by David Nees
Santu directed Dan towards the lake. “Let’s go along the Avenue de la Paix. You will see the where the rich people live. Dan turned towards the lake and they drove the winding and paved road. All they could see were neat walls topped with razor wire or barbed wire, sturdy steel gates blocking the driveways, and the roofs of large houses sticking up above the security walls.
“You can see them best from the lake. They are beautiful mansions. Mobutu had one. It looks like an Italian villa.”
Along the way they came upon the occasional sliver of open ground filled with shacks and hand-built fishing boats hauled up on the mud bank.
“Looks like they missed a few lots when the rich developed the waterfront,” Roland said.
“They’ll get moved if someone pays enough money,” Santu said.
“Okay, enough sightseeing. We need to find a hotel. A good base of operations.”
“You have choices,” Santu said. “You can get a hotel catering to tourists, to the NGO employees, to smugglers, and to rebels.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Marcus asked.
“The hotels. They’re run by people often aligned to such groups. That makes it comfortable for them to stay there. All the smugglers feel safer with other smugglers around them. They can talk shop over drinks in the lounge.”
“I’ll be damned,” Marcus said.
“Rwanda is only two miles east of here. The city doesn’t stop, it just has a different name across the border. So, this is a center for smuggling.”
“What do they smuggle?” Dan asked.
“Further north, the coltan ore. Here, diamonds, gold, ivory, goods from South Africa that aren’t sold to the UN military teams.”
“You got a regular wild west going on here.”
Santu thought for a moment, then grinned. “Ah, like your western movies? You Americans still love that time, don’t you?” He continued in a more thoughtful tone. “And the police are corrupt. They sometimes don’t get paid, so they have to, how do you say it, shake down people for money, even locals. Many are as afraid of the police as they are of the criminals—the robbers and rapists.”
Santu directed them to the Ihusu Hotel along the waterfront. “Get the two-room suite,” he said. It’s cheaper for all four of us to stay there and we can bring in food.”
“How do you know so much about Goma?” Roland asked. “You didn’t know we were coming here.”
“That is true, but I was here before with someone I helped, before the rebels invaded the city. I knew I had to learn as much as I could. I could see it was a beautiful place and would attract more people. More tourists, more businessmen, more work for a good fixer.”
“You are an enterprising guy, for sure…for a language major,” Roland said.
“One has to be enterprising in Africa, or one stays poor. Still, it’s hard to get ahead.”
After checking in, they set out to find a good restaurant.
“Since we’re spending big, let’s go to a qua place. Life will get harder soon. I can sense it,” Marcus said.
Dan gave him a sour look.
“Don’t. Jane won’t mind. She gets such a bargain with us anyway.”
“Is this Jane your boss?” Santu asked. “I’ve heard all of you mention her before.”
“Yeah. Security is a bit lax in this group,” Dan said. “Jane likes to remain…shall we say…incognito. She doesn’t like publicity.”
“Nor her boss,” Roland said.
“Shhh,” Dan said, putting a finger to his lips. “Santu doesn’t need to know all about the company to do his job.
“So, where do we eat?” Marcus asked. “I’m starving.”
“You can choose European, Italian, Indian, or Congolese.”
“Italian? Really?” Roland asked.
Santu nodded.
“Let’s do it. Imagine Italian food in Eastern Congo. Who would have thought?”
Dan shrugged. “Okay by me.”
It’s not far,” Santu said. We go around the major circle in the town, then up towards the airport. At the second circle you’ll see the gold monument to the chukudu.”
“What’s that?” Roland asked.
“Better you see it than I explain it. It is unique to Goma and the chukudu drivers are important for moving goods around the city.
Chapter 15
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I n the center of the circle was a larger-than-life model of a strange scooter done in a gold color.
“What the hell’s that?” Marcus asked.
“That’s a chukudu,” Santu said.
“I saw some of those as we drove into the city,” Roland exclaimed. They were loaded down with these huge sacks.”
“They move goods into and around the city. They’re made of wood. The plank connecting the two wheels is where they carry their load. It slopes up towards the front to give more clearance.”
“Made of wood?” Dan asked. “Wheels as well?”
“Wheels, steering post, handle bars. Most of them hammer rubber treads around the wood wheels. There’s only one brake, a wooden paddle the driver pushes against the rear wheel.”
“The one I saw looked halfway out of control.”
“They generally are. No suspension, wood wheels, not much in the way of brakes. They probably don’t steer well either. But they get the job done.”
“And going uphill?” Dan asked.
“They push. It is very hard work.”
They were soon at Il Rasentino. It was on a corner, next to Ets Tout Jeune, “The Young” gas station and just in front of Centre Culturel de Goma-Maison des Jeunes, the “Youth Center”. They parked on the street. Inside was a modest set of rooms. There were a variety of cheeses on display in glass cabinets, bread was arranged on pantry shelves, and many bottles of wine were displayed around the edges of the room. The main counter was made of pressed board with the top in varnished plywood. Two other rooms opened up from the first room to increase the seating area.
They settled down to a large, enjoyable meal starting with Medaglioni di Tonno or tuna medallions. The main courses were Scaloppini al Vino Blanco and Straccetti di Pollo Tantufati, strips of chicken with bacon. Dan ordered fried plantains and salads as side dishes. Roland ordered both entrees. They finished with fruit rolls, which seemed to be a house specialty. After two more bottles of wine, they left fully fed and wined.
“That was incredible,” Dan said as they walked to the car. “And amazingly inexpensive.”
“Best Italian I’ve ever had,” Marcus said.
“It was quite authentic,” Dan said.
Back at the hotel, Dan gave Santu two hundred dollars.
“The three of us have to do some planning. Confidential stuff. I want you to go out and enjoy yourself. Maybe check out some nightclubs we can go to. Get a feel for the town, how it’s changed from when you were here last. And while you’re out, buy some supplies. We’ll be camping out here for a day or two. Get food, water, soft drinks.”
“Secret stuff?” Santu fingered the US money. “Can I spend it all?”
“I expect you to. Just make sure you get the groceries and give me a good report on conditions in Goma.” Dan looked at his watch. “I won’t expect you back before midnight.”
“Don’t forget some beer. And find out where the girls hang out…the beauties,” Roland called to him as he left.
After Santu went out, Dan dug around in his pack and pulled out a bottle of Barrel Batch 021 Bourbon. Marcus raised an eyebrow and got up to grab three glasses. Dan put the bottle on the table.
“Looks expensive, Jane treated you?” Marcus asked as he sat back down.
“Yeah. She’s the bourbon expert. Each batch is different in taste, so once it’s gone, it’s gone. Grab a water bottle,” he said to Roland. “A splash of water releases the taste.”
“Are you a whiskey snob now?” Roland asked.
“I just try to treat an expensive bourbon with respect. This isn’t f
or slogging down to get a buzz. We have some planning, some thinking to do. This can help.”
“So, we sip, not toss, is that it?”
“Gosh, you’re a quick learner…for a Delta Force guy,” Dan said.
He was rewarded with a middle finger salute from Roland.
“While we’re planning, what do you want to do with Santu? How much do we let him in on?” Marcus asked.
“We have to set up our command here, so it’ll be hard to keep him completely in the dark,” Dan said.
“If he knows too much, he’ll be a loose thread. You won’t want to have to tie that up,” Marcus said.
“Agreed.”
“And I doubt Jane would like making him an addition to the team,” Roland said.
Dan poured the whiskey and added a splash of water to each glass. He raised his glass.
“To the mission. To success and a safe return.”
“The mission,” Marcus and Roland said, raising their glasses.
“Whoa, that’s nice,” Roland said as he put down his glass.
“Remember, sip and enjoy. It’s smooth enough to overdo it. You miss the enjoyment and get hammered.”
“Yassuh, boss,” Roland mimicked.
“Santu,” said Marcus.
“I’ve got a sense that we will need him before this mission is over,” Dan said. “It’s quite strong.”
“Your new psychic powers?” Marcus asked.
Dan nodded. “They’ve proven trustworthy.”
“From the shaman in Mexico on your previous mission?”
Dan nodded again. “And the Watchers confirm it.”
“Damned spooky if you ask me,” Roland said. He leaned over the table. “Look, if you’re wrong, someone has some dirty work to do. I don’t like putting my little buddy in the path of a bullet to his head.”
“It’ll be my problem if I’m wrong,” Dan replied.
“I don’t give a shit about it being your problem. It’ll be a bigger problem for Santu. That’s what I’m talking about.”
Dan held up his hand. “Stay calm. First, I’ll let Santu know only as much as he needs to know. I’ll be able to sense where and how we will have to use him. He’ll only have pieces of the picture.” He looked Roland in the eyes. “I won’t hurt him. He’ll be alive after we’re done. Unless he betrays us. You have my word.”
Roland nodded to Dan. Their eyes locked together. “All right. Good enough for me.”
“Okay.” Dan took out a map of the Eastern Congo and spread it out on the table. “First step is to find the general. We stake out the offices of Beautiful Earth Resources. He’s got to put in some time there. We’ll also have to find out where he lives.”
“One of those lakeside mansions?” Marcus asked.
“Possible,” Dan replied, “but I think he’ll be somewhere outside of town. If he’s trying to work with some of the rebels or warlords, he can’t be doing that in the mining offices, or in a home in the city. It would be safer outside of town.”
“Driving in from the country every day would be dangerous,” Marcus said. “Bandits, other rebel gangs, would pick up on an expensive convoy making regular trips. The risk of ambush would steadily grow.”
“That’s what we need to find out. Santu might be helpful here. There must be talk about a Chinese businessman renting or purchasing a villa somewhere around the city,” Dan said.
“Yeah. We can’t go in to the mining offices and say, ‘we want to talk to Zhang, do you know where he lives’?” Roland said as he took another sip. “Damn! That’s good whiskey.”
“If he’s living outside of town, he may fly in. It would be safer,” Marcus said.
“Helicopter?” Roland asked.
“Maybe,” Dan said.
“So, first we find the offices? Then we find where Zhang lives. What next?” Marcus asked.
“We know Zhang is working with a warlord, maybe more than one,” Dan said. “They control much of the artisanal mining and he wants to get that under his control.”
“We go to the mining areas?” Marcus asked.
“Field trip. We can use our connection with Global Resources as a reason to be out there.”
“I doubt any rebels running those mines would like us around,” Marcus said.
“Probably not. But with you two there as guards, we’ll prevent anyone from doing anything stupid. No one wants to get shot.”
“We go out with weapons and gear?”
Dan nodded. “Just like any self-respecting bodyguards in a frontier situation.”
“Now what about this corrupt interior minister you told me about?” Marcus asked.
“I’m thinking Santu can help with that. We just want to find him, and all Santu has to know is that we want to bribe him over to our side, instead of the Chinese side. Business as usual for the DRC…who’s the highest bidder?”
“That could work. All Santu would know is that we’re operating a bit unusual, but this is an unusual area. He could get worried about his personal exposure and risk,” Marcus said.
“Roland has built up a strong relationship with him. I think he actually likes Santu,” Dan said.
“I do.”
“So, you keep Santu calm. You can assure him we won’t compromise him and leave him exposed. He’ll be worried, if he’s thinking ahead, of what happens after we’re gone.”
“I can do that. It’ll be easy, because I won’t have to fake it.”
They continued to talk into the night. Finally, Dan wrapped things up.
“Santu will be back soon. Let’s put this all away. The first moves will be up to him, finding the mining company and any leads of where Zhang lives.”
Shortly after the map and notes were stuffed back into Dan’s pack, there was a knock on the door. Roland went to the door and opened it a crack. Santu stood outside with a collection of bags around him.
“What the hell took you so long? We’re starving.”
Santu gave Roland a shocked look.
“Just kidding. Get in here.” He opened the door wide and stepped back. Santu came in with the bags and Roland collected the rest from the hall.
Chapter 16
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M putu knew Zhang had his own interests at heart. He had admitted it. Zhang’s pitch was to convince Mputu he would make him wealthy while taking control over much of the resources Mputu had killed to acquire. Mputu would play his game, but he would enlarge his own control while doing so.
It was time to change out his mining guards. He gathered his men and headed through the forest to the mines. They were in a large, irregular area northwest of Goma, to the west of Lake Kivu and Lake Edward. The mining was encroaching on the eastern border of Maiko National Park, threatening the mountain gorilla groups that lived in the area.
Where the miners moved in, deforestation occurred. They cut down the massive trees to clear the area. Sometimes the lumber was hauled out and sold to timber brokers, sometimes not. The mining consisted of groups of miners, joined in loose organizations, digging holes into the ground, or digging away at a hillside.
They washed the dirt in sluices from water diverted from a nearby creek. The miners even panned to separate the heavy coltan ore from the dirt. The collected ore was put in large sacks. Like the gold-rush days in the US west, few miners got rich. They worked as a group and so shared the meager amount they received from the holes they dug with one other. Still the miners came, leaving their families for months at a time. They could earn twenty to fifty dollars a week which was far more than the ten to twenty dollars per week most Congolese make.
The same old scams as found in all mining camps were at work. Those supplying resources to the miners overcharged for their goods, leaving little left for the men to send back to their families. Soldiers and rebel groups also get involved. They often extracted payments for security or took ownership control over the small mining groups and their claims.
Mputu was ruthless, but clever. When he took
control, through intimidation or outright force, he would extend his control over the merchants who sold to his miners. He prohibited them from overcharging his miners much as they did the others, leaving Mputu’s men with a little more in their pockets. This tactic gained him grudging acceptance among the miners under his control.
Mputu and his men moved efficiently through the dense forest. It was considered a lowland forest, the higher elevations being to the east near the DRC and Rwanda/Uganda borders. Yet it was not the full wetland jungle found near the rivers that formed the Congo River basin. Birds called out as the men went past. They didn’t look up from their travel. The sounds didn’t indicate any alarm, so the calls became the background soundtrack of the forest.
Along the way, the lead tracker stopped and crouched down. Without a word, the line of men all halted and stood still. No one asked questions. Everyone understood if the lead guide stopped, it was for a good reason.
Soon they heard the sound, a low rumble like an organ playing its lowest notes. It seemed omni-directional, surrounding the column of men. Then came the snapping of branches. Ahead, Mputu could see trees shaking. He knew what it was. A herd of forest elephants. As they moved along, some monkeys, whose territory the elephants were passing through, started screaming at the intrusion.
The men waited, and the sound faded to one side. The guide stood up and started again without a word. He set a fast pace, taking small steps, not large strides, along the narrow path. His feet seemed to find their way around the prop roots and buttresses that could trip the careless. His face looked ahead, finding the distinct hints of the trail. In this environment, the trail quickly became overgrown and filled in. One had to look carefully to see evidence of its existence.
Mputu felt a sense of calm and security in the forest. How could anyone, especially city-born soldiers of the FARDC, ever find him in this great sanctuary? Here he was safe. He smiled. But his future was not here. His future lay in the mining, the wealth it would bring, and with the wealth, the weapons and influence.