by David Nees
“Arrête! Open your door, or I shoot.” Roland put the CZ near the gap in the window.
“Don’t hurt me.”
“You won’t get hurt if you open the door, now!”
Bakasa clicked the door handle and Roland yanked it open. He put his CZ away and jammed the pillow case over Bakasa’s head. Without another word, as the man started to cry out, he pulled him out of the car, dragged him to the rental, and threw him in the backseat.
Roland piled in next to Bakasa and Santu drove off. The event took place in less than ninety seconds. Roland kept Bakasa shoved down in the seat. Santu scanned the rearview mirror for any signs they had been seen. Nothing moved on the street. There was only Bakasa’s car sitting in the road with the driver door open.
“Where are you taking me? Who are you? I have money. I can pay you. Do you know who I am? I am important. You don’t want to kidnap me.”
Bakasa’s words tumbled out of him in rapid succession, without waiting for an answer. He was obviously panicked.
“Sit quiet. Keep your hood on and your head down. We’re not going to hurt you. We don’t want your money.”
“What do you want?”
“We’re taking you to meet someone. Someone very important.”
“Why like this? You could make an appointment. I could see them in my office.”
“This person doesn’t come to offices.”
“Who is it?”
“You will see. Meantime, you keep quiet or I’ll hurt you.” Roland put his large fist up against Bakasa’s covered face. The man shrank back from his touch.
Santu navigated through the early morning traffic. This time they didn’t stop at the market, but farther down the street, right across the alley that led them to the sorcerer’s house. There were already people on the street.
Roland yanked Bakasa upright.
“I’m going to take this hood off. If you try to call out, I will knock you unconscious. It will hurt. If you keep still, I won’t have to hit you. Comprendre?”
Bakasa nodded. When Roland pulled off the hood, he looked around but didn’t seem to recognize the area.
“Now we’re going to walk down that alley,” Roland gestured to the one across the road. “The person you will meet is down there. When we’re done, we’ll drop you back downtown and you can go about your day.”
“The police will be looking for you.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that. If they are, it means you have talked to them. I will have to respond.” Roland now put his face up close to Bakasa’s. “I am a killer. I can take your life from you in many different ways. Do not invite me to do that.”
Bakasa shrank back from Roland’s cold threat.
“Now we go.” Roland opened the door and pulled Bakasa out. “Lead the way,” he said to Santu.
Chapter 58
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T he three men walked into the alley and disappeared from view as they followed the previous twists and turns they had taken to the sorcerer’s house. When they were at the door, Roland knocked loudly.
“You will have to talk with him. Don’t give out on me now, Little Buddy,” Roland said close to his ear.
“I won’t.” Santu’s voice held little assurance to back up the words he spoke.
Roland banged again loudly on the door. Finally, it opened with the old woman standing in the gap. She looked at the men with surprise on her ancient face.
“We are here to see Mjomba Bompaka,” Santu said in Swahili.
“You can’t. He is not here.”
Santu translated for Roland.
“Tell her we know he is here. The man that was with us before told us. It is important. It is to do with the fetish.”
Santu put that in Swahili. Roland could feel Bakasa stiffen in his grasp at the word for fetish. He also understood Swahili.
The old woman turned away and Roland put his foot in the doorway so she couldn’t close it. She looked down at his foot and then turned to walk back into the shack. The three men stepped inside.
“Who is this?” Bakasa asked.
“Hush,” Roland replied. “You will soon know everything.”
The men stood near the door, adjusting their sight to the dim light. The old woman shuffled back into the room. She gave the men a sharp glance and proceeded to light the two candles on the table. When she turned to go, Bompaka entered the room. He was frail but walked with a sure step. His long hands hung down at his sides, with his claw-like nails reaching out beyond his fingers.
He stopped behind the table and looked up at the three men. His eyes smoldered in a dark red. “Why have you come to disturb me without my consent?”
Roland shoved Santu a step forward, while keeping a tight grip on the back of Bakasa’s neck.
“Mjomba Bompaka, we would like you to give your gift to Dieu Merci Bakasa in person. Since it comes from your power, we thought it best for you to explain it to this man.” He gestured to Bakasa, standing now somewhat behind him.
The sorcerer didn’t answer but looked over the three men with his glowing eyes. Roland could hear Bakasa’s breathing grow labored. He was beginning to understand who the old man across the table was.
Finally, Bompaka said, “Kukaa, sit.”
The men stepped forward and took seats in the chairs. Roland made sure that Bakasa sat in the middle. Roland yanked Bakasa’s hood off. The man blinked even in the dim light. Then Roland opened his backpack and took out a bag. He slid it across the table. Bompaka didn’t look at it. His gaze remained steady on Bakasa.
“You know who I am?” he said in Swahili.
Bakasa shook his head.
I am mchawi, a sorcerer. I can protect you and I can harm you. I see you are dressed like a city man, a western man. You think you have put such things behind you.”
A cruel smile creased his face. Bompaka’s hands twitched on the table, his long nails clawing the wood with a rasping sound. Roland could see the marks left. The sorcerer’s eyes held Bakasa in their gaze. It seemed the man couldn’t turn away.
“Your ancestors believed in me. Your parents and grandparents. They told you stories. Do you remember them?”
Now Bakasa nodded his head, still unable to break off from the sorcerer’s gaze.
“They were right to tell you the stories. Even with the whites coming here, hundreds of years ago. Our power was not broken. They bring their god to us, but we defy him and carry on. The old magic works.”
He turned to Santu. “This man understands that. Don’t you?”
Santu nodded. His eyes were almost as wide as Bakasa’s.
The sorcerer turned back to Bakasa. “You work for the government. You are to protect the forest, yet you don’t do that. Trees are cut down, villages destroyed. You are to protect the land, yet you let the miners dig holes everywhere. You let them turn the streams into mud so there is no good water for the villages.”
He pointed a long finger with its curving nail straight at Bakasa.
“And you do this for the money that men give you. You think the money will make you comfortable, protect you.”
His eyes now seemed to grow brighter, their red glow shining out from deep under his brows.
“But can your money protect you from me? Can it protect your family from me?”
Bakasa was now almost hyperventilating.
Bompaka reached into the bag Roland had put on the table and took out the fetish. Bakasa sucked his breath in and leaned back. He knew what it was.
The sorcerer slid it across the table. It came to rest in front of the now-terrified government official. The fetish’s wide eyes, painted white with black dots in the middle, seemed to stare into Bakasa’s spirit. The wide-open mouth looked ready to shout out a curse on him.
“This is my gift to you. It is a blessing and a curse.”
Bakasa shook his head vigorously. Roland had to brace his back to keep the man from falling back to the dirt floor.
“You can’t reject it. That way br
ings the curse, both on you and your family.” He leaned over the table towards Bakasa. “If you do your job, the fétiche will protect you. From the China man and from the warlord.”
Surprise showed through Bakasa’s wide eyes.
“I know about them. I can see them, just as I can see you…and your family. My fétiche will protect your work.”
He pointed his finger again at Bakasa.
“But if you ignore your task, the fétiche has a curse. You will see your children grow sick and die in front of you. Then your wife. Then your parents and grandparents. When all in your family are dead and you are alone, it will take you. But you will have no rest.”
His voice grew increasingly loud as he recited all the family members that would suffer and die.
With a shout he said, “Your spirit will be lost to roam the forest, hounded by the forest spirits you did not protect!”
“Pick it up!” the sorcerer commanded.
Bakasa shook his head. His hands trembled.
“You cannot refuse it. The curse will happen if you do!”
Slowly, Bakasa reached out and touched the fetish. He was almost whimpering as he pulled it to him.
“In your pocket. Take it to your work. It will watch over you. If you are ever tempted to not protect the forest, consider the curse.”
He stood up. “Now go. All of you have caused me much trouble.”
They stood up. Roland pulled out an additional 100,000 francs and laid them on the table. “Merci, Mjomba Bompaka,” he said with as much respect as he could.
The sorcerer looked at the money but didn’t touch it.
In Swahili he said, “Tell the man with the eyes that I will send the warlord to him as well. I know what he is doing. Tell him when it is done to leave this country. I will put a curse on him if he does not depart. I have helped you because it helps my people, my forest. But you don’t belong here. You don’t understand.”
He turned to Santu who had stopped to listen on his way to the door.
“And you leave as well. You brought these men here. You have tried my patience. Do not try it any further.”
He waved his hand to dismiss them and turned to go into the back room.
Chapter 59
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D an watched all through the day. There was no change in activity except that late in the day more of Zhang’s private security, Chinese soldiers Dan guessed, were patrolling the grounds. They crossed the river to Dan’s side and he lost sight of them as they drove into the hills below him. Hope they don’t patrol all the way to the top. He couldn’t be seen, but drivable roads up to where he was hiding would bring the soldiers to him more quickly. That would make retreat more difficult. He had no desire for a protracted firefight. The aim was to strike and retreat without being seen. Be a ghost.
The general must be expecting company. Dan watched, but the copter did not leave that day. Maybe tomorrow.
Another night with some rain passed and Dan awoke before dawn. He had a sense this was to be the day. He ate an MRE and drank a cup of coffee. He packed all his gear for a quick exit. He felt the waiting was over. Once he had packed up everything, he went to his shooting position and settled down to watch and wait. He left the hut up. It wouldn’t matter if they found it, something he doubted. It would not give them any information.
Sure enough, by mid-morning, men were doing a pre-flight check on the helicopter. Just after noon, it took off. Going to pick up General Wu. I’ll provide the welcome. Three hours later he heard the chopper before he could see it. It came up the stream valley and circled around the pad before touching down.
Dan flicked off his safety and watched through his scope. His crosshairs settled on the chopper door. It opened and a guard in an army uniform stepped out. An older man followed him, probably in his fifties, but fit looking. The man came down the stairs to the now-rigid soldier who saluted smartly. He was dressed in civilian clothes. Probably wouldn’t work to enter the DRC in a Chinese Army uniform.
He started for the house. The front door opened and another soldier stepped out in front of Zhang. No clear shot. I need to get a clear view of both. Dan knew that after the first shot, he’d have only a second before the other target would react. The generals, not being battle-hardened, would freeze for a moment, probably a fatal moment. Dan counted on it. The soldiers, if they had battle experience, would react instantly. Their lives depended on it. They would duck and turn towards the shot and return fire. If the generals got close to one another, he could use their hesitation to take both out.
The two men met at the base of the steps leading to the house. There were two soldiers, one on each side of the generals. Dan’s shot was blocked. The men turned and climbed the steps and entered the house. “Shit,” Dan said aloud. He let his rifle lay against the log and rolled on his back. He let out a long whoosh of breath as his adrenalin surged through his body. He trained to control its flow in order to keep his heart rate slow and his breathing steady. But when the moment passed, there was always a surge of energy, whether or not he’d taken the shot.
“They have to come out again.” He’d have another chance. Maybe more than one.
Dan watched through the afternoon. He got a glimpse of the two men at the rear of the house, but there was no clear shot. Dinnertime came and went. Not leaving tonight. Dan doubted the chopper would fly in the dark. He’d have to wait until tomorrow for his shot. In any case, General Wu was not going to leave the plantation alive.
Darkness descended over the valley. The mosquitoes came out for their nightly assault. Dan retreated to his stick shelter and ate an MRE. Then he wrapped himself up as best he could to endure another nocturnal onslaught of the blood-thirsty insects. He hoped the malaria pills were working. They weren’t a hundred percent effective. Their purpose was to kill the parasite that the mosquito delivered before it could get out of control in his body. Just the thought of having the parasites injected into his body gave him the creeps as he wrapped himself up to offer the mosquitoes the least amount of exposed flesh.
That night there was rain, but most of it fell to the south and east. The blessing was that Dan didn’t get wet. The curse was that the mosquitoes stayed active through more of the night.
Dan was up at the first sign of dawn. There was a brightening of the eastern sky, from the dark black of the full night, with the stars shining brighter than anyplace he’d seen outside of the desert, to a deep blue. The change of hue hinted at the daybreak to come. Then, with little further progression, the sun popped up over the hills behind the plantation and flooded the sky.
The birds started before the dawn, as the sky was just beginning to grow lighter in the east. When the sun came up, they were in full song, staking out their territories for the day. It was a cacophony of calls, too many for Dan to decipher. This must be a birdwatcher’s paradise. While he had little knowledge of the many species that inhabited the eastern Congo forests, he was happy to enjoy the rich diversity of sounds.
After some food and coffee, Dan settled down to his watch. He smelled bad, felt clammy and gritty, but hoped today would bring an opportunity. The .338 Lapua Magnum round that his Sako TRG 42 fired was good out to 1700 yards, so at 850 yards, he was only half-way to maximum distance. Still, the bullet would drop 125 inches, almost 10.5 feet. The projectile would leave his rifle at 2900 feet per second and arrive at a still deadly 1800 fps. He had adjusted his scope, but in effect his shot would be similar to lofting the bullet into the air towards its target, like a quarterback throwing a long-range pass. If he had calculated correctly, the bullet would reach his target’s head about two seconds after it left his rifle.
Sometimes a sniper could “throw” multiple shots at a target without the target even knowing they were being fired upon if the shooter was too far away to be heard. Here, Dan didn’t have that luxury. A missed shot would impact the house and make an obvious sound. If the generals had any instincts left from their training, they would imme
diately know something was up and dive for cover. Dan needed to connect with one shot and then rely on the second target being frozen for a moment. He had a two-second gap to bridge after zeroing in on the second man.
It was mid-morning when the two men appeared on the porch. Dan centered his scope on Zhang as the two men stood looking out over the sloping front lawn of the plantation. They started down the steps as Dan hoped. That would increase the time it took for the second target to get back to the safety of the house. This was the moment.
The two generals paused at the bottom of the steps. Zhang was saying something to Wu. He swung his arm in an arc. Dan slowed his breathing, his heart rate dropped. The familiar sense of a tunnel formed. Everything but his target disappeared. The world narrowed to his rifle and the target. He could see the “string” that arced from his rifle to the head of his target, tying them together in a lethal connection. He let out half his breath and, in between heartbeats, gently squeezed his right hand. The rifle jumped back against his shoulder. There was a muffled bark at the muzzle. Two second later General Zhang’s head exploded and his body collapsed to the ground.
Dan had smoothly chambered a fresh round with his bolt-action. As he hoped, General Wu’s fighting instincts were rusty. He froze in his tracks, looking down at Zhang’s body and exploded head. He turned for a moment to look across the stream in Dan’s general direction. That was his fatal mistake. Dan’s next shot slammed into his face before he could run for cover. General Wu collapsed next to his host.
At that moment three men came storming out of the house and down the steps. They knelt at the two bodies and looked across the valley. Dan sensed their disbelief. The two men whose safety they were charged with had been shot, from far away, right at the front of the house. Men were now shouting. More guards, soldiers really, came out from the house. Two men went running to the helicopter. Dan turned his rifle to the chopper. Can’t let it get into the air.