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

by David Nees

  After speaking to almost a dozen people with no success, a short, stocky man approached the group.

  “You are asking about Bompaka?” The man spoke in Swahili.

  Santu nodded. “We want to speak with him. It is important.”

  “Who are you with? Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “We are not with anyone and “why” is for him to know.”

  “We are not with any authorities, as you can see,” Dan added in French.

  “He is not used to receiving strangers,” the man said.

  “We have money to pay him for his time,” Santu told him.

  “And we have money for anyone that can lead us to him,” Dan said.

  The man eyed the group warily. “You wait here. I will go talk to him.”

  Without another word he turned and walked down the street, turned into an alley and disappeared.

  “Should we follow?” Roland asked.

  Dan shook his head. “We’d get lost and he’d never get back to us. We wait and hope he does what he says. Money usually helps open doors.”

  The group waited for half an hour. They purchased coffee from a stall and sat on plastic chairs at the edge of the dirt street, watching the pedestrians go by while looking for the squat man who had gone to find their sorcerer.

  Finally, he appeared, walking down the street. The group stood up.

  “You can see him. It will cost you 100,000 Francs. My fee is 50,000 Francs.”

  Dan counted out the 100,000 and put that amount in his pocket. He counted out 50,000 and gave half to the man.

  “Half now and half when we get to Bompaka.”

  The man stared hard at Dan. “Follow me,” he said as he turned to go.

  They walked down the street and then turned left into a narrow alley. They made several twists and turns in a circuitous path through the shacks. Dan carefully monitored each turn. He didn’t expect their guide’s services to include leading them back out to any recognizable street.

  After ten minutes of walking in what seemed like circles, the man stopped in front of a shack. There was a dark, solid wooden door set into a concrete block wall. There were no windows facing the narrow alley. The tin roof was discolored with age and tarnish.

  “No women,” the man said.

  “We can’t leave her here in the alley,” Dan said.

  “No women,” the man repeated.

  “I’ll wait here,” Yvette said. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Roland, you wait with Yvette. The rest of us will go in,” Dan said.

  He held up the rest of the man’s money and their guide opened the door. Then he turned and walked off through the alleyway and out of sight.

  Dan noticed Santu breathing hard. His eyes were large with fright.

  “You okay?”

  “This is dangerous. I don’t want to be around men like this.”

  “I need you. He’ll probably only speak Swahili, so you have to interpret. Don’t worry, Marcus and I will be with you.”

  “What he can do, neither of you can protect me from.”

  Santu took a deep breath and the three went into the shack.

  Inside it was dark and it got even darker when Dan shut the door. They stood still while their eyes adjusted to the dim light. The floor was packed dirt. There was a rough, wooden table in the back corner. On it were two low candles, which helped a little to alleviate the gloom. As their eyes adjusted, they could make out a figure sitting behind the table with its body hunched over. The head was bent down. All they could see was the mass of dark, curly hair.

  Then the figure looked up. It was a man of indeterminate age. His nose was flat with wide nostrils. His eyes were deep set under strong brows and seemed to be lit with a red glow. He looked the three men over, moving his eyes from one to another. Then he spoke in a tribal language no one understood, directing his voice towards a back room. In response, an old woman came out carrying two chairs to add to the one across from the man. She looked almost too frail to handle the load. After placing the chairs, she turned and shuffled back into the inner room.

  The man held out a thin hand with long, sharp nails. He curled it into a fist and then with his index finger beckoned them to come to the table and sit. The three men sat down with Dan in the middle.

  The man spoke in his tribal language. Dan looked at Santu, who’s eyes were still wide with fear. Santu shook his head and said something to him in Swahili.

  The man grunted.

  “Why are you here? What do you seek?” he now asked in Swahili.

  Santu translated to Dan, who answered.

  “There is a man who has authority over the forests and the mining. He does not use it to protect the forest or the miners. We seek something to make him do his job.”

  The man didn’t respond. He studied Marcus, then he turned to Santu, who visibly shrank from his gaze. Then he looked at Dan.

  Their eyes met. Dan could see the darkness, thick and heavy behind the man. He met the man’s gaze with his own heightened power of perception. The man was ancient. Dan sensed he was kept alive by the dark powers he had learned to manipulate. He got a hint of the forces that combined in the sorcerer. Forces, he realized, that Bompaka didn’t fully understand, but had learned to manipulate to some degree.

  An awareness of the terrible price the sorcerer had paid over the years in working to harness this evil power welled up inside Dan. His life had been marked, twisted even, by working with these dark forces. They gave him authority and strength, while they ate away his humanity.

  Suddenly the connection was broken. The sorcerer turned to Santu. His eyes flashed with anger. He pointed a crooked finger at him. The nails looked like they could tear open Santu’s flesh.

  “You bring a shaman to me? Someone to try to challenge me? I will put a curse on you!”

  “No!” Santu wailed. He is not a shaman. He has some power, but he does not practice magic.”

  Bompaka turned back to Dan, his eyes still alight with anger. “You leave now. Wait outside with the woman and her man. I will not have you in my house.”

  He pointed towards the door as Santu translated.

  “Tell him I will wait. He can talk with you and Marcus. We will pay him for what we need.”

  He pulled the 100,000 Francs out of his pocket and handed them to Marcus. With a last glance at the sorcerer, he stood up and went out of the door.

  “What’s up?” Roland asked as Dan came outside.

  “Something weird,” Dan replied. “I could see into the sorcerer’s life somewhat. He sensed it and got angry. He made me leave, threatened to curse Santu.”

  “Poor fucker,” Roland said. “He’s freaked out already. Now to have the sorcerer threaten him. Probably his worst nightmare.”

  Chapter 54

  ___________________________________

  I am sorry, Mjomba,” Santu said. His voice was filled with dread.

  “I am not your uncle.”

  “I did not know he would offend you. I meant no harm.”

  The sorcerer looked at Santu. “Tell me what you want.”

  Santu took a deep breath as Marcus nodded to him.

  “There is a man in the city. He is in charge of protecting the forest, the trees, the animals. He is supposed to regulate the miners so they only mine where it is proper and so they get the money from the dirt they dig up.”

  He took a breath and continued.

  “But he doesn’t do his job. He takes bribes from warlords and from the Chinese who want to steal our resources. He lets them do what they want. He actually helps them.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Now the sorcerer’s eyes began to burn again. “You are wasting my time.”

  “Siyo, no. We want to obtain a fétiche, something that will make him do his job. Something that will scare him with a curse if he doesn’t do his job.”

  “You need something powerful for that.”

  “That is why we came to you, Mjomba, because we heard you we
re powerful.”

  Santu had begun to regain his confidence.

  “What is the man’s name?”

  Santu told him.

  “And who is this Chinese that he is involved with? Who are the warlords you talk about?”

  Santu told Bompaka about Zhang and Mputu. Him being the dominant warlord in the area.

  “I can do this. After he receives my fétiche, he may not be thanking god as his name indicates. But it will take time. You must come back tomorrow. It will cost you more, 500,000 francs.”

  When Santu translated to Marcus he replied. “Tell him we can pay him 200,000 now and the rest when we pick up the fetish.”

  Bompaka considered Marcus’s response. Finally, he nodded his head. “Vizuri, good.” He turned and said something in his tribal language, and a moment later the tiny old woman came out with three cups and a jug of palm wine. Bompaka poured the wine into the cups and raised his.

  “We drink to this arrangement. My fétiche will work. It will be powerful. If you do not come back, I will direct it to cause you much sickness and death. To you and your family. We are bound now by this agreement. You must return with the money and complete the deal we make. Fahamu, understand?”

  Santu nodded as he shivered. The men drank the sweet liquid and stood up. Santu almost bowed. Marcus laid the bills on the table and the men left.

  “Everything go well?” Dan asked when they were all outside.

  “Santu did great. He almost pissed himself, but he held it together and got what we needed.”

  “It will cost an extra 300,000 francs. We have to bring it when we come back tomorrow.”

  “300,000? You didn’t try to negotiate?” Roland asked.

  Santu turned to him. His fear had drained away and was now replaced by anger. “You don’t negotiate with a sorcerer. You are an uneducated man regarding our country. You think you know everything because you are educated in the west. But you don’t know what goes on in our lives here. You only see on the surface. Don’t offer suggestions where you are ignorant.”

  “Whoa, Little Buddy, ease up. I get it. The guy might be a little scary.”

  “More than a little,” Marcus said. “Something passed between him and Dan. I actually don’t want to know what it was, but something happened and I’m not so sure this is all bunk.”

  Yvette put a hand on Roland’s arm. “There are mysteries here that are hard for the western mind to grasp. You should respect that fact.”

  “All right. I know when I’m outgunned.” He turned to look down the alleyway. “Let’s get the hell out of here and, remember, we have to find our way back tomorrow.”

  That night they decided that Roland and Santu would go back. Yvette, for all her protestations, was told that she couldn’t come. Marcus and Dan were going to head out to the plantation for the next part in the mission.

  “It feels like we’ve gotten off track,” Dan said to Marcus as they sat around in the hotel room.

  “You said the trip could get complicated and it did.”

  “But in ways I didn’t anticipate, including what I have to do at the plantation.”

  Dan had brought both Marcus and Roland up to speed on the changes to his mission. They all felt that they were on the edge of triggering WWIII.

  “Jane and Henry are confident that this will forestall a hot war. I hope to hell they’re right.”

  “Amen, brother,” Marcus said.

  *

  After the group had left, Bompaka sat at the table. The old woman came out and brought him a plate of food. Manioc paste with some boiled fish along with a cup of the palm wine. She stood next to him while he ate and drank the wine. He didn’t speak, but seemed lost in thought. His deep-set eyes occasionally flashed with a red glow. Finally, the old woman patted his hunched shoulder and went into the back room. She left the jug of wine on the table.

  His thoughts turned to the Chinese man. He searched for him in his mind, trying to see him and how he fit into what the white men wanted. When he was satisfied that he knew who and where this man was, he turned to Mputu. The name was not unknown to him. He had lived through the rebellions and Mputu’s killings. They were still going on. His fétiche would have the effect of taking away some of Mputu’s power, which pleased the old sorcerer.

  But what of this man who could see him? He had not encountered that before, and it unnerved him. The man had power and he knew it, yet he seemed to not want to wield it. He had simply blocked Bompaka and then looked into him—deeply. He saw the price Bompaka had paid. It was something the sorcerer knew but didn’t like to dwell on. It was his payment for the deal he had made. This white man. He could see. Yet he didn’t judge, didn’t try to exploit it as a weakness. He just looked and saw and understood.

  *

  Dieu Merci Bakasa finally figured out a plan. It was imperfect but workable. He would go all-in with Zhang. The Chinese executive was his most immediate threat. Mputu was a secondary threat. Maybe more violent, but stuck in the bush with less access to Dieu. Zhang, on the other hand, could easily get to him.

  He had a friend in the government in Kinshasa. The assistant to the Deputy Minister of Mining and Forestry. He would call on him and ask him for protection from Mputu. The rebel warlord had few friends in Kinshasa. He had murdered many in Goma during the rebellions in the nineties.

  These moves would buy him time. Once he had received a payoff from Zhang, he would lobby to be sent back to Kinshasa. He would be safe with money put away. Dieu felt more under control. His ability to maneuver in a fluid situation had gotten him this far. He knew he could rely on it to help him through this crisis. For now, the plan was to work with Zhang and get some protection from Mputu.

  Chapter 55

  ___________________________________

  T he next Day Roland and Santu retraced their steps to the sorcerer’s house and knocked on the door. The little old woman pulled it open and stepped back to let them enter. Again, they had to stand and let their eyes adjust to the darkness.

  Chairs were set up at the table. Bompaka was seated in the same spot. He reached out and crooked his finger at the two men, directing them to come over and sit.

  “Who is this large man?” Bompaka asked. He spoke in Swahili.

  “I left the other man behind because this man wanted to meet such a powerful sorcerer.”

  Bompaka studied Roland for a long moment and turned back to Santu.

  “He looks like a powerful warrior. Does he want a fétiche to protect him in his battles?”

  Santu answered without translating for Roland.

  “He already has a dawa. It protects his body.”

  The sorcerer seemed to consider this. It was unusual to say something like that about a white.

  “And you? Do you need something to protect you? I see how fearful you are working with these whites. I can protect you from them harming you.”

  Now Santu shrank back. His eyes grew large with fear.

  “Sivo, sivo.”

  He couldn’t say more and didn’t want to try to explain the fear caused by Bompaka’s suggestion. All his training. All his education. He could feel it starting to crumble in the face of the old magic. That magic that he had left behind. It was now trying to insert itself into his life, trying to reclaim him. He had a strong sense that if he accepted a fetish, he would never be free of it, or the magic that could consume his thinking.

  The old sorcerer studied him as Santu tried to control his panic. Santu motioned for Roland to put out the money. Roland gently placed 300,000 francs on the table between themselves. Now the sorcerer looked at the money. He swooped his hand across the table and scooped it up. It disappeared into a pocket of his loose clothes.

  He then reached into a bag next to him and pulled out a carved figure. It stood about five inches high and looked like a body of a gorilla with a human face. The body was covered in real fur from an unknown animal. The face had wide eyes painted white with black irises. They stared at you as if in disbelief,
with a mouth that was wide open, like it was yelling at you. There was an opening in the torso, closed now with a plug. Nails were driven into the figure on the sides of the torso and the face.

  Santu shrank back and almost fell out of his chair. He tried to look away, but the fetish held his gaze.

  “I have driven the nails in to seal the promise…and the curse. I have put my magic in the abdomen and sealed it. If anyone takes it out their fingers will turn black and fall off, as will their hand and arm.”

  Santu was now breathing hard, almost whimpering.

  The promise is that the fétiche will protect this Dieu Merci Bakasa if he protects the forest and its trees and animals. And if he takes care of the miners. The curse is that he will watch his family grow sick and die in front of him. Then he will get sick and remain in pain for a long time before he dies, alone. His spirit will wander the forest he did not protect and be hounded by other spirits disturbed by his presence.”

  He shoved the fetish towards Santu who pushed back and fell to the ground when his chair tipped over. Roland reached out and took hold of the fetish. Both men got up and left the house. Santu almost ran to the door. They hurried to the car and drove off in silence.

  *

  Marcus and Dan had left before dawn that same morning. They drove the same route to the plantation as before. Marcus navigated two checkpoints by handing out fistfuls of Congolese francs and Dan holding his Kalashnikov upright in the seat. In the choice between money or a shootout, the money won.

  “I’ll go with you,” Marcus said as they drove. He wanted to give Dan all the help he could.

  “No. You go back and help the others. You can deal with Bakasa while I do this. It may take me a while to get back.”

  “I can wait down the road in Kimoho for you.”

  Dan shook his head. “There’ll be a sweep of the area. That will include any nearby towns or villages. You, a white man, hanging around, would be suspect. I’m guessing the general’s men would grab you right off the streets.”