Death in the Congo: Book 5 in the Dan Stone series

by David Nees

The liquid in the cup was a milky white. It had a dangerous look to it. Thoughts of the runs flashed through Dan’s mind. The two men took a sip. Dan put the cup down with a surprised expression on his face.

  “It’s sweet,” he said in French.

  The old man smiled.

  “With a little tang or kick,” Marcus said.

  The man’s smile broadened. “Not what you expect.”

  “No,” Dan said. “But why are we here? How did you locate me?” He knew who this man was. His insistence on talking to him, the intensity in his look. He was a Watcher.

  He had never expected to find them in Africa, especially in the more remote parts.

  “You know the answer…we watch, we listen, we have dreams. We have learned to use our skills.”

  “But here? Such an out of the way place?”

  “We push against the dark, even here, though it is greater and stronger. There are powerful sorcerers here. Men who can lay waste to you and your family. We try to protect against them when they use their power to do evil.”

  “You can help with the mission?”

  “Not with your first task. You must do that by yourself. But we see other challenges ahead. Things are not simple for you. There are surprises, only not so sweet as the surprise of the palm wine.”

  “But you know about other parts of the mission? You know what they are?”

  The old man shook his head. I don’t know about the other parts of your mission. I only know what I see. And I am old and uneducated.”

  He took another long swallow and drained his cup. He straightened up in his chair and seemed to grow by inches. His face grew fierce and his age seemed to fade.

  “You,” he pointed to Dan, “will have to deal with Bakasa. Do not leave before setting him straight.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Use his own fears against him.”

  Dan thought for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

  “We are a country full of magic. Some of it good, much of it bad. Even modern men like Bakasa…or your fixer, feel this. They can’t leave it behind even if they would like to.”

  He poured himself another cup of the wine and nodded to the men to drink up.

  “But there is more. The woman, of the other man with you, she is in danger. You must go to help her. You save her and make another evil go away.”

  “What’s happened to her?” Dan asked.

  The man now seemed to shrink back down to the old, frail vendor who called out to them in the street.

  He stared for a moment at Dan as if deciding what to say. Finally, he stood up.

  “Mputu.”

  He waved them to the door and turned to disappear into a back room.

  Chapter 28

  ___________________________________

  T he bright light caused both men to squint and put on their sunglasses when they emerged from the dark hut.

  “Who was that?” Marcus asked.

  “You just met a Watcher.”

  “What the fuck? These are the ones who have helped you?”

  Dan didn’t answer.

  “Seems like a crazy old man to me.”

  “Yet he knows, doesn’t he?”

  Dan turned to look at Marcus.

  “He may seem like a crazy old man, but he knows who we are, why we’re here, about Roland and Yvette.” Dan stabbed a finger in Marcus’ chest. “He knows. He’s not a crazy old man.”

  He started walking at a rapid pace back towards the hotel.

  “Call Roland. Have him call Yvette. Something’s up. The Watcher knows something is wrong and we have to act.”

  A half hour later they were all back at their room.

  “I can’t raise her,” Roland said. She may be in the bush. The headquarters of the park has a hot spot for cell calls. But I don’t think that works very far from headquarters.”

  Dan had explained what he had learned from the old Watcher. Roland now paced back and forth in the room. Marcus and Dan were sitting, thinking about their next move, and Santu sat with his eyes wide. Dan could see he didn’t fully understand what had taken place that afternoon.

  “Santu,” Dan said. “You have sorcerers here in Africa. People who practice witchcraft.”

  “Yes, but it is only the uneducated who do that.”

  “Well, we met a sorcerer today. A good sorcerer. They exist, don’t they?”

  Santu nodded. His manner hesitant.

  “I call them Watchers. They see the forces of light and dark, good and evil. They’ve helped me in the past and are helping me now. One of them said to me that Yvette is in trouble and we have to save her.”

  Dan leaned forward and fixed Santu with his stare. He knew his own eyes were now almost aglow with intensity. He felt his energy bore into Santu, pinning him to his chair, not letting him look away.

  “Are you with us?”

  Santu looked as if he wanted to turn away, but kept staring back into Dan’s eyes. Finally, he nodded. “I’m with you.”

  “Good. You will have a part to play. You are a son of Africa, even though you are a Kinshasa city man. A hustler of tourists and businessmen. You will be challenged and have to dig back to your roots, but you will and you will help.”

  Suddenly, Roland exploded.

  “Holy fuck!”

  He had his phone in his hand. The others looked up at him.

  “It’s a text message from Yvette. They’ve been captured by some armed men. They’re being marched through the forest.”

  “How can she be communicating?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re at some camp and they have an antenna. She had the sense to use the phone before they collected them.”

  His pacing increased. “Christ, I hope they don’t find she sent a message. That’ll piss them off for sure.”

  “Grab your gear,” Dan said. “We’re going to Maiko Forest headquarters. Santu, you navigate and you’ll help me talk to whoever is left there.”

  “Don’t you think the army will be there? They’ll be trying to get them back.”

  “Or the UN? You said they were ineffectual, and the army was corrupt. “Roland’s voice was full of anger. “I don’t put much hope in them. We’re the fucking wrecking crew and we’re going into action.”

  The men quickly packed their personal gear and headed to the door. In the lobby, Dan paid for another week and said to hold the room. They would be back from a side trip in a day or two.

  Once in the car, Santu took out the map while Dan started west on the N2. At Sake they took the same road north that they used on their trip to Zhang’s plantation. Dan drove at breakneck speed, ignoring the abuse he was heaping on the Toyota, which did its best to stand up to the pace he was setting. He slowed only for the sharpest, deepest potholes but flew down the less rough sections and through the villages, scattering people from the road in a panic as they roared by with the horn sounding. Roland kept urging him on to go faster.

  It took a full three hours to arrive at Walikale where they turned onto the N3, which was another dirt road, but in marginally better shape. From there, they headed generally west again for another two hours to the town of Donga located on the Oso River, a tributary of the upper Congo. This was at the southern tip of the forest and headquarters for the small staff.

  “I’m getting a signal on my cell phone, way out here in the boonies,” Marcus said.

  “These villages along the roads, even the small ones, have cell towers powered by generators. There may be no electricity in the village, but they’ll have cell phones working,” Santu said. “It’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “Helpful for us as well,” Dan said.

  When they arrived in Donga, Santu asked locals who directed them to a modest concrete block building that served as the park’s headquarters.

  “Let me go in,” Dan said, much to Roland’s frustrations. “Santu and I.”

  They entered the building and Santu went up to a young Congolese man sitting at a desk in the m
ain room. There were other office rooms leading off from the one they entered and a narrow hallway heading to the rear of the building.

  “We want to see the man in charge,” Dan said in French.

  The person at the desk looked at him in surprise.

  “The man in charge,” Santu repeated in Swahili.

  “He is busy right now.”

  “We know,” Dan said. “We are here because of the kidnapping.”

  Now the man looked shocked.

  “Wait here,” he said, standing up and going to the door behind him.

  Dan and Santu waited. They could hear voices inside. After a minute, the man came out.

  “He is very busy. Leave your name and how you know about this problem. He will get in touch with you.”

  Dan looked at him for a moment and then started past him. The young man grabbed his arm. Dan spun around and immediately twisted his arm loose and at the same time yanked it up behind his back.

  “You are to sit down. We don’t have time to wait.” He looked over at Santu. “Get the other two in here.”

  When Marcus and Roland entered, Dan shoved the man into his chair.

  “You sit there and behave. These men will not hurt you. Don’t try to use the phone. Don’t do anything stupid. Comprenez-vous?

  He nodded, and Dan entered the office with Santu behind him.

  “You can’t barge in here,” the man said, standing up. He was heavyset, older, with a lined face. He had an olive-green shirt and pants on with a badge sewn on the shirt that said “Maiko National Park”.

  “Sit down. We’re here to help,” Dan said. His voice indicated it would be unwise to disobey. “What is your name?”

  “Martin Tambwe” The man returned to his chair. “What do you want?”

  “We know about the kidnapping. Yvette sent us a text message.”

  The man looked confused.

  “We are friends of hers. We are also skilled at rescuing people. Now, you are going to help us do that.”

  “I have contacted the army. They are sending some men out to help.”

  “They will not be as helpful as we are.”

  “But…who are you? Why do you want to go into the forest? You don’t know your way around.”

  “It’s enough to say we are friends and we have skills in this area. You will tell me where they were headed and find us a guide. We will do the rest.”

  “I’m the supervisor. The forest is very large and trackless. Even I don’t know it that well. You will not find them, even if you know where they were headed. They will be hidden. Somewhere you will never find. The men who did this are rebels who live in the forest. They know it better than you.”

  “Show me where they entered, where they were going. I don’t have time to debate this with you.” Dan pointed to the large map on the wall.

  The supervisor got up and went to the map. He put his finger on the place where the team entered the forest. It was upriver about thirty miles.

  “They were going to hike to the north and east. We are mapping the gorilla groups in this area,” his hand traced a large circle where the park border bulged to the east.

  “That is where the conflict with the miners comes?” Dan asked.

  The supervisor nodded.

  Dan thought for a moment.

  “I’m going to need a boat, a fast one, to take us upriver. I will also need a tracker.”

  “You have any pygmies?” Santu asked.

  Dan turned to look at him in surprise.

  The supervisor didn’t react in surprise, however. He just nodded his head.

  “I have some that work for me.”

  “We will pay them,” Santu said.

  “Money doesn’t mean much to them,” the supervisor answered.

  “We have cigarettes, medicines, bandages, salves.”

  “That will work, but they may not want to go into the woods with a white man, chasing some white people held by rebels.”

  “But they do what you order, no?”

  The man nodded his head slowly.

  “And you can tell them,” Santu continued, “we have a powerful white man with us. He knows powerful sorcerers. Your pygmies don’t like the rebels, do they?”

  “Non.” The supervisor shook his head.

  “I imagine not, since they probably enslave them, rape their girls and women or sell them into slavery. You will tell your trackers that we will bring destruction to those who do harm to their people, since they have done harm to ours.”

  “Where are they,” Dan asked.

  The supervisor pointed to the rear of the building. “They stay in a compound out back when they are in the town.”

  “Go get them. Santu, go with him.”

  Chapter 29

  ___________________________________

  A half hour later, the supervisor came back with Santu and three diminutive but wiry men. They were dressed in ragged pants, loose shirts and bare feet.

  “It took some convincing, but I got them to come.” Santu said. He was smiling, his voice full of satisfaction. “They are from the Twa tribe. I’m not completely familiar with their dialect, but we have enough words in common, I could talk to them. I know a version of Mbuti spoken by the Kango.”

  Santu pulled one of the men forward. “This is Muko. He’s the head tracker.”

  The man stood next to Santu, his head not reaching the larger man’s shoulder. His face was thin with a nose thinner than was typical among the Bantu. He wore a button shirt with short sleeves and breast pockets. The shirt came down to his thighs and a pair of ragged pants poked out from underneath the shirt tails.

  “I told them you have special powers. I used that story you told about the old man, the Watcher. Now they wonder what white spirit god you represent. The one who kills them and their animals and cuts down their trees, or the one who helps heal them. I convinced them that you had the special healing medicines.”

  He was speaking English, which the supervisor could barely follow and which he knew the pygmy men could not understand.

  “We will have to take the medicines with us. If we get taken to a pygmy village, they will expect you to use them. To not do so would be a grave insult as an honored guest and cause them much shame.”

  “Good job. You’re living up to my faith in you.”

  “Good work, Little Buddy,” Roland said. “We’re going to get Yvette back.”

  Dan turned to the supervisor. “Now I need a fast boat.”

  “That will cost you more than cigarettes and bandages, the supervisor said.”

  “Is there such a boat?”

  “There are some long dugouts with large motors. They take people and goods up and down the river. We must go to the river to see who is there.”

  “Are the trackers ready? They don’t have shoes on.” Dan said.

  “They get their spears and they’re ready. They don’t need to pack like you do. And they have shoes, but they are too precious to take into the jungle.”

  The men left by the back door and within minutes returned with six-foot long shafts and small satchels slung over one shoulder. The poles had darkened tips that were ground into a point.

  The now-larger group headed out of the building. Dan and the others unloaded their weapons and supplies and started to carry them with their backpacks.

  “Stop,” the supervisor said.

  Dan turned to him.

  “These men are to carry your packs when they aren’t tracking. It is not proper for the bosses to carry the loads.”

  Everyone looked at him with questioning eyes.

  “Okay,” Dan said. “We don’t have time to argue.” He turned to the others. “Give them your personal packs. I don’t want anyone carrying the weapons but us.”

  With the loads distributed according to proper custom, they set out for the riverfront. The small men hoisted the large personal packs and headed off at a brisk walk with the others following behind.

  When they got to the water, the
re were a few dugouts pulled up on the mud bank with engines of various sizes and vintages attached to the sterns.

  The supervisor set off to a nearby shack to find the boatmen. Ten minutes later he returned with a sour looking, skinny man who eyed them suspiciously.

  “This is Elombe. He took the party up the river. He will take you to where he dropped them off. He wants two hundred U.S. dollars. I think it is an exorbitant price.” The supervisor spoke in English. “He doesn’t speak English and is better in Swahili than French.”

  “Tell him I will pay his price. But he has to come back to where he drops us off in a week. If he doesn’t do that, I will find him and kill him.”

  The supervisor spoke to the boatman in Swahili and, after a minute of back and forth, turned to Dan.

  “He agrees. I left out the threat. He might have run away from the job. Instead, I told him you would give him a reward if he does well.”

  “Bien.”

  “I also think you should show your gratitude for my help and for not making you wait for the army.”

  The supervisor smiled with no hint of embarrassment.

  Dan pulled two one hundred-dollar bills out of his pack and handed it to the supervisor. “Don’t tell the army we were here. I’m not sure you, or we, can trust them. We can do the job ourselves.”

  The man nodded. “Safe travel,” he said and turned to go back to his office.

  Elombe said something in the pygmy language and the three trackers loaded the packs in the boat. Everyone climbed in; Marcus and Roland had to be especially careful to not tip the long, narrow craft. The motor was a fifty horsepower Yamaha of unknown age. After pushing out into the stream, the man pulled the starter cord twice, and the motor came to life. He swung the bow upstream and opened the throttle.

  The craft started accelerating and soon they were pushing upstream at what Dan estimated to be about fifteen knots. The men sat on their backpacks. The pygmies sat in the bottom of the boat and, using gourds, bailed the water that came splashing in. Kingfishers flew along the edges of the river, disturbed from their observation perches by the passing boat with its noisy engine. Elombe followed some unknown path, moving from the center of the river to one side or the other, as the changing depth must have dictated.