King Solomon''s Curse

  ‘He is very good,’ Fortune assured the Englishman. ‘I would not have asked him to join me if he was not.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Although I’d hoped you’d drum up more people.’

  ‘Private security is in very high demand. And that is why.’ He looked up at the thrum of an approaching helicopter.

  Nina and Eddie turned to see a gleaming white-and-blue Airbus AS355 descending towards the terminal. The name Monardril was emblazoned along its fuselage. ‘Who’s this?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘The big boss of a mining company,’ said Paris. ‘His people have been here for weeks, setting up some deal.’

  ‘They have hired many mercenaries to protect them,’ Fortune went on. ‘Some of them you know. Scotty Roux, for one.’

  ‘Scotty’s working for this lot?’ said Eddie. ‘Wondered why I couldn’t get hold of him.’

  Another noise, that of ground vehicles, caught their attention. A convoy of new and expensive SUVs and pickup trucks rolled through the airport gate to stop nearby. Heavily tinted windows hid their occupants, but the men riding in the pickup beds wore dark paramilitary uniforms. No guns were immediately apparent, but from the way the security team were warily scanning the surroundings, Eddie guessed their weapons were stashed within easy reach.

  A rangy, bearded man emerged from the lead SUV. ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘Fortune, Eddie!’

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ Eddie said to Fortune before shouting back. ‘Scotty, hi! I heard you were here.’

  Roux jogged to them as other men spread out behind him. ‘Yeah, working corporate security,’ he said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘My wife’s filming a documentary. I’m just making sure she’s safe. Would have been easier if your guys hadn’t poached everyone!’

  The South African shrugged apologetically. ‘Always up to do you a favour, Eddie, but Monardril got me first. Very good pay too, mate!’ He squinted into the wind as the chopper touched down. ‘Anyway, got to go. If you’re staying around, give me a call.’

  ‘Leaving first thing, but thanks anyway.’

  ‘No problem. Catch you later. You too, Fortune.’ He tipped them both a cheery salute, then hurried to the helicopter. ‘Sir Robert! Your car is over here.’ He led a tall, stone-faced man with expensively styled silver hair to his SUV.

  ‘That’s the mining boss?’ Nina asked.

  Fortune nodded. ‘British. A very funny thing. Very few of the men he hired are Congolese, and none are black. If I did not know better,’ a wink at Eddie, ‘I would think all British are racist.’

  ‘Doubt the big boss hired ’em all personally, but yeah, afraid some Brits are still arseholes. Had to have words with one in London just the other day.’

  ‘You did?’ said Nina. ‘Wait, was Macy with you?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry, I didn’t kill anyone in front of her. Just some light maiming.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  He grinned, then watched as the convoy swept away. ‘All that for just one bloke?’

  ‘There has been much violence recently,’ Fortune told him. ‘The rebel group, LEC – Liberté pour l’Est du Congo – has made many attacks.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Mostly against the government and the police, but there have been some attacks on civilians, including foreigners. That is why the mining company has hired so many guards – they do not want their executives to be kidnapped or killed.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not scary at all,’ said Nina.

  ‘Nina!’ called Ziff, approaching with the camera crew. ‘We’ve unloaded everything. Are we ready to go?’

  ‘Whenever you are,’ she replied. ‘I assume?’

  ‘We are ready,’ said Fortune, gesturing towards a pair of battered minibuses.

  ‘Okay, cool.’ Introductions were made, then the group had their passports checked by a bored official before going to the buses. Nina joined Fortune, Eddie and Ziff at the first, Paris taking the film crew to the second. ‘Shall we go?’

  Rughenda airfield was actually surrounded by the low-rise sprawl of Butembo, so they entered the town immediately upon leaving its grounds. Nina’s observation from the air still held; it was not a place of great wealth, most houses mere shacks. She also noticed that while the road from the airfield towards the civic centre was blacktop, almost all those leading off it were mere dirt tracks. What money there was in the area was highly concentrated.

  She saw a commotion ahead. ‘What’s going on?’ A group of policemen had cornered some youths against a building, one of the cops tearing down posters from its wall.

  Fortune glanced over. ‘They were putting up posters for the LEC. Idiots. Why do that in the middle of the day? They know people will call the cops.’

  ‘Maybe they want to get caught,’ she mused. ‘Make a political statement.’

  ‘The only statement will be made by the police, and it will be in broken teeth and bones. The government is doing everything it can to stop Kabanda. They will not allow the east to break away without a war.’

  ‘Who’s Kabanda?’ asked Ziff.

  ‘The leader of Liberté pour l’Est du Congo, Fabrice Kabanda. That is him on the posters.’

  Nina looked across as they passed the disruption. She had just enough time to see the image of a handsome, smiling man in his early thirties before the last poster was ripped down. ‘He looks kinda young to be a revolutionary leader.’

  ‘When better to be one?’ said the Israeli rhetorically.

  ‘He is only half the story,’ said Fortune, driving on. ‘Kabanda is the public face of the LEC. I personally do not agree with him, but he is very charismatic. He is the man who attracts new followers. But if he is the glove, Le Fauchet is the fist inside it.’

  ‘Le Fauchet?’ Nina asked. ‘Doesn’t that mean something like “the scythe”?’

  ‘Yes. It is not his real name, I am not sure what is. But he has united many of the local militias behind Kabanda. When the LEC commit acts of violence, it is Le Fauchet who has ordered it.’

  ‘The LEC – are they pros?’ Eddie asked, concerned.

  Fortune shook his head. ‘Most are boys with Kalashnikovs, high on drugs. The government soldiers usually deal with them easily. But they are becoming more dangerous now that Le Fauchet is training them and buying modern weapons.’ He pointed. ‘Look, there – that man. He is one of Le Fauchet’s victims.’

  Eddie and Nina saw a skinny man walking along the roadside, a transistor radio held to his ear in one hand – his only hand. All that remained past the elbow of his other arm was a diagonal stump. ‘Oh, my God,’ said Nina. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He must have opposed or offended Le Fauchet in some way,’ Fortune said sombrely as they drove past. ‘But that is his trademark, to cut off the right arm with a machete. It is what the Belgians did when they ruled the country. Le Fauchet has . . . appropriated it.’

  ‘Poor bastard,’ muttered Eddie.

  ‘He is lucky,’ Fortune countered. ‘He is still alive. Most who have met Le Fauchet are not.’

  ‘Then I really, really hope I never meet him,’ said Nina.

  ‘We will do everything we can to protect you, do not worry.’

  ‘There’s only two of you to do it, though,’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘What about porters? Did you find anyone?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘Three local men. I have worked with one before, and the other two were recommended to me.’

  Eddie was not reassured. ‘Only three?’

  ‘You wanted men with experience in the jungle. Such people are always in demand.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, Eddie,’ said Nina. ‘I’m sure they’ll be enough.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said, unconvinced.

  Fortune brought them to one of Butembo’s few major hotels. Both minibuses were checked at a security gate before being all
owed through its high wall. They pulled up at the entrance. ‘Everything has been prepared for you,’ said Fortune as he got out.

  Fisher came to them from the second bus, a pair of heavy bags slung from his shoulders. The other members of his team were equally laden with gear. ‘Is this place safe?’ he asked. ‘I saw lower walls in Israel around the Palestinian territories!’ Ziff shot him a disapproving look.

  ‘The hotels are as safe as anywhere around here,’ Paris assured him.

  Lydia snorted. ‘Now I’m really worried.’

  ‘Do not worry,’ Fortune intoned sonorously. ‘I assure you, the dark hordes of Africa will not swarm over the walls in the dead of night to feast upon your precious white flesh.’

  Fisher blanched. ‘Uh – no, I didn’t mean it that way. It wasn’t a racial thing. Really!’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Lydia hurriedly added.

  Eddie tried not to laugh. ‘You’re an arse,’ he whispered to Fortune as he collected Nina’s luggage. His friend regarded Fisher and Lydia sternly, then turned away and grinned. ‘Come on then, love,’ the Yorkshireman said to Nina. ‘Let’s check in.’

  The hotel’s interior was surprisingly anonymous, a bland refuge for the corporate traveller that could have been anywhere in the world; only its staff’s accents provided any distinctive flavour. Nina led the way to the reception desk, Eddie surveying the lobby. ‘Least we can get a drink,’ he said, spotting the entrance to a bar. ‘After that journey, I could really use a—’

  He stopped, startled. Nina looked back at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just . . . seen someone I know,’ he said, disbelieving. ‘Can you check us in? I need to . . .’ In his distraction he didn’t even finish the sentence as he headed for the doorway.

  ‘If you’re that desperate for a drink, do I need to book you an AA appointment?’ she called after him, but he barely heard the joke.

  The bar was as faceless as its parent hotel, a softly lit room of pale wooden furniture assembled to a standardised blueprint. The man by the windows in the far corner was very distinctive, though.

  Eddie approached his table. ‘Ay up. Never expected to see you again.’

  John Brice, a cigarette in one hand, slowly looked up at him. ‘Well, well. Eddie Chase. I’d certainly hoped never to see you again.’ In the almost three years since their meeting, he had let his standards of appearance slip. He was bestubbled, his hair greasy and untidy and his clothes crumpled enough to suggest he had recently slept in them.

  ‘That’s nice. What the fuck are you doing here? MI6 trying to start a coup?’

  Brice sneered at him. ‘I don’t work for the British government any more, Chase. Your fuck-up in Tenerife destroyed my career.’

  ‘Wasn’t a fuck-up as far as I was concerned,’ Eddie shot back, turning a seat around and sitting facing the other man over its back. ‘A mass murderer got arrested – turned out okay in my book.’

  ‘But that wasn’t the mission objective, was it?’ He took a swig from a glass of whisky. ‘You botched it, just like your test at the Funhouse. And because of that, my promotion prospects went out of the window. So I resigned.’

  ‘And you didn’t end up like Patrick McGoohan in The Prisoner? Shame.’

  ‘I ended up in this shithole country, which is arguably worse. Maybe I got out of Britain at the right time, though. Looks like the Opposition will win the election next month, and they’ve been making a lot of noise about gutting SIS and the other intelligence agencies. All in the name of human rights.’ His disgust at the term was plain.

  ‘Yeah, those damn humans,’ said Eddie mockingly. ‘But of all the places you could have gone, you came to the bloody Congo?’

  ‘Hardly by choice, but it’s where the work is.’ Another drink. ‘The kind of work you once did, ironically enough. Security for corporate bigwigs.’

  ‘Like Sir Robert whatsisface from that mining company? I saw him at the airport.’

  ‘Yes, he’s one of mine. Which leads to the question: what are you doing here? You and your wife.’

  The mention of Nina unsettled Eddie. ‘How’d you know she was here too?’

  ‘I didn’t pick this spot by accident, Chase.’ He gestured at the windows. ‘I can see the main gate and the lobby entrance from here. I saw you both arriving.’

  ‘I’d wondered why you didn’t seem that surprised to see me.’

  ‘The only surprise is that you wanted to talk to me.’

  Eddie smiled sardonically. ‘Just wanted to make sure you weren’t up to something dodgy.’

  ‘The days of state-sanctioned immunity are behind me, unfortunately. But the local authorities have bigger things on their plate than harassing every white man working on their turf.’

  ‘This LEC lot?’

  ‘You’re in the loop, then. Yes, the east of the country’s only one step from total chaos. Still, it’s good for my business – and the government is probably itching for the LEC to make a major attack. Declaring a state of emergency is a very good way to suspend democracy and remove any troublesome elements. Cynical, but you do what you must.’ He contemplated the glass for a moment before imbibing again. ‘As for what you’re doing . . . I can only assume that the celebrated Dr Nina Wilde has made some amazing archaeological discovery in the jungle, and is going to film it for television.’

  Eddie’s unease deepened. ‘You know all that just from watching us arrive, do you?’

  ‘Simple deduction. Your wife is famous, after all. She’s had a documentary series on TV, and some of the people who arrived with you were carrying camera gear. I also know, because I keep my ears open, that Fortune Bemba has been recruiting bearers with jungle experience.’

  ‘You know Fortune?’

  ‘By reputation only; never met the man. Not the kind I’d normally hire.’

  ‘Why? Because he’s black?’

  Brice gave him a mocking smirk. ‘You’re not going to give me a tedious lecture on the evils of racism, are you?’

  ‘No, but I might give you one on the evils of being an arsehole.’

  He chuckled. ‘My hiring practices have nothing to do with race. They’re more about culture. Specifically, I limit myself to people who actually have the self-reliance and willpower to make things happen for themselves, rather than wallow in misery and squalor waiting for handouts. I mean, look at this place!’ He waved at the window again, this time to encompass the land beyond the security wall. ‘This country is literally a treasure trove, with mineral resources the civilised world is desperate to secure, and what does it do to exploit them? Nothing. They do nothing without being told. For God’s sake, it’s a major national news story when they manage to lay down a stretch of tarmac road. The whole continent was better off when it was being run by the colonial powers.’

  ‘Didn’t they go around chopping people’s arms off?’ said Eddie, scathing.

  ‘Better than heads. And that was mad King Leopold’s method of maintaining order. We were much more civilised about it.’ He straightened, as if filled with nostalgic pride. ‘There’s a reason we ruled half the world. The greatest empire in history. And then,’ – a frown – ‘we threw it all away, let the bloody Yanks and Krauts walk all over us. And now even the Chinks, for God’s sake.’ He sighed, then held up his glass in an imaginary toast before taking another drink. ‘But that’ll all change now we’ve got back our independence. I just hope we don’t vote in the wrong lot next month and balls it up even more by grovelling to whoever’s got the most money.’

  ‘I know I’ve been out of touch by living in the States, but aren’t the bunch in power right now the same ones who flogged everything off to China in the first place?’

  Brice fixed him with a disapproving stare. ‘Frankly, I don’t think you deserve the right to criticise anything that goes on at home, Chase. You abandoned your country.’

  Ed
die was offended by the accusation. ‘Like fuck I did.’

  ‘No? You live in New York, you married a Yank – your daughter automatically has dual nationality, but I bet you haven’t even got her a British passport.’ Eddie’s silence was all the confirmation the other man needed. ‘I thought so. You know, I’m . . . I’m disgusted. Your country educated you, kept you healthy, kept you safe, made you who you are. And how did you repay that? By running off somewhere else the first chance you got.’ He shook his head. ‘Britain’s never needed its people to work to build a new future more than now, but where are you?’

  Eddie stood. ‘I’m leaving before some bell-end gets punched in the face.’

  Brice’s expression was halfway between a smile and a sneer. ‘You’re welcome to try. Squaddies always overestimate their chances.’

  ‘I’m tempted, but to be honest, I’d rather spend the evening on the phone with my daughter than down at the local police station explaining why I knocked some drunken arsehole’s teeth out.’ He glanced at the whisky glass; while Brice had raised it to his lips several times, the level of the brown liquid within didn’t seem much lower than when he had first arrived. Lightweight, he thought. ‘And I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow morning, so think yourself lucky. Be better for you if I don’t see you again, though.’

  ‘I assure you, I don’t spend all day hanging around in hotel bars. I’ve got business to attend to. Enjoy your stay, though, Chase. Try not to catch anything.’ Another sarcastic toast.

  ‘Twat,’ was Eddie’s parting shot as he walked out. Nina was waiting at the reception desk, the expedition’s other members having joined her. ‘Hi, love. We all booked in?’

  ‘Yeah, but who was that in there?’ she asked. ‘You looked like you were having an argument.’

  ‘Just someone I had a run-in with once.’

  ‘Small world.’

  ‘Not bloody big enough. Still, won’t be seeing him again. Thank God.’

  Paris glanced into the bar. ‘Is that John Brice?’

  ‘You know him?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘I know of him. Not a man I want to drink with. He’s been dealing with some bad people, is what I hear.’