Once Upon the Congo

by Chap Harper

  Zoe was most likely going to be a problem for Barbos as well. She was too perfect for the part—pretty, well dressed and hip. Before long, Lu, Gretchen, and Angel latched on to her and took her everywhere they went—photo safaris to take pictures of cheetahs, a trip to town for shopping, but mainly to the spas. Not only the spas at their resort, but any within reach of the private helicopter at their disposal. Zoe’s husband Roland either played pool with the men or went trap shooting and seemed fine that Zoe was having a good time.

  As they sat in a nail salon getting pedicures, Zoe shared with the group what had happened to her resort. She and Roland had built a large shed from the rubble and provided jobs for Haitians at ten dollars a day to rescue mattresses and furniture, to be stored in the shed. Anything that could be saved—such as lamps, toilets, mirrors, shower curtains—anything salvageable was brought to the shed. Serviceable lumber was stacked under tarps next to the shed, along with concrete blocks and bricks. Guards watched over the items twenty-four hours a day. Their earthquake insurance had a deductible of ten percent of the value of the resort, which was about one million US dollars. After that, insurance only covered less than half of their mortgage, paid directly to the bank. They would be required to make the monthly payments again, starting the first of the year. So far, the bank had not agreed to give them money to rebuild, and they had no desire to do business with anyone in Haiti.

  “Tell me about your parents, Zoe.” Lu said.

  “My father is a cardiologist who works between Port au Prince and Santo Domingo, and my mom owned a jewelry store in town that was destroyed by the quake. All the inventory was in a safe and survived. My dad’s clinic was flattened, but he can work in the hospital, which has been partly repaired.”

  “What is your dad’s name?” Gretchen said. She had told Zoe that she was a doctor in Santo Domingo.

  “Dr. Stefrey Brouard.”

  “I know your dad!” Gretchen blurted. “I have actually assisted him on a stent placement during my rotation. He is one hell of a doctor and a damn nice guy.”

  “Thank you Gretchen. He and mom helped us so much, I just couldn’t go back to them again, especially since I have a brother and sister who always have their hands out.”

  “What about Roland’s parents? And by the way, he looks like a French race car driver. One frigging hot catch for you,” Angel said. She couldn’t help but notice Zoe’s hunk of a husband.

  “Well, they have helped as well. Roland’s dad is an attorney and well placed in the government in the Department of Justice. His mom inherited some money from her dad so she doesn’t work. He has four brothers and three sisters, and most of them have kids. He is the baby of the family and at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak.”

  “We owe both families money, and I hate it.” Zoe’s eyes were filling with tears. “We were doing well, and with all the relief workers there we knew we could make our mortgage payments for a while. Long term, I just don’t know if it’s worth rebuilding,” she said.

  “Please, let’s talk about something fun. I don’t want to mess up your vacation. Did I tell you that Roland and I went on the night elephant ride? How cool was that? And yes, we did it too!” She managed to smile and wipe her wet eyes with a Kleenex.

  Zoe had no idea about the three girls’ background. She got a sense they had money, because of their use of a helicopter and some of the jewelry they wore. She had worked in her mother’s store and learned quickly. She guessed if the rose diamonds the girls wore were real, the combined value topped her mom’s entire inventory.

  What she didn’t know was Lu alone could probably write a check for downtown Port au Prince with her share of the royalties on the gold found in the D.R. Then there was the hundred million inheritance from her dad’s deceased wife in Boston. Gretchen and Angel also had equal shares from the DR gold. None of the ladies were worth less than a hundred million dollars. Actually, the value was much more, since everyone took shares in gold bullion, which had almost doubled in the last few years. The wheels were turning in their head, but nobody said a word.

  Lu decided to lighten the conversation. “Look, Zoe. Our guys are off on some macho lion hunt in another damn country—so what is the chance that you loan us Roland while they are gone? We will take turns and return him to you in good shape….tired but in good shape.”

  “Me first,” Angel said.

  “Hey, I’ve seen him look at you guys. He always wants us to sit next to you or have a drink with you. He would be all for it, but then I might not get him back. Do you have any frigging idea how hard it was to land that guy? Don’t make me go to that trouble again.” She laughed, but down in her gut, she was in agony about spying on these people she truly liked.

  Once their nails were dry, it was time for massages, but only after the four drank a nice white wine, which relaxed everyone. Zoe and Lu were the first to the massage room, where two tables were set up. Both therapists were native Africans who had been trained in South Africa. From the reports of other guests they were excellent. Zoe and Lu started face down in a heart shaped hole in the table, and the therapists worked first through the sheet, massaging lightly, and then moved the sheets down above the buttocks. They did nice long relaxing strokes with thin lavender scented oil.

  Zoe’s emotions affected by the wonderful massage, and the guilt raging through her body caused her to erupt in uncontrollable crying. The therapist stopped and asked if she was okay. Clients sometimes cry during the emotional release of a massage. This was not that kind of crying, but rather a gut wrenching bawling of the first order. Lu sat up on the side of her table, and called Zoe’s name. Zoe didn’t want to get up. Finally Lu went over, put her arm around her. Zoe sat up and started to apologize to Lu.

  “Lu, I’m so sorry. I’m an awful person. I can’t live with this anymore. Please forgive me,” she said, while she sat on the table, sobbing. Her tears fell on her olive skin and all the way down to her exposed breasts. Lu looked at her. Here was a gorgeous young woman in distress, and Lu had no clue why.

  “Roland and I were broke, working day and night for months, in what looked like an impossible situation. A friend alerted us to a newspaper ad from a private detective in need of a married couple for a few weeks. The requirement would be to go to Africa on a safari—all expenses paid, and cash—a lot of cash. The detective said it was all legal, and he just needed to know about possible investment opportunities that some people on the safari were looking into.” Lu’s jaw hung open. “I think all of you are great people, and I can’t do this anymore,” Zoe said. She got up and started putting her clothes on.

  “Who hired you, Zoe?” Lu asked sternly.

  “We never met him—just talked on the phone. He sent us the tickets and money by courier. But he told us his name was Barbos something—Vu or Vieux—I think. We didn’t investigate much because we wanted to get away so badly.”

  Lu walked out in the waiting room completely naked, and addressed the other women.

  “Girls, we got trouble! Let’s get our asses back to the lodge. Does anyone have a sat phone with them?”

  “I do,” Zoe said.

  Chapter 19

  Sony and Carol

  The expedition from Haiti arrived in Kisangani following a grueling journey from the capital, Kinshasa. They made good time—if three days could be considered good—for traveling almost a thousand miles. Kisangani was known as Stanleyville until the sixties, when Mobutu decided to rid the country of western influence. The airport was the assembly area, with some of the expedition flying out in helicopters and the main forces going overland.

  Trucks and Jeeps took the same general path that John and Vikki Cole took in 1966. Some of the roads were paved now, and a few new logging trails would allow them to get within fifteen to twenty miles of the island in the middle of the Aruwimi River.

  An overall expedition plan had been put together by Bruny Jean-Baptiste, who was in charge of the entire operation. Haiti had brought a few troops, th
e term used loosely, since Haiti no longer had an official army. Bruny’s personnel from Haiti consisted of ten mercenaries and himself, along with two personnel helicopters and one large supply helicopter, two trucks, and two Humvees, donated to Haiti by the U.S. Along for the ride for protection and to solidify the government’s interest in the mining concession were ten members of the DRC’s military. This particular concession had been extremely profitable for the Democratic Republic of the Congo in the last forty-four years. As far as anyone knew, the government had never inspected the mine, yet they received a huge check every month for mining royalties. An Ivory Coast bank mailed the monthly check based on diamonds being sold off at certain times of the year from the large collection brought in by John Cole. John and Vikki had also received checks for their twenty-five percent ownership.

  To represent the family, John and Vikki’s son, Michael Sony Cole, joined the expedition. He was in his early forties, and a mechanical engineer who worked at his dad’s oil company. His twin sisters, Jan and Zuka, wanted desperately to go, but everyone warned them about the dangers for women in this part of Africa. Kidnapping and rape occurred on a scale off the charts. Their brother, Sony, promised to fly them in later when the country settled down. No one expected that to happen until the next Ice Age. The twin girls were a few years younger and both had children.

  Sony was recently divorced and hadn’t done much dating. He wanted kids. His former wife couldn’t have any, and she had no desire to adopt. Neither had really messed around, but the flame just went out, and they thought they would be happier going their separate ways. Sony needed an adventure.

  The advance crew going by helicopter consisted of Sony, Chris, Mit, Modesto, and an assortment of geologists, mine engineers, military officers, a doctor, and a couple of cultural experts. Devil Man and Jackie would also go as security for the advance party. Each helicopter held six people and a lot of gear, but according to the logs kept by Vikki Cole, the dimensions of the enclosure would accommodate them.

  Bruny had contacted John and Vikki by phone and in person in Texas before taking on his expedition leader job. He found them in good health. John, in his seventies, and Vikki in her late sixties, were retired and enjoyed being grandparents. Several of the original expedition members had kept journals, but Vikki’s was by far the most precise. She gave Bruny a copy and added notes she thought might be helpful. Of course, her private notes referring to her relationship with John were removed. Since she had used the expedition as part of her requirements for her Master’s degree in geology, she had written an outstanding paper that later became her dissertation. Bruny had also read the dissertation. The final work was also shared with the expedition leader. Most of the other prominent members of the 1966 trip had died or had not been located. Jan, Marc, and Sony had all passed away. Michael “Sony” Cole was fortunate enough to have met the real Sony when he came to visit the Coles in Texas about twenty years ago. The Coles had paid for a reunion of the expedition at their place, including travel expenses for the survivors who were willing to come.

  John had taken the reins of Hanover Oil from Vikki’s dad, Mike. Now Sony was in line to do the same. He had prepared for this expedition as though he were a NASA official planning a trip to Mars. He knew the types of snakes indigenous to the area, along with a full inventory of wild life. In his mind, the biggest risk was not disease, snakes, elephants, poison arrows, or any piece of the landscape’s flora or fauna. Rather, the big peril awaiting them was rebel forces that had plagued the Congo for years. A downsized but still lethal remnant of Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army was reported to be moving between the Central African Republic, Uganda, Somalia, and occasionally into the Democratic Republic of the Congo. No, the peril was dozens of so called rebel factions—most of them without names.

  Sony may have planned his butt off for this trip, but he was not prepared for a young anthropologist who stood next to the large helicopter he was about to board.

  She extended her hand “Hi! I’m Carol Barbot.”

  Sony was in shock. Here stood a woman brushing back long blonde-streaked brown hair from her face—a runway model face. Beautiful white teeth glistened behind a smile wrapped with gorgeous full lips. She flashed lovely green eyes. He also noticed her dark olive complexion. As her soft feminine hand shook his, Sony sized up her body quickly and efficiently. All was in perfect harmony. Even her breasts were in motion while she and Sony shook hands. He had to act cool, since this most likely was the most beautiful woman he had ever touched, even in the form of a mere handshake.

  “Carol, very nice to meet you. I’m Michael Sony Cole. You can call me Sony,” he said, as calmly as possible for a man who hadn’t been laid in a year. Now he was holding the hand of a first degree sex goddess.

  “Did your parents name you after their television set?” She said. Her lips curled in a quirky smile.

  “After the clock-radio next to their bed. Seemed like the thing to do after conception,” Sony said with a straight face. He had been down the Sony name road too many times.

  Carol laughed out loud. She had met her match at smartass conversation. She might possibly have just met someone as handsome as she was beautiful. Sony was six foot three, slim, athletic, with a combination of his mother’s and dad’s good looks taken up a notch and capped off with a head of thick blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “Did they hire you to be our expedition comedian, or do you have a real job here?” she quipped.

  “My parents own part of the mining concession, and I’m not sure why I’m here. And you were sent here to keep our minds off of the perils of the jungle?” Sony said, a little sarcastically.

  “Absofuckinglutely! Once I strip down to bathe in the river, the pygmies will line the banks, and you guys just shoot them all,” she said, also with sarcasm.

  Sony laughed, and realized this woman was a lot of fun. “Just in case—since I would be lining the bank to watch as well—would you mind telling them not to shoot me?”

  “You’re golden, Sony. I will save you from pygmies and friendly fire every time.”

  “Carol, now really, tell me about yourself with the least amount of fabrication possible.”

  “You make things hard for me, Sony. I was thinking about liking you—but now it’s over.” She was clearly having fun with him. “I am a certified first class cultural anthropologist. With three degrees, for which I am also—like a doctor. Not a real doctor who would ask you to drop your drawers—not that I might not ask that of you sometime, but the Ph.D. kind where you don’t get to see people naked.”

  “So, Carol, we hired you for this expedition so that you can put tags on the toes of the natives we shoot? Or—maybe you are one of those bleeding hearts who will tell us not to shoot natives? I knew it! This expedition is not going to be any fun, and I want to go home.” Sony delved deeper into dark humor, knowing she would probably protect natives with her life.

  “Sony, any natives you shoot have to be cleaned and stuffed for our museum. So don’t think you are just going to leave them in the jungle. The first thing you learn at anthropologist school is to not waste a dead pygmy. Very important to conserve the bounty nature gives us.” She laughed at how far she had carried the dead pygmy humor.

  “Carol, I can’t wait any longer, since I’m beginning to think we could go on tour together. Are you married?” Sony realized all this banter could end quickly.

  “No. Not this week. And you?”

  “Not in the last year. Would you like to pretend we are married for the trip, and see if we would like it?”

  “Sony—the man named after a clock-radio, I take you as my phony-ass husband as long as we are in the jungle together. Once we hit pavement again –it may be over.”

  “Carol, I take these vows of marriage as just a stupid excuse to have sex together in the jungle, and will treat them and keep them, use them, for my own selfish satisfaction. So help me.”

  “I pronounce us jungle married, and you may kiss th
e bride,” Carol said, as she pulled Sony close to her and kissed him. Actually, it was a very good deep kiss. They kissed again, and Sony said, “I had a ring picked out, but didn’t know your size.”

  “Uh—I don’t know your size either. Maybe I should have waited to marry you until we had spent a little time together?”

  “Oh, no! You are stuck with whatever size I am. Jungle divorces are almost impossible to get. Pygmies hate divorces and usually kill those who come before them with that request,” Sony said.

  “Yes. I remember that from anthropology school. But as I recall the man is killed, and the chief takes the woman as a wife or… slave maybe.”

  “Carol, you pull these anthropological assessments right out of your ass don’t you?”

  “You’ll have to check later, sweetie, since it’s all yours in the jungle.”

  “I like being married to you, Carol. You are so abnormal,” Sony said.

  “Ah, yes, a most charming trait. You seem to possess abnormality at a deeper, psychological level—a level that someday may require medication.”

  “Carol, I’ll loan you my meds anytime.”

  While these two married each other and worked on a comedy routine, the jet carrying Mit, Chris and Modesto landed at the airport. The expedition would be headed out soon.

  Chapter 20

  Barbos and Kony

  Barbos had wedged himself into a desperate position. In order to follow the group from the Dominican Republic, he was going to have to cut a deal with one of the most evil men on Planet Earth or risk going into the Democratic Republic of the Congo without documentation. The DRC lacks a sense of humor and has a military that isn’t much different from Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army. After he considered shooting himself, Barbos made the call.