘You see, I actually know different. And that’s where I start to have the problem. I know you’re lying to me.’
Parker sniffed. ‘Then, Mr. President, you know more than me. But then I’m guessing that’s why you’re president and I’m not.’
Woods had been trying to keep his anger under control. Failed. Slammed his fist on the desk. ‘I know exactly what’s been going on at the Lemon water plant.’
Parker pushed back his chair. Stood up. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here. But I don’t appreciate you accusing me of some unspecified thing that’s been going on.’
‘Why don’t we cut the crap?
‘Yours or mine?’
‘Don’t push me.’
Parker snorted his derision. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe my reference to a TV drama is more fitting than I’d thought. Now, if you’ve quite finished? It’s late, and I’m up early tomorrow.’
If he’d been anyone else, anywhere else, John Woods knew he wouldn’t have hesitated in punching Parker in the face. But as it was, he was the president of the United States of America, and so he took a calming breath. ‘All that bull about caring? About conflict-free minerals. About the kids. About the atrocities. And all along you were playing a part in it… You son of a bitch, how could you? Why tell me you care?’
Parker pointed, his hand shaking. ‘The thing is, Mr. President, I do care. I care very much. I’ve put a lot of investment into that country. I wasn’t lying when I said my mines are conflict free. I’ve got no militia abusing and torturing kids, raping women. I’ve got men who are paid well. Who earn a decent living and can provide for their families. I have given men their dignity back. And I call that caring. I call that helping the people, don’t you?’
Dangerously close, Woods took a step towards Parker. ‘The only person you’ve helped is yourself.’
‘This here, what you’re doing right now, is madness. I don’t know what the hell you’re accusing me of but you’re way off line. And you’re wrong, I haven’t just helped myself. I provide ethical products. Not ones with blood on them. The American people should be thanking me. Because nothing will be on their conscience.’
‘Your products have more blood on them than the militia do.’
Parker raised his voice. ‘Bullshit. Don’t you understand? Without me, the people in that area of the DRC have nothing. They struggle to even provide for their own children, and that’s not right. Think about that. Not being able to feed your own children. How must that feel? And then because of their cultural beliefs, when they look to find reasons why there’s so much suffering, often it’s the innocent who get the blame. The young. But I’m stopping that happening because people have jobs and money. They’re not afraid to go to work in the morning. That’s because of me. Me! Those people have a chance of a better life because of me and my vision. Not you. Not the rest of the goddamn world. But me! You’ve allowed companies to go into that country and take what they like without putting anything back in. So I’d say, Mr. President, you should be looking at yourself and those companies and asking them the questions.’
Woods slammed down his fists on the table before sweeping the decanter of water onto the floor, and with rage and wrath and fury he said, ‘Stop playing your goddamn games Parker, I know what you did. So stop the pretence. You bastard, you took their land away.’
‘I haven’t taken anything away. My understanding is they signed it over of their own free will. It was just an exchange for a better life.’
‘A better life? You piece of scum. Just get out. Get out!’
With matching anger, Parker walked towards the door. ‘It’s a shame you’re such a fool. You could’ve got what you wanted, you could’ve got your reforms, but instead you’ve just thrown all that away. Thrown the welfare of the people of America away. I would say it’s you who’s got blood on their hands, not me.’
Woods went to grab Parker but pulled himself back. Kicked a chair instead. ‘I will bring you down. You hear me? No question. I will bring you down.’
119
‘Just take your time, it’s fine, and if it’s too difficult to talk right now, that’s okay. We can come back.’ Cooper sat on the mattress next to Emmanuel, whose whole body was wrapped in stained bandages concealing his deep and painful burns. The smell was putrid. Sweet and sickly. Rotting flesh an
d wounds on his face which Cooper suspected would never heal.
Emmanuel’s eyes were shrouded in a thick bloody gauze, covering the hideous injuries which Bemba had inflicted.
His voice rasped.
His breathing faltered.
‘Je n’ai plus beaucoup de temps monsieur. I haven’t much time left in this life, I want to tell you my story in case I am without my voice in the land of the dead.’
Cooper was worried. He gave a glance to Father O’Malley to say as much.
‘Go ahead, Emmanuel… Thomas, this is something he needs to do. It’ll give him peace.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
The priest nodded. ‘I am… Go on, Emmanuel, Thomas and Rosedale are listening…’
There was a long pause. Then Emmanuel began to talk.
‘I worked for Bemba. At first I thought it was a good job. A job which would enable me to feed my family. The only other way to get work and money was to join the rebels, which I didn’t want to do. So I joined Bemba, though I didn’t trust him.’
‘Did he ever tell you about his past life?’ asked Cooper. ‘Does the name Simon Ballard mean anything to you?’
‘No, he never said anything.’
‘What work did you do for Bemba?’
‘I was Bemba’s sight. He took away his own eyes, believing that by doing so he’d be blessed with more power. So he needed a person he could trust to see for him.’
Cooper said, ‘When you say took away his eyes, what do you mean, Emmanuel?’
‘He’d gouged them out himself, just as he gouged out my eyes. The thing about it, monsieur, was part of him did truly believe he’d be able to see the spirits more clearly without the sight of the living, but the other part was driven on by power and greed. He used his beliefs and his own nature for wickedness.’
Cooper glanced at Rosedale, who looked as shocked as he felt. He’d thought the man had been injured in the conflicts somehow. But self-mutilation? Hell, it’d never even crossed his mind.
‘And Bemba caused all your injuries?’
‘Yes, but it certainly wasn’t just me he hurt. As I continued to work for him the things I saw him do to people… I couldn’t be a part of it. He enjoyed the violence and the cruelty. It gave him pleasure to hurt people. I kept quiet for a long time. I was frightened for the safety of my family. But eventually, even though I was scared, I started to ask questions. I saw how he was destroying the community I loved. Making the people fear themselves, believing they’d been cursed with Kindoki…’
Emmanuel stopped. Tried to catch his breath, exhausted by the conversation.
Rosedale said, ‘Are you sure you want to go on? You can stop, we know a fair bit ourselves already.’
Desperation took over Emmanuel’s voice. ‘Laissez-moi finir s’il vous plaît.’
Cooper touched his hand. ‘Okay, but just take your time.’
‘In this country we have a strong belief in the spirits. We are guided by them, but what Bemba did was make people believe they were in disfavor, that they’d been cursed. Communities began to turn on each other, terrified their neighbor was filled with the spirit of the possessed. Parents threw out their children, accusing them of witchcraft as people became sick with his illness.’
‘What do you mean by his illness?’
‘Bemba was making people sick, but then he’d make them well again… the ones he chose to.’
‘How did he make them better?’
‘He would give them some medicine, but pretend it was the spirits vesting him with the power of healing. When I was sick, when I had the illness, I knew he would not give me the medicine, and no Nganga would come near me. Everything was done through Bemba.’
Rosedale, listening intently, said, ‘Nganga? I don’t know what that is, Emmanuel.’
‘Traditional healers, good people.’
‘Tell me more about this illness, Emmanuel,’ said Cooper.
‘By making people ill and then promising to rid them of the Kindoki he was able to take away their land. They had nothing to give apart from that, and they believed the only way for the spirits to bless them with good health once more was to do what Papa Bemba said the spirits were asking for.’
Cooper probed. ‘What else do you know about the land?’
‘Bemba got the people to sign some documents just before or after the exchange, so the land wouldn’t be legally theirs anymore. Then Bemba gave the land to the people he was working for, in exchange for power and money. I tried to tell the people what Bemba was doing. People I had worked with and lived amongst. But no-one believed me, they thought I was possessed with evil to talk in such a way. And when I got ill, it confirmed their fears.’
‘How did you get rid of your illness?’
Father O’Malley answered. ‘The orphanage has very limited supplies of antibiotics and medicine, enough only for a few children a year. But when Emmanuel came here to the refugee camp, his injuries were so bad I gave him the antibiotics we had at the orphanage to stop his burns becoming infected, which as you see they aren’t. But it also got rid of the illness.’
Cooper nodded, remembering what Eddie had said about simple antibiotics.
Emmanuel continued. ‘When Bemba found out I was sick, he came to my house and made an exchange with the spirits for the healing of my soul. But it was all a show for the community, because he knew what the truth was and why I’d got ill. They locked me in my house for three weeks without food – something which is often done to starve the spirits out, though of course I knew it wasn’t the spirits who’d done it to me. After three weeks they came back and I thought that was all Bemba was going to do to me, but…’ Distraught, Emmanuel stopped.
Father O’Malley carried on in his place. ‘Bemba did a deliverance. He tortured Emmanuel, I think probably to show what happened to people that questioned his authenticity. But that was also mixed in with Bemba’s belief that Emmanuel was possessed. And of course he wanted to silence him.’
‘How did he get here, Father?’ asked Rosedale.
‘I knew what was happening, I’d heard Bemba was going to do a deliverance, but there was nothing I could do on my own to help Emmanuel. As you know yourself there’s nothing around here in the way of law and order. The only thing I could do therefore was wait and pray. Once the deliverance was over and everyone had gone, I went to the hut during the night, hoping he would be still alive, and I carried him out. I didn’t know if it was too late, he was in such a bad way, and I didn’t think he’d last till morning. But the good Lord was clearly looking over him. For the first few days, I had him back at the orphanage trying to give him whatever basic medical assistance I could, but I didn’t think it was safe, so I moved him here. It isn’t perfect but here in the refugee camp he’s just another person amongst hundreds of others.’
‘Monsieur…’
Cooper leant towards Emmanuel. ‘Yes?’
‘There was a man called Dr. Foster, do you know him?’
Cooper sounded surprised. ‘Yeah. Well, I know of him.’
Even though Emmanuel’s voice was weak, Cooper could still hear the sadness in it.
‘He was a good man, he tried to help, but he promised he’d come back. He told me he was going to get some tests done so I waited for him, but he never returned. I think he forgot us.’
‘Emmanuel, I’m sure Dr. Foster would’ve come back to you if he could, but he died over a month ago. I believe he was killed.’
‘C’est vrai? …C’est tragique.’
‘It is tragic and he didn’t let you down, not in the slightest. He was doing everything he could to help, and that’s part of the reason why I’m here now. Because of what he was trying to uncover. How did you get to know Foster?’
‘He came from America, looking at the mines, but he also came to the village to ask questions about the land. But nobody would talk to him. I heard him speak to Bemba and from what he was asking, I could tell he didn’t believe what he was being told. So I went to find hi
m, and spoke of what I knew.’
Rosedale said, ‘That was a big risk,’
‘C’est vrai. But what else could I do? By this point I was desperate. I had nowhere to turn and knew something was going to happen to me, so I was willing to risk anything.’
‘And he helped you?’
‘He listened to what I had to say about the land and about the illness. I told him where it came from.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘The water treatment plant; they call it the place of the undead.’
Cooper thought about what Zola had said. ‘Is that why you took Dr. Foster there? You went with him, didn’t you, as well as once on your own.’
‘I was trying to find out what happened there. The first time, as you say, I went on my own, and the second time with Dr. Foster, but we used different names. I was too scared to use my own, even going there was a risk. But we didn’t find out anything. You see, during the whole time I worked with Bemba, I was never allowed to go there. But it’s where they take the truck.’
‘The truck?’
‘Yes, Bemba’s men take people there in the truck.’
Cooper was puzzled. He said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘They pick up people. Anyone. Men, women, even children, and drive them there. But no-one ever sees them again.’
Cooper turned to Father O’Malley. ‘Do you know anything about this?’
‘I know about the truck driving round picking people up. That’s why I was looking in it, I often do if I see it. Just in case I can rescue some poor soul. The truck often comes to this refugee camp, because it’s the perfect place to take people from. Nobody misses them, nobody cares, Thomas, and there are no authorities to stop it.’
‘Have you any idea why?’
‘I wish I did. Maybe it’s to make people forcibly join a militia group. That happens a lot, especially the children. They’re often made to become child soldiers. Perhaps they’re making them work in the mines. I don’t know, and the worst thing is, there’s nothing I can do. I just don’t know where to turn.’