by David Nees
As the day grew old, they passed an abandoned village. The men stopped. Mputu asked the tracker if they should not camp there.
The man shook his head. His eyes held a hint of fear in them. Mputu could detect it even though the soldier tried to cover it up.
“Evil spirits here. The people were haunted by ancestors. They didn’t honor them properly and were attacked. They fled and left the village. No one wants to meet these angry spirits at night when they come out.”
He pointed ahead. “We will go quickly. We will get beyond the territory of these spirits and leave them undisturbed. We will then make camp.”
Mputu didn’t argue. He understood spirit ancestors. They protected him. A sorcerer had given him protection—a powerful fetish that he kept in his pocket all the time.
Another hour of fast walking brought them to a small clearing. A large Ficus tree had fallen and left an opening that the other plants had not fully covered in their competition for sunlight. The tracker selected two men to go find some food. They took their rifles and disappeared into the bush. The rest went to work on the underbrush and hacked it away, enlarging the clearing. Then they started setting up tents.
A fire was started and, after a half hour, the men who had left, whistled from the bush and came into the clearing.
“Koko, koko,” they called out, using the general greeting in the bush which loosely translated into, “Hello, anyone home? I’m coming inside.”
Pots were set to boiling. The hunters dropped two monkeys and a duiker on the ground. Other men immediately set out to clean the game. The meat was cut up and thrown into pots along with seasoning to make a meat stew. Manioc was heated to go along with the meal.
“Tomorrow we reach the miners?” Mputu asked his tracker.
The man nodded. “Before the sun sets.”
A two-day trek brought Mputu and his men to the western-most area of the mining. Here the miners were pushing up against the virgin forest. There was a hillside that had been recently exposed. When they arrived, Mputu and the men went around the extensive area. They moved as an armed and dangerous band. Any other armed men would risk their lives to challenge Mputu’s men who carried not only Kalashnikovs, but 9 mm machine guns like the Vityaz-SN, along with some RPG-7 rocket launchers.
After a circuit around the mining site, Mputu went to the compound that had been set up for him and used by his guards while he was away. He sat in a chair in front of a large tent. One of his men handed him a beer. A line of miners began to form. They were representatives of the many mining groups and were waiting to present their issues to him. Mputu was the village chief here, the big man. He would dispense justice.
His guards brought up one man without waiting in line. They dragged him unwillingly forward, between two large men. Mputu looked up at his soldiers.
“He has been talking about rebellion. He wants the others to reject your protection. He says they can protect themselves.”
Mputu looked at the man who was now looking more terrified than rebellious.
“Is this what you think?” Mputu asked.
The man looked down at his feet and didn’t answer.
“Speak! You could speak well enough before I arrived. Speak now and tell me what you think.”
“We are not threatened,” the man began hesitantly, “yet you charge a large fee to protect us. You also take over more and more mines. Soon everyone will be working for you and we’ll have little for ourselves.”
Mputu looked at the man for a long moment.
“So, you can speak. And you have much to say. What you don’t know is that my men being here, my protection for you, is what keeps everyone away.”
The men standing in line began to circle around, moving closer to hear what was being said. Mputu raised his voice. He would make this a moment for teaching the crowd.
“There is a larger danger that threatens you.” He now spoke loudly, as much to the crowd as to the man standing before him.
He raised his arm and swept it over his head behind him, towards the forest.
“You are starting to work this hillside. It is full of the rock you seek. It is rich. You push into the forest to find the ore. What you don’t know is that the spirits of the forest don’t like what you do. They are angry.”
He now was looking at the crowd. He thumped his chest. “I come from the forest. Me, my men, we know the forest. We know the spirits. We have protection from the forest, and a great sorcerer protects us from the anger of the forest. I”, he thumped his chest again, “put you under my protection. I”, he thumped his chest a third time, “am the reason you are not carried away in the night, or driven mad by bad dreams.”
Turning back to the man, he spoke in a low, threatening. “Do you want me to take you into the forest and leave you to the spirits? Do you want to deal with them? They will take you and your spirit will never find rest. It will wander around forever, looking for its home.” He pointed his finger at him. “Do you want me to do that?”
The man shook his head violently.
“Look at me,” Mputu said in a loud voice.
The man looked up. His eyes now wide with fear.
“Do you want that? Speak!”
“No bwana,” he replied in Swahili.
“Yet you want to talk about not needing my protection, about replacing me.”
The man hung his head again, not speaking.
“Take him away. His mine is forfeited…to me. Send him back to his ancestors. He tells lies and puts the whole camp in danger.”
Mputu’s men dragged the man around behind the tent. A shot rang out. The crowd was still.
Mputu looked over them. “I have powerful protection from a great sorcerer. It gives me power against the spirits that want to harm you. If you stay under my protection, you are safe. If you stray, you are like a lost goat that the leopard finds in the night and takes away, never to be seen again.”
He waved his arm again to the hillside behind him. “I have pushed back the spirits so you can work this hillside and bring out its wealth. You are safe under my protection. The government cannot protect you, the FARDC can’t protect you, the ADF can’t protect you. Only I can.”
His men began to cheer. The accolade went through the group of miners until everyone was cheering this big man who, while brutal, kept the evil spirits away.
Chapter 17
___________________________________
T he next day after breakfast at the hotel, Dan and the crew went out in the Toyota. Santu directed them to the offices of the Beautiful Earth Resources. It was along the Avenue de la Paix, about six blocks from the lake.
“This is convenient,” Roland said. “Not far from our hotel.”
“It helps,” Dan said. He turned to Santu. “We need to find the man who runs the operation. His name is Zhang Jian. We’ll try to figure out what his schedule is so we can find a way to reach him.”
“Why don’t you just make an appointment?”
“I don’t think he’d see us,” Dan replied. “We have to find a way to talk to him even if he doesn’t want to.”
Santu gave Dan a strange look.
“He’s our competition. We do things in an unorthodox way. We want to convince him it’s better to work with us than to fight with us.”
“What you can do next, Santu,” Dan said, “is to find out if anyone commutes regularly to Goma by airplane or helicopter. We’re thinking Mr. Zhang might just do that.”
“You don’t think he lives in town?”
“That’s something I want you to find out. If he doesn’t, which I suspect, he has to come in every day. We’ll watch to see if he drives to the office, but you need to find out if anyone flies in regularly.”
They watched for an hour and then Dan had the group split up.
“Roland, you and Santu see what you can find out about Zhang. Santu, be discrete. We don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary.”
“I can start with our Ministry of
the Interior. They should know something about Mr. Zhang. I’ll pretend that I want to interview him.”
“What will they think of Roland?”
“Roland can wait outside while I do the undercover work. He’s the wrong size and color.” He gave Roland a wink.
“What are you going to do?” Roland asked.
“Marcus and I will go to the airport and see what we can find out. We’ll get info on flights, maybe talk to some pilots. They may know what’s going on.”
Dan and Marcus left Roland and Santu and drove out to the airport. It was small, with a run-down lobby and ticket counter. Outside, along the ramps, were hulks of planes that had died and had been left in place. Some had been scavenged for parts, the rest stood waiting.
The two noticed a small collection of helicopters parked on a pad to one side. There were six of them; far more than one would expect for such a small airport. The airport had around five to six in and out flights per day. The outbound ones all left before noon. The six thousand-foot runway had been shortened by the lava flow that ran through the airport on its way to the lake. Much of the length had not been reclaimed since the lava had hardened.
Dan and Marcus got out and went inside the terminal. At the ticket counter, Dan inquired about helicopter flights in French.
“We want to view the area from above. My company wants to rent a helicopter for one, maybe two days. Can you direct me to the person who can take us up?
The man behind the counter said he could make the arrangements for a small fee. Everything could be done through him.
“We want to talk to the pilot. It is important to discuss the arrangements with him. This is not like a tourist flight.”
The man looked doubtful and was on the verge of protesting.
“We can pay you a finder’s fee for directing us to a pilot,” Marcus said.
The man paused and looked at Marcus. “How much?”
“How much do you want?” Marcus replied.
“Two hundred euros,” he said.
Marcus thought for a moment. The man probably made two hundred euros a week at this job. Certainly no more.
“How long will it take you?” Marcus asked. “We would like to talk to someone today.”
“Five minutes.”
“I’ll pay you one hundred for five minutes of work. Half of what you probably make per week.”
The man shook his head. “Too little.”
“We can find the pilot ourselves if we have to.”
“I can’t let you just walk around. One fifty,” the man said.
“One hundred twenty-five,” Marcus said. He took a wad of cash out of his pocket and started counting out the bills. When he finished, he slapped them on the counter and left his hand on top.
“Okay,” the man said. “One twenty-five.”
He reached for the bills. Marcus pulled his hand back along with the money. He counted out sixty Euros and handed them to the man.
“Half now, half when we meet the pilot.”
The man glowered at him, but reached out and took the bills. He stuffed them into his pocket and stepped out from behind his counter. They were fortunate that there was no line of people waiting.
“Follow me,” he said and strode off to a side door.
They went through the door and then into another room. Inside were plastic-covered lounge chairs, a soda machine and a coffee machine. In one corner was a TV tuned to a news channel.
“Pilot’s lounge,” Dan muttered as they went into the room.
The ticket counter clerk walked over to a tall white man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He had on an officer-type shirt with epaulets with a logo that said, “Goma Sightseeing”.
“These men want to hire you for a copter flight around the area. I’m not sure what they want, but they will tell you.” He turned to Dan and Marcus, “This is Adrian. He runs the Goma Sightseeing flying service.”
Marcus nodded and handed the man the remaining money.
“I’m Adrian, as Manu said. What can I do for you?”
He had a South African accent.
“I work for a mining company. They sent me here to look at the possibilities of doing business in Goma.”
“Good luck with that, mate,” the pilot said. “Lot of those types around. Lots of them come to town, thinking they’ll get rich, but they never get to first base.”
“Well, they want me to try. And it’s not my money I’m spending.”
“So, enjoy the adventure, that it?”
Dan smiled.
“You want an aerial tour of the mines? They’re up north, about a hundred clicks from here. We can do that in half a day. Cost you a thousand dollars, US.”
“US dollars?”
“You sound like a yank. I expect you want to pay in dollars. If you want to give me a thousand Euros, I won’t object.”
“I bet not,” Marcus said.
“Can we sit down?” Dan asked.
“Sure, sure. Sorry about my manners.” Adrian led them to three chairs that they could pull into a circle. There was no one else in the room at the moment.
“First of all, I need to better understand the terrain. Who’s doing mining deals in Goma.”
Adrian shrugged. “I’m just a pilot. I can take you up to see what’s going on, maybe even land somewhere for an additional fee. But I don’t have my ear on all the rumors and stories about who’s doing deals.”
“I noticed a lot of helicopters parked outside…for such a small airport. I assume one of them is yours.”
“That’s right. If you’re thinking I have competition, you have to ask yourself why I’d direct you to them.” There’re two others that do sightseeing flights, but none of them will fly north to the mining area. Too many rebels. They’re worried about getting shot at. They’ll be glad to fly you to Virunga Park to view gorillas, or to fly south over the lake and its islands. I’m the only fool who’ll fly you north. That’s why it’s a thousand dollars. You never know what might happen.”
“And the other three choppers?” Marcus asked.
“Private.”
“Who owns them?” Dan asked.
Adrian turned to him with an appraising look on his face.
“Executives,” he said.
“Mining executives, I guess since that’s the only game in town,” Dan said.
“Or smugglers,” Marcus said.
“Or ore brokers, diamond brokers, gold brokers,” Adrian said. “You got a whole industry built around what those poor bastards dig out of the ground. Even my business relies on the mining.”
“So, you specialize in mining executives?” Marcus asked.
“I specialize in making money. Mining execs, tourists, honeymooners, whatever comes along and whatever can pay the fee.”
Dan stood up. “Okay. A thousand bucks. We have to do some more planning and think how to best use you, since the fee is so high.”
“It’s a dangerous flight.”
“I understand the reason,” Dan replied.
“And you’re spending your company’s money,” Adrian said.
They stood up and shook hands.
“I didn’t get your names,” Adrian said.
“We’ll be in touch,” Dan replied, and he and Marcus turned to go.
Chapter 18
___________________________________
B ack at the hotel, the four men re-connected in their room. The sun was going down.
“Santu,” Dan said. “Please go back to Il Rasentino and get us some pizzas. That seems to be their specialty.”
“Best in the city, I’m told,” Santu said.
“He took some money from Dan and left.
“What did you find?” Dan asked Marcus as he opened a beer.
“Santu did an impressive job. I think he’s enjoying this undercover stuff. It seems like harmless fun to him…for now. He went in pretending to be from a media company in Kinshasa that wants to do a special on mining and sell it to the local TV stati
on in the capital.
“The receptionist was not very helpful at first—”
“You went in with him?” Dan asked.
“Yeah. I didn’t want him in there alone. It’s his first spy op. He needed backup.” Roland grinned. “I acted like the technical man, the one who runs the cameras. Remember, that’s the role I played in Chechnya.”
“Only you didn’t get a chance to actually play it,” Marcus said.
“So, I get to try it out in Goma.”
“Get on with the story,” Dan said.
“Anyway, Santu continued to sweet talk the young lady, quite good looking, I must say. He promised that we wanted to do a positive piece about the Chinese helping to develop the area. That was what the public wanted to hear back in Kinshasa. He really played up being the big-town operator. I think he impressed her with the fact that he was an important media guy in the big city.”
He got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Kinshasa must seem pretty grand to anyone out here.” He took a swig. “She finally gave us some info. Seems like Zhang comes in two to three days a week. When he does, he sleeps in the offices. He’s got a room set up for that.”
“That means he lives outside of town,” Marcus said.
“Your mind is like a steel trap,” Roland said.
Marcus gave him the finger.
“Go on,” Dan said.
“So, I risked speaking up and said that I thought it might be dangerous to live in the country and drive to town each week. The receptionist agreed. She said that Zhang flew in by helicopter. She even said she’d been up in it a couple of times. Once she and the other employees went out to Zhang’s place in the country. He had a special party for them. It’s an old coffee plantation, which he’s restoring. It impressed her, you could see that.”
Roland took another long pull of his beer.
“Santu, the crafty bastard, got her phone number before we left.”
“You know where this plantation is?” Dan asked.
Roland shook his head. “Could be any direction but south, that’s the lake. She didn’t know, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to quiz her too closely. We left with the promise to make an appointment when our camera gear arrives.”