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

by David Nees

  “How long do you think this will take?” shouted Roland.

  “Two, three hours,” Dan shouted back.

  “Hope my hearing holds out.”

  “It’s going to be almost dark when we get to the drop point,” Santu said.

  “We’ll follow what the trackers say. If they want to start out, we’ll go with them,” Dan replied.

  “They will want to start in the morning. The night is for the spirits.”

  Chapter 30

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  T he drop-off point was a small village at the edge of the river. It consisted of a few dirt “streets” with wood and wattle shacks arranged along it. Most had thatched roofs with a few made of metal. There was a “main” dirt road and behind it were the side streets with more shacks along them. Many dugouts were pulled up on the mud bank indicating that fishing was a major occupation.

  The men unloaded the baggage on the bank. The boatman got ready to leave. Dan gave Santu one hundred U.S. dollars.

  “Give this to Elombe and remind him of his responsibility to check on us once a week. He’ll get the rest of the money when we return.”

  A heated discussion ensued, with the boatman seeming to protest emphatically about having to wait for the rest of his pay. Roland went over to glare down at the man while Santu forcefully repeated Dan’s instructions.

  “Tell him I will come to visit him personally, in the night, if he doesn’t do as we tell him. We will pay him when we return.”

  Faced with such opposition, the boatman gave in and jumped into his dugout. He started the motor and, with a last angry glance, roared off.

  “We didn’t make a friend there,” Dan said.

  “He will come back. He wants the rest of his money. I told him that you had to do what you promise. It is part of how you keep your power, so he can believe what you say.”

  “You’re weaving quite a story around me,” Dan said.

  “It can help in these backward parts of our country.”

  He instructed the three trackers to pick up the bags and set up a camp area at the edge of the village.

  “You keep your bag with the medicines. We’ll need that. This is a small village. There is no government representation here, only a village chief. We must go check in with him and bring him some gifts.”

  “Does he apply the law?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes. In small matters. If it is a big matter, a killing or a rape, the one who did it is taken to Donga, where we came from. There is a jail and court there.”

  They walked up to the main dirt road. Santu led them to the first vendor they found. In Swahili he asked where to find the chief and told the man they wanted to pay their respects and get his blessing for their excursion.

  The man told Santu to wait and ran off down the street. A long five minutes passed before he came back with two large men. They had machetes slung on belts at their waist. They spoke to Santu and then motioned for him and Dan to follow them.

  “Marcus and Roland must stay here. And you must not bring your weapons with you,” Santu said to Dan.

  The men led Dan and Santu down the street. Dan brought his pack with the cigarettes and medicine with him.

  They stopped outside of a large hut. It was better built than the surrounding ones. The two men went inside. Two minutes later they came back out with their machetes in hand. One of them carried a chair. After he set it down, an old man emerged from the door and slowly walked to the chair and sat down. Another man, all skin and bones, came out and stood next to him. The two machete wielders stood on each side of the pair.

  Santu leaned his head towards Dan. “The man sitting is the village chief. To sit is to indicate one’s stature. The skinny one next to him is his speaker. I will talk with him, not directly to the chief.”

  “The chief’s speaker leaned down to the chief. They spoke in a low tone, a dialect Santu could not fully understand. The speaker straightened up.

  “Who are you and why are you here?” the speaker asked in Swahili.

  Dan decided Santu was his own version of a speaker. He turned to him, “Tell him, we are following the white people who came through his village a few days ago. They are in trouble and we are going to help them.”

  Santu repeated what Dan had said. There was a discussion between the two men.

  “Are you from the government?” the speaker asked.

  “No,” Dan said. “We are friends of those in trouble.”

  Santu relayed his answer to the speaker, who relayed it to the chief.

  “This is cumbersome,” Dan said.

  “But necessary to maintain propriety—proper dignity.”

  Santu then spoke up. “We have gifts to offer the chief. We seek his blessing on our mission. We hope he will ask the spirits of the forest to allow us safe passage.”

  Dan looked at him sharply. “What did you say?”

  Santu explained and said, “I want to take advantage of the moment. Before the chief makes a decision. Once made, it will be hard to change. If he doesn’t bless our mission, we’ll have to leave right away and there is no boat. So, we’ll be left with the forest and no protection.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “I believe in all the help we can get. That included his blessing and, with that, confidence that none of his young men will follow to try to kill us.”

  “They would do that?”

  Santu shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  The chief’s speaker went back into the shack and came out with a blanket and laid it on the ground in front of the chief. He nodded to Santu.

  “Get out a carton of cigarettes and two bottles of malaria pills.”

  Dan put his pack on the ground and dug out what Santu requested. He gave it to Santu, who stepped forward and put it on the ground.

  “The pills are for the fever…the malaria. Only give them to those who have fever,” Santu said to the speaker.

  Without responding, the man stepped forward and picked up the gifts and took them back into the shack. He returned with a gourd and four cups. After handing them, first to the chief, then to Santu and Dan, he poured some palm wine into each cup.

  The chief took a drink from his cup and poured the rest on the ground. His speaker did the same.

  “Do what they just did,” Santu said.

  Now the chief spoke to his speaker rapidly. The man listened with his head nodding occasionally.

  When the chief finished, the speaker said, “Chief Ondekani gives you his blessing. He has drunk with you and offered his wine to the forest spirits. You will not be harmed. His spirit will protect you.

  Santu expressed his appreciation. Without another word, the chief got out of his chair and walked back into the hut. His speaker followed along with the two machete-carrying guards who carried the chair and blanket with them.

  “That was odd,” Dan said as they walked back to the river.

  “Your gifts made the difference. He doesn’t want any trouble, either from the rebels or from the government. He fears you may bring such trouble. He gives his blessing, because he wants you to leave right away. The longer you stay, the more uncomfortable everyone in the village will be.”

  “He also took our gifts.”

  “He would take them with or without giving you his blessing. We offered them to him and he considers they are what is due him.”

  “Maybe our weapons helped convince him. His men saw them at the river.”

  “Maybe. He is not stupid. He thinks it’s better for you to get his blessing and get the hell out of his village. He can always say we just passed through without stopping.”

  “Well, we can go now, that’s good.”

  The trackers had set up a camp at the end of one of the side lanes, near where the forest began. Marcus and Roland had set up the tents while the three trackers had fashioned a hut out of saplings and large leaves.

  Chapter 31

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  A fter getting dropped off up the river from Donga, Yvette and her six fellow workers were tramping through the forest. She was always excited to be back outside, on a trek, even though she still felt a twinge of sadness at her parting with Roland. She knew her effect on him; he had not tried to hide it. While she was less open in her feelings, she had to admit to herself that this man was different from all the others she had come into contact with. There was something genuine about him. A bit raw, or perhaps unfinished, but solid. He lived life on the front lines. She could see that. She also lived life that way, a bit on the edge. That helped to establish a connection between them.

  Still, where could it lead? She wondered to herself. Roland, she knew, was not going to process that kind of thinking. She had to be more practical. Maybe another fling with him, if he was still around in a week when they would be back in Donga. She’d try to contact him and see what might happen. She promised herself that, at least, as a compromise to her practicality.

  She was lost in thought when the guide at the front of the column stopped and let out a short wooo sound, like an owl. Everyone stopped and stood still. They heard some rustling from both sides and men stood up, emerging as if out of nowhere. They were all dressed in green military gear, all armed with their weapons pointed at the group.

  A man stepped forward and spoke in French. He ordered them to sit down and take off their packs. Two other men collected the backpacks. They were inspected by two others. While they were busy, Yvette slipped her phone pocket and, with it held to one side of her leg, out of sight. She thumbed up Roland’s number and sent him a brief text. Captured by rebels in the forest.

  It was all she had time to communicate, and then another man was going down the line to collect cell phones. It had been a weak signal. They were pretty far from Donga, which was the only cell tower in the area. Another mile and there would be no signal. Still, the men grabbed all the phones and dumped them into a bag.

  The leader of Yvette’s excursion asked what the men were doing. No one gave him an answer. The leader told them to stand up and shoulder their now-inspected packs. They started marching further into the forest. To what fate, Yvette could only guess.

  Marie whispered to her, “Do you think they are going to hurt us?”

  “Non. They will ransom us.” She tried to sound sure of herself, but with the reputation of the rebels, there was a distinct possibility of getting raped. Yvette tried to project a calm. She knew Marie would begin to panic and break down if things got too fearful.

  “Soyez silencieux,” came the stern command to be quiet.

  *

  Dan, Marcus, Roland, and Santu zipped themselves up in their tents after eating MREs. The tents offered some precious relief from the onslaught of mosquitos that advanced upon them when the sun went down. The pygmies seemed unfazed, although they swiped at them as well.

  Dan lay back in the tent and listened to the night sounds. There was a distinct hoot of an owl.

  “Owls?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah, I read about them, Dan said. “Hell, there're hundreds of bird species here in DROC. Some have been barely studied. They’ve got what we would call songbirds, kingfishers, you saw them today on the water, kites and hawks, and some large eagles that prey on monkeys.”

  “Damn. Wouldn’t want to run into one of those.”

  Dan awoke just before the dawn crept above the trees. The river was dark and smooth, but he could see the eddies and swirls evidencing the strong current pulling underneath the surface. It showed both a power and a danger. A rooster started crowing, making his claim to the morning. Soon other birds in the forest started calling out, all staking out their territory in a never-ending competition for position and mating dominance.

  Even without being able to recognize all the calls, Dan enjoyed the mix of sounds. Marcus roused himself next to Dan. He sat up.

  “Nature’s alarm clock,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  “Better than some I’ve been roused by.”

  He put his boots on and unzipped the screen. Once outside, he stretched and went to gather some firewood in order to restart the fire from last night. He got a pot of water heating and dumped in some coffee. After a quick boil, he poured it through a cloth filter into four cups. The trackers were up and watched him with interest. Dan lifted the pot as an offer to them. They brought over their own metal cups and accepted what he poured out.

  Santu came out to join them with Roland not far behind. After a quick breakfast of coffee, water, and some power bars, they struck camp. The trackers were already scouting along the edge of the village. People started coming from their huts. Some girls came down to the river to collect water in plastic containers. A few of them stripped off their tops and lifted their skirts to wash up. Roland and Marcus stared at the scene. It was like something from a National Geographic documentary.

  “Don’t stare,” Santu admonished. “It’s not polite.”

  Just then they heard a loud wooo, hooo. One of the trackers came running back to the camp. He spoke to Santu in a mix of his pygmy dialect and Swahili.

  “We have to go. They have found where the group entered the forest.”

  The men shouldered their packs. When they reached the trackers, Santu assigned the personal packs to the three men. Dan, Marcus, and Roland slung their Kalashnikovs over their chests and shouldered the other packs. Santu wasn’t issued a weapon and just carried a pack, which he shared with Roland.

  “Don’t get that wet,” Roland said. “I want some dry clothes when we’re done for the day.”

  The trackers fashioned straps to the packs out of thin lianas. The straps went around their foreheads, which allowed them to carry the large packs without them bumping on their butts or legs.

  Once ready, the trackers set off with short, quick steps into the forest. The men followed and with some effort, managed to keep them in sight. There was no time to look around as they hiked; Dan and the others had to focus their attention on the ground in front of them to avoid being tripped up by vines, or buttress roots that sometimes extended across their path of travel.

  Dan could discern little evidence of a trail, or of anyone having come past. Sometimes the trackers would stop, seeming to have lost the trail. They fanned out in two directions moving back and forth, eyes darting around, examining the brush for the subtle signs of someone passing: broken branches, a displaced vine, a scuff of a boot on a root, or an overturned stick on the ground. Invariably, after a few minutes, there was an abrupt whoop sound which meant they had found the trail. Everyone would go to the sound and after a short discussion among themselves, the trackers would head out again. They seemed to take no notice of the men they were leading, assuming they would follow and keep up.

  It went that way for the rest of the day. The occasional patch of sunlight, a clearing or a downed tree producing a break in the canopy, showed the passing of time. Under the canopy of trees, the forest remained in an unchanging twilight. When the day neared an end, the trackers stopped and immediately started cutting a clearing for camp. Dan and the others joined in.

  Two of the pygmies took their spears and disappeared into the brush.

  “Where are they going?” Marcus asked.

  Santu passed the question to the lead tracker, Muko, who was building a hut of bent saplings similar to the one the previous night. A short conversation ensued.

  Santu came back to the group. “Hunting,” he said.

  “Saves on rations if they are successful,” Dan said.

  A half hour later, Muko completed the hut. He laced the roof with large leaves that looked similar to banana leaves. Dan had gotten a fire going and was heating some water in a pot. There was a short weehoo call and the two hunters emerged with a small pig tied to a pole.

  They immediately set out to clean it, taking the entrails into the brush to discard. Then they put the pig into the pot to boil in its skin.

  “Boiled pig?” Roland asked.

 
“They’ll skin it after boiling. It comes off easier,” Santu said.

  “But boiling?”

  “Safer. It cooks but doesn’t attract as much interest from the other animals of the forest. One has to be careful of the leopard. Hopefully, he will find the entrails and be satisfied.”

  “And if not?”

  “He may come looking for more…from us.”

  Santu looked at the tents with their lightweight fabric and the hut with its interlaced saplings, giving it some structural strength.

  “Their stick hut may provide more protection than our tents.”

  Roland eyed the situation. “You may be right, Little Buddy. I’m sleeping with my CZ tonight.”

  Chapter 32

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  T he rebels marched their captives through the jungle at a quick pace. When night came, they built a large fire and sat around it. There were ten rebels, six NGO staff and two guides. Water was shared, but there was no food to eat. Reichard, the NGO group’s leader, attempted to talk with the rebel who seemed in command.

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked.

  There was no answer.

  “The entire world knows we are here in the forest. We’re trying to protect the forest and the animals. We are trying to do good things. Why did you capture us?”

  Again, no answer.

  Yvette caught his eye and shook her head. She was concerned that Reichard might make the leader angry and bring more trouble. They were headed somewhere. Nothing would happen to them until they arrived at their destination. Then? She didn’t know…and she didn’t want to know.

  The group was told to lie on the ground. They huddled together for comfort and warmth while the rebel soldiers covered themselves with their ground cloths. Two men stayed awake to guard the prisoners. Yvette assumed they would rotate throughout the night. Although she wondered why they bothered. If they escaped and didn’t have their guides, none of the NGO staff could find their way back to the village to get picked up. They were stuck in a trackless forest of over four thousand square miles; nearly the size of Connecticut.