Congo Dawn Page 46
Matching the BBC journalist’s slim, café au lait features and wire-rimmed glasses with his Skype profile photo, Robin at last allowed tension to drain freely from her body. Then she wasn’t just latching on to hope. It really was over.
Somehow beyond all probability, all expectation, decked in the most beautiful wrapping of sky blue and white, a miracle had arrived!
“No need to panic. What I’ve gathered from both our embassies, you can count on extradition before too many nights in a Bunia prison cell.”
“A British one should make me feel better?” Trevor Mulroney was still clinging to the hope that he was caught somewhere in a dream. Or a nightmare. “Why are you interfering here, Howard? Didn’t I tell you I had everything under control? I can still turn this around.”
“No, you can’t.” The Texan drawl held as much regret as certainty. Howard Marshall held up an iPad. Among bold headlines, the words rhenium, Ituri, Congo, and Earth Resources jumped out at Mulroney.
“The story hit wires stateside in time for our evening news. As we speak, it’s hitting morning papers in Singapore, Japan, Hong Kong. Your countrymen will be watching it with their breakfast tea in another hour. Speaking of which, you might have gotten away with something as stupid as going after a BBC journalist if Alan Birenge hadn’t already contacted your embassy and mine. Your goons walked right into an ambush. They’ve been singing like canaries. Turns out a certain corrupt police commander in Kampala happens to be a half brother to Ares Solutions’ local field commander, a Samuel Makuga.”
Trevor Mulroney clenched fists white-knuckle with rage. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have made the same call! As for that police commander, he’s also cousin to Governor Wamba. Those were Wamba’s contacts in Kampala. His goons back when he was playing patsy with the Ugandans, selling them conflict minerals before the peace settlement. Everything that’s happened here Wamba’s been part of, up to his big, dirty neck. And what do you mean, you’re taking over Ares Solutions and Earth Resources? You’ve got no authority—”
“On the contrary,” Howard Marshall interrupted smoothly. “Once photo evidence made your collusion with a war criminal like Samuel Makuga undeniable, I had no choice but to call an emergency board session for Earth Resources. As top shareholder outside yourself, I was a logical stand-in for CEO. And since Ares Solutions is part of the Earth Resources pie—”
The American tycoon’s gesture indicated Mulroney’s handpicked field team, currently striding toward the Mi-17s without a backward glance. And why not? Despite long years of mutual acquaintance and combat with Mulroney, these were mercenaries, fighting for whoever paid their contracts. Which would now appear to be Howard Marshall.
“As to Wamba,” Marshall went on, “the governor is of course appalled at the excesses to which his subordinate has stooped while contracted to handle security for a mzungu mining corporation. Wamba and his own superiors in Kinshasa are even more appalled to discover this same mzungu conspired to cheat the Congolese people of their latest national treasure trove.”
A few meters away, Makuga’s bared teeth and Swahili curses gave voice to Mulroney’s own fury as Wamba’s security detail stripped the Congolese field commander of weapons and bound arms and wrists behind his back. Between his own bared teeth, Mulroney gritted, “I should have known. Wamba’s your man too, isn’t he? Let me guess, he was on your intelligence payroll even back when he was still running around the rainforest. No wonder he ended up with the biggest goody bag at the peace settlement. Like Saddam Hussein and Manuel Noriega in their day. And now after all I’ve done over the years for you and your government, you’re going to give Wamba a pass and hang me out to dry!”
“Yes, we’ve certainly had a long and profitable relationship.” The American’s shrug held genuine regret. “Believe me, Mulroney, I’d have preferred to continue working with you. Okay, so you lied about my original investment here. I’d have done the same. And it was to my government’s benefit as well as yours to keep under wraps what’s really in those rocks. If you’d pulled this off, we’d be having a different conversation. But with the cat out of the bag, I’ve got to do what’s best for Marshall Corp and my own country. We need that rhenium. And frankly, you’re just plain too dirty now to touch.
“Thankfully, I’d started digging with your first request for more funds last week. Flew to Kinshasa to meet with my own people the moment I got a whiff of trouble on the horizon. And thanks to my nephew Carl’s tip-off, I was able to get a jump on negotiations before this hit headlines. In truth, while I personally would have preferred our prior and highly profitable arrangement, my own government is not completely averse to the bottom dropping out of the rhenium market. If nothing else, it’ll make future concessions here a lot cheaper. And with ample and low-cost product, there’ll be less incentive for the competition to get frisky in the zone. Especially since those negotiations include a generous budget for Governor Wamba’s forces to be trained and armed under American oversight to bring a genuine peace and end to the Ituri conflict.”
You mean, to guarantee a safe flow of product, Mulroney corrected sourly even as the American confirmed.
“My government’s leaving no wriggle room for the Chinese or anyone else to slip into this zone. Nor will your own shareholders be raising any complaints since the settlement includes a complete payoff of Earth Resources debt by Marshall Corp. A win-win for everyone, wouldn’t you say?”
Marshall turned away. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to chat with your Ares Solutions mission team. Since this op’s already in-country, Marshall Corp’s got an issue with a local warlord down in our Katanga copper concession they might as well deal with while they’re still under contract.”
As the wide-brimmed Stetson headed toward the Mi-17s, Governor Wamba’s security detail closed in around the former CEO of Earth Resources and Ares Solutions.
A win-win, definitely. For everyone, that was, except Trevor Mulroney.
“I was praying you’d find some powers that be who could give Trevor Mulroney a call and order him to stand down.” Michael was pounding Alan Birenge on the back and being abused in return, as strong men do when showing affection. “But all this? How did you pull this off? And at such short notice!”
“You think I’d leave my daughter’s physician to the chance aid of the powers that be? No, sending hooligans into my Kampala hotel was the final nail in Mulroney’s coffin. If Ms. Duncan’s evidence and Wamba’s earlier shenanigans hadn’t already prompted me to contact my embassy, we’d be writing a different story right now. They’d just sent a security escort when a certain off-duty police unit showed up. Believe me, the moment my family was evacuated to a safe house, I started calling in every favor in my arsenal. It helped that my story had already hit the wires, so there was no turning back, even when my embassy found out who was involved.”
“Yes, I was concerned that even if you got the story out, Mulroney might be considered untouchable as far as rousting any action out this way in time. What still gets me is how easily Mulroney managed all this. He didn’t need confederates or some big conspiracy. The only intel it took was his word and a crooked local partner like Wamba for the authorities, the international press, even his hired private army to accept that Joseph was the bad guy and launching a war here was a good thing.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a first. And it won’t be the last. Nothing stopping the next multinational from bringing in their own firepower. No restrictions, no international accountability . . . Hey!” Alan Birenge’s intelligent gaze suddenly lit up behind the lenses. “I think I’ve got my next big story! Thanks for the idea.”
“Story or crusade,” Michael responded dryly.
Even as the two men conversed, Michael’s glance had marked Robin’s approach, swept her slim frame up and down, with evident relief that she was in one piece and uninjured. As though by natural right, he held out his hand. When Robin placed her hand in his, he pulled her forward. “Alan, you haven’t yet met in p
erson a very special friend, Lt. Christina Robin Duncan.”
The journalist shook Robin’s hand vigorously. “Ah, yes, we wouldn’t be standing here right now were it not for your courageous action. When I heard Mulroney bursting in on you—well, let’s just say it added to the urgency. Though it wasn’t my doing that scrambled a whole fleet of blue helmets by the time an embassy chopper delivered me to Bunia. When I mentioned American citizens were at risk, my embassy called yours. Seems one of their intelligence bigwigs already had an inkling something was going on and was flying in from Kinshasa. He insisted on hopping a ride here with the UN team.”
The journalist nodded toward the Stetson hat now leaving the storage shed. “Marshall is a big name in the mining industry. I haven’t quite figured out yet just how this particular clan member ties into this whole story, but from what I’ve gathered, it was Howard Marshall who got Wamba to turncoat on Mulroney, so I guess he’s got a right to be here. I’m beginning to think there’s a lot more to this story than I’ve pieced together so far. And speaking of stories—” Alan Birenge looked from Michael to Robin—“I’ve got a follow-up to file within the hour. Any chance of getting you two on record? And on camera?”
Robin was already shaking her head. Deeply grateful though she was for this man’s arrival, the last thing she wanted was to find her face splashed across the world’s news cameras. “Look, I’m sorry, but if there’s any way you can do it, I’d prefer keeping my name out of this altogether. I just want to go back to my normal life, my family, and forget all this.”
“I have to agree, Birenge,” Michael put in firmly. “My sister and her family will still be in the zone when this is all over. And so will Governor Wamba. Things will be a lot safer if any involvement of the Stewart clan or Taraja is kept out of this. But if you want a story, there’s a young man who deserves to have his name cleared before the world. He’s the real story here. Joseph?”
The massed villagers had begun to break up, some drifting toward the destroyed brush corral, parents gradually releasing children to run free. Joseph’s own priorities were clear as he headed instead to cut wires and fuses, lifting away explosives that still offered a threat. He waved off Ernie and the French Algerian as both started instantly toward him. “No, please, I know what I have done, so I can more quickly remove the danger alone. But please keep all away.”
He had snipped free the last bundle and was stepping back when Michael and Robin led Alan Birenge over. There was still such a dazed, shaken look in Joseph’s eyes that Robin exclaimed, “Are you okay, Joseph? How do you feel?”
“I am okay. It is just—when I heard the explosion—” a shudder went through Joseph’s body as he laid the disarmed explosives down on a fuel drum—“I believed I was dead. I did not dare dream to find myself still among the living. As to how I feel?” He paused to survey the dispersed villagers, Samuel Makuga and Trevor Mulroney being led toward a Sikorsky. A broad smile banished the dazed look. “I feel . . . forgiven.”
“Hey, that’s a great line! Can I quote it? And you speak English. Mind if I get you on record?” As Alan Birenge pushed his way forward, Robin discreetly withdrew. Joseph would be okay. And vindicated at last.
She turned suddenly back. “Mr. Birenge. Would you happen to have a phone on you? I need to let some people know I’m okay.”
“Of course.” The journalist was already focused completely on his new interview subject as he handed Robin a latest model iPhone. “It’s the BBC’s tab, so call anywhere you like as long as you want. You’ve earned that much if you won’t let me feature you.”
Robin pulled up the Skype app before remembering one other matter she needed to take care of first. Ernie Miller and his teammates had drifted to the Mi-17s. Walking up to the Vietnam vet, Robin said quietly, “Thank you for intervening back there.”
Ernie raised shaggy, gray eyebrows. “Nothing to thank. On the contrary, it was a well-needed reminder there are limits beyond which no contract is worth it. I’m beginning to think it’s time for me to hang up my hat and get out of this business.”
Robin said nothing further because a wide-brimmed Stetson was advancing purposefully toward the group, and she’d just caught sight of Carl Jensen loitering a few meters away. Robin finished going through the Skype activation steps as she hurried over. “Carl, I’m not even going to discuss your part in all this since everything’s turned out okay. All I’m asking is that you rustle up some of your communication gear to find out if Ephraim and Miriam and the others in Taraja are okay. Especially since, thanks to you, their own communication system is blown to bits.”
The reconnaissance technician’s shrug conveyed no contrition. “A security patrol we left at Taraja has hand radios. But if you’re worried about that Congolese doctor Makuga shot, last report is he’s just fine other than a hole in his leg.”
“Shot?” Striding up behind Robin, Michael demanded sharply, “Are you saying Makuga shot Ephraim? . . . No, I couldn’t give a rip what your report says. You get me Taraja on the line right now.”
The beep of a Skype link coming online pulled Robin away from Michael and a suddenly much less apathetic Carl Jensen. It was past midnight in South Carolina, so it was with scant hope that Robin attempted the call. But as Robin headed past a Sikorsky in search of a spot far enough from people and noise to offer both quiet and privacy, Kelli appeared on the small screen. Pale, tired features were devoid of their usual careful makeup, red-gold hair caught in a casual ponytail.
“Kristi?” Robin demanded urgently.
“Kristi’s fine. Wonderful, in fact. She’s out of intensive care now. And Brian . . . Kristi’s pediatrician says everything looks good. Do you know what that means, Robin? Kristi is going to live! To be a normal little girl. To grow up, marry, have kids of her own.”
As her sister’s voice broke, Robin cut in. “But . . . you’re saying she’s already had the operation? That’s why you were at the hospital? But I never got you the money.”
“It was Brian’s doing. He fought with the insurance company. Made them back down and agree to pay for it. He didn’t let me know ahead of time because he didn’t want to get my hopes up. Because of the urgency, he scheduled the operation as soon as approval came through. The specialist who performs the experimental procedure is an old friend. There’s something else, Robin.”
A glow lighting blue-green eyes so like Robin’s, the soft curve of an unpainted mouth were more beautiful than Kelli’s normal glossy perfection. “Brian asked me to marry him tonight. I said yes.”
Robin must have managed some noise of congratulation because Kelli was chattering on. “Of course we’ll wait until you can come home for the wedding. Just so it’s not too long. Brian’s got his own house in a great neighborhood with good schools. Oh, and he wants to adopt Kristi too. It’s going to be wonderful. And not just for me and Kristi. You’ve worked so hard, Robin. I can’t tell you how much it means to know you’ll finally be free to do what you want for a change.”
Robin didn’t stay much longer on the line. Filling Kelli in on her own less savory activities over the last twenty-four hours would simply spoil her sister’s rejoicing, and it would be hours before she could speak to Kristi herself. She’d met Kristi’s current pediatrician, a tall, gangly blond in his midthirties, only a handful of times. But her impression of Brian Peters had been a man both kindly and firm, passionately committed to his small patients, and Robin could not be more delighted in her sister’s choice of husband or father for Kristi.
Even better was Kelli’s other news. Robin could only shake her head in wonder and disbelief. All her worrying and scrabbling for funds, and her niece’s Creator and heavenly Father already had in place all the time his own vastly superior plan for Kristi’s salvation and future!
And yet intermingled with joy as Robin cut off the Skype connection was an unexpected sensation of lostness. As Kelli had pointed out, for the first time in five years, Robin was free.
But to do what?
Joseph was less impressed with the digital photo Alan Birenge was displaying on his camera. If not for the surroundings, he wouldn’t have recognized the man standing beside piled fuel barrels and explosives in tattered shorts and bare feet, dried mud and red clay camouflaging features and body, vine and twig harness still decorating biceps and torso.
Taking his silence as acquiescence, the journalist swept on. “You studied at London’s School of Mines, worked in a lab there. I’m just trying to picture you in suit and tie. Of course once charges are dismissed, there’s no reason you couldn’t return to your studies, even another overseas job. And your people—obviously they can’t rebuild here since the mine will still be going forward. You’re their leader. Have you given any thought to what comes next?”
To what comes next? For so long, Joseph had not expected there to ever be a next; he’d given the future little thought at all. But he did so now as the journalist thrust a digital recorder at him.
“You are right that we cannot rebuild here. But in Taraja there is still much land not yet reclaimed. They have opened their doors to those left homeless by conflict. We will begin by going there. And some may wish to remain here at the mine, working as free men for wages if it is placed under just administration. As for me—” Joseph shook his head. “I cannot leave yet. If the outside world is to come into the Ituri, my people need someone here who understands that world. Who knows not only of such things as geology, but of fair wages and labor practices. Of protecting our rainforest while harvesting its treasures. And if the new administrators of this treasure prove as evil and corrupt as the last, they will discover that Jini, the ghost, is still able to rise up and fight. Not just for my village, but for all the Ituri people. Perhaps when all is settled, when I can be sure those I leave behind are safe, I can go abroad again to pursue my own dreams.”