He drew the gun – and placed its muzzle against Eddie’s forehead.
15
Eddie tensed, about to lunge at Mukobo, but knew he would not survive—
‘Philippe. Don’t.’ The command from Brice froze the warlord’s finger on the trigger.
Fury rose in Mukobo’s eyes. ‘Are you telling me what to do, Brice? This is my land. I rule here!’
‘And I’m here to make sure of it. But I only meant for you not to kill him yet.’ He indicated Nina. ‘They’re married – and she’s the archaeologist who found this place. As long as we’ve got Chase, she’ll tell us everything we need to know.’
‘She will tell me anyway,’ growled Mukobo. But after a nerve-racking moment he lowered the gun and faced Nina. ‘You are in charge?’
Nina was about to reply, but Fisher beat her to it. ‘No, I – I am,’ he said, forced bravado cracking at the edges. ‘I’m the director – I tell the others how to make the film?’ He glanced at the camera. ‘You know, the movie?’
‘I know what a director is,’ Mukobo replied coldly. ‘We do have movies, even here in the Congo. So. You are in charge here?’
‘I – no, you are in charge,’ said Fisher, spotting the trap just in time. ‘You are. Very definitely.’
‘Yes. I am,’ he said with cruel amusement. Holstering the gun, he addressed his captives. ‘I am known as Le Fauchet, but my real name is Philippe Mukobo. It is a name some of you already know well, but soon, everyone in the world will know me. When I say this is my land, it is not an idle boast. This corrupt nation will soon be divided – and this half will be mine.’
‘What about Kabanda?’ said Paris. ‘Won’t he be in charge?’
Mukobo’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the secessionist leader. ‘Without me to unite the militias, he would be nothing! He does not know how to fight.’ A sly smile. ‘But we will give him a demonstration once we have our country.’
‘Great, so you’re going to follow your civil war with a civil war,’ said Eddie sarcastically. ‘What happens then, you keep civil warring until there’s only you left?’
The warlord did not reply, instead nodding to a muscular giant with a long machete strapped across his back. ‘Luaba.’ The man punched the Yorkshireman hard in the stomach. Eddie collapsed, gasping.
‘Eddie!’ Nina cried. She tried to help him, but another man shoved her back.
‘He is already dead,’ said Mukobo ominously, ‘his heart has just not yet stopped beating. But you may still have a chance to stay alive.’ He surveyed the ruins. ‘The lost City of the Damned. It is real.’
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘In stories, as a boy. The city in the jungle, where a great treasure was hidden. I never believed they were true, but now . . .’ He stared at the Palace Without Entrance. ‘Tell me what you know. All of it.’
She gave Eddie a worried look before speaking. ‘This place is called Zhakana – it was the centre of a civilisation that existed thousands of years ago.’
‘How did it end?’ Brice’s question was posed with genuine interest.
‘I don’t know. According to legend, the people died out because of a curse – something here that they revered ended up killing them.’
‘If this place was lost,’ said Mukobo, ‘how did you find it?’
‘The records of King Solomon of Israel – we discovered them recently. They described how the empire of Sheba knew of Zhakana. When Queen Makeda married Solomon, she brought him here to see it for himself.’
‘Solomon built the palace,’ Ziff added.
‘I have heard of King Solomon, of course,’ Mukobo said, though the boast seemed directed more at his men to show his intellectual superiority than at the archaeologists. ‘What is inside?’
‘We don’t know,’ Nina replied.
His voice became threatening. ‘But my scouts saw you come out.’
‘We only got as far as the first room – one of us was hurt.’ She glanced at Rivero. The kneeling cameraman was barely able to hold himself upright, ashen-faced and sweating. ‘We needed to call for a medical evacuation.’
‘They must have a satellite phone,’ said Brice, suddenly concerned. ‘Did you make the call?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Where’s the phone?’
‘That bag,’ said Fisher, pointing.
Brice found the satphone and checked its screen. ‘They hadn’t called for help,’ he confirmed. ‘The last call was yesterday.’
‘That is lucky for you,’ Mukobo told Nina and Fisher. ‘So. You have not been far inside – but you must know what is in there.’
‘Something valuable,’ said Brice thoughtfully. ‘It would have to be, to bring the world’s most famous archaeologist and a documentary team to the Congolese jungle. It isn’t somewhere you come on a whim.’
‘So what’re you doing here?’ Eddie demanded. Luaba made ready to kick him, but when his boss said nothing, stood down. ‘Thought your business was looking after mining company guys, not crawling through the jungle with warlords.’
‘They’re both my business,’ Brice replied. ‘The best way to ensure visiting VIPs need bodyguards is to have something to guard their bodies against. A civil war does that quite nicely.’
The Yorkshireman frowned at him. ‘Bollocks. There’s more to it than that – you wouldn’t be allying yourself with this lot otherwise. You want them to win.’
‘Independence for eastern Congo would benefit a lot of people, yes.’
‘Including the mining companies,’ Fortune said.
‘There’s a lot of money to be made out here – if you deal with the right people. At the moment, those people aren’t in power. That will change if the LEC takes control, though.’ Brice nodded at Mukobo, who smiled smugly. ‘All the deals for mining rights made with the current government will have to be renegotiated. I’m here to facilitate that.’
‘For a cut,’ Nina said acidly.
‘Well, naturally. As for why I’m here, specifically . . .’ He took out the small tube he had taken from Wemba. ‘Tracking device. Wemba has certain financial difficulties, so he was good enough to make it possible for us to follow you.’
‘Why?’
‘As I said, it would take something very special to bring you into the back end of beyond. And here it is.’ He spread his hands wide to encompass the surrounding ruins. ‘No matter what’s here, it’s in the LEC’s interests to control it. Even if it was looted a thousand years ago, it’s still an astounding archaeological find – and anyone wanting to study it will have to pay for the privilege. But if there really is a great treasure hidden here, well . . .’
‘It will be mine,’ said Mukobo firmly. ‘It is mine. If it is gold, or jewels, they can be sold to buy weapons. And you will help me find them.’ He issued a command in French. Some of his men moved to stand behind the prisoners. ‘Take me to the treasure, now.’ Another order, and the expedition members were yanked roughly to their feet. Rivero screeched as a blood-drenched length of gauze pulled free of the wound beneath.
‘For God’s sake!’ cried Fisher. ‘He’s hurt, you bastards! Leave him alone!’ He tried to break loose from the man holding him—
‘Mr Fisher, no!’ Fortune barked, but it was too late. Fisher was clubbed to the ground, another militia man grabbing him.
Mukobo had frozen at the American’s shout. He seemed almost expressionless, but rage was burning beneath the surface. ‘Did you,’ he said, voice low and angry, ‘dare to challenge me?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Paris said quickly. ‘He’s just a dumb American, he doesn’t know about Le Fauchet. It’s our fault, we should have told him to respect you. Please, he didn’t know any better.’
The warlord’s searing gaze turned upon him. ‘It is your fault?’
Horror rose on the bodyguard’s face as he realised
there was no good answer. ‘It . . . yes,’ he said, mouth dry. ‘Please, I am sorry.’
For the normally ebullient Congolese to become so fearful told Nina that something terrible was about to happen. But there was nothing she could do to intervene, except—
‘Okay, okay!’ she gabbled. ‘Any treasure that’s here, it’s yours. You can have it all. Nobody meant any disrespect, nobody has to get hurt. Okay?’
Silence. The Insekt Posse exchanged looks of nervous anticipation. Then Mukobo advanced on her. Now it was Nina’s turn to feel fear. Somehow, she knew that his pitiless face was the last seen by too many people to count. He stopped just two feet from her, regarding her unblinkingly . . .
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
‘Okay,’ he said.
She hardly dared breathe. ‘Okay?’
‘Okay. You will let me take all the treasure. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding repeatedly. ‘Yes, I will.’
‘Good.’ He stepped back.
Heart thudding, Nina finally managed to exhale. She gave Paris and Fisher relieved looks. The moment of terrifying tension had passed—
Mukobo whirled, stabbing a finger at the two men. ‘It is not yours to give! Tenez-les!’
Several militia swarmed upon Fisher and Paris, holding them immobile. The rifles of the other Insekt Posse snapped up to force the others back. ‘No – no! What’re you doing?’ Fisher gasped.
‘Do you know why my men wear red bands on their arms?’ Mukobo said. ‘To show that I own their blood – that I own them. I demand it from all who follow me. From those who do not follow me, from those who oppose me in any way . . . I also demand blood. They too have a red band upon their arms – and now you will see it. Luaba!’
Two of the militia grabbed Paris’s right arm and forced it straight across a tree stump. The big man drew the machete from his back – and in a single savage strike chopped it through the bodyguard’s forearm to bury the blade in the rotten wood beneath.
Paris fell backwards – as the men gripping his wrist lurched in the other direction, the two halves of his arm separating with a gushing crimson burst. Nina stared in shocked disbelief, her mind unwilling to accept what it had just seen . . . until Paris’s scream drove home the appalling reality. Blood gushed from the stump of his arm, white bone glistening amidst the gore.
But the horror was not over. Mukobo shouted another order. The men holding Paris swung him around, sending a bloody spray over the other militia as they whooped and chanted in demented glee. ‘Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet!’
‘Oh my God!’ Nina wailed. She stumbled back, falling to the ground. ‘Oh my God!’
Mukobo was not finished. ‘Encore!’ he roared, pointing at Fisher.
Luaba yanked up the machete as the militia dragged the director to the blood-covered root. Fisher snapped out of his stunned paralysis. ‘No!’ he screamed, struggling to break free – to no avail. ‘No, don’t do it! Please! Don’t—’
Two cackling young men slammed his arm down on the stump. Luaba swung the machete again. It hacked through the American’s forearm with a crack of bone. Fisher shrieked, eyes wide in shock as his captors pulled him back.
‘Steven!’ wailed Lydia as the two men flung his severed hand over their comrades. The awful chorus echoed through the jungle again.
Paris was thrown to the ground at Fortune’s feet, Fisher following. ‘This is what happens to anyone who challenges me!’ bellowed Mukobo. ‘This is what happens to my enemies!’
He rounded on Eddie. ‘And you,’ the warlord snarled, ‘you are most definitely my enemy. You captured me – you humiliated me. Now, you will pay! I will take your blood, from both your arms – and both your legs! Amenez-le!’
Men dragged Eddie, kicking and thrashing, to the tree. ‘You sick fucker!’ the Yorkshireman shouted at Mukobo.
‘No!’ screamed Nina. ‘No, don’t!’ But her desperate pleas only roused the militia’s frenzy, the sadistic chanting starting again as her husband was slammed down on the stump. Luaba grinned as he hefted the machete. He looked to Mukobo.
The leader smiled, about to issue a command—
‘The treasure!’ Nina cried. ‘Wait, wait! The treasure in the palace, I know what it is!’
Mukobo turned back towards her. The chants of ‘Le Fauchet!’ petered out in confusion at the stay of execution. ‘You told me,’ said the warlord, unnervingly calm, ‘that you did not know what is in there.’
‘I – I said I wasn’t sure,’ she replied. It was her only chance to save Eddie, but she was all too aware that Mukobo might still carry out his threat . . . and if she said the wrong thing she would be next to face the blade. ‘But – but the ancient texts in Solomon’s temple, they talked about a thing called the Shamir – something of great power, sent to him by God. It came from here! Solomon built the palace to protect it!’
The mention of power visibly caught his interest. ‘What is this . . . Shamir?’
‘I don’t know – really, I don’t!’ she begged as he frowned. ‘It’s mentioned in ancient Hebrew texts. According to Solomon, the people who lived in Zhakana used it to build their empire.’
‘The Shamir is how they built this place – how they conquered their enemies,’ Ziff added. The older archaeologist was pale with horror at the atrocities he had just witnessed, voice tremulous. ‘Inside the palace is what Solomon called the “Mother of the Shamir”. We don’t know what it is – but it’s here.’
‘We can take you to it,’ Nina pressed on. ‘But please, please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you say, I’ll take you to the Shamir – if you let him go.’
‘Sounds like nonsense to me,’ said Brice. ‘She’s just trying to save Chase’s life – and limb. It’s only a legend, Philippe.’
‘So was Atlantis until I found it,’ Nina told him, defiance cutting through her fear. ‘So was the tomb of King Arthur. You think I’d come all the way out here if I didn’t believe it?’
‘I think these ruins are reason enough. Anything else is just icing on the cake—’
‘No,’ said Mukobo firmly, to the Englishman’s surprise. ‘The stories of this place – they do tell of a great power hidden here. I believe that she believes. And you told me on the journey here that she has been right about such legends, many times before.’ He addressed Nina again. ‘Convince me that I need you to find this treasure. If you do, Chase will keep his hands and feet – for now. If you do not . . .’ He cast his malevolent gaze over the other prisoners. Lydia was weeping uncontrollably, Kimba shivering as he whispered a prayer over and over. The two mutilated men had both gone into shock, barely moving. ‘I will kill them all in front of you, one by one. Then your husband
will watch as I take you, before you both die.’
‘You touch her,’ Eddie growled, ‘and I will tear off your fucking balls.’
Mukobo’s face darkened, but a distraction came from an unexpected source: Brice. ‘I always thought there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Chase,’ he scoffed. ‘But you’re so far towards the latter that you almost go all the way around to the other side. Your wife is desperately trying to save your life, and you insult the man with whom she’s bargaining? How were you not beaten to death by bullies as a child?’
‘Maybe I was the bully,’ said Eddie. That brought a small twitch of humour to the former spy’s face.
‘Mr Mukobo,’ Nina said, trying to take advantage of the interruption, ‘you need us because King Solomon didn’t want anyone to get into the palace unless they could prove they were worthy. He set tests that have to be passed; tests of wisdom. The first one was to find the hidden entrance.’ She gestured towards the palace’s roof. ‘Which we did. But once we got inside, we only got as far as the first room – where our cameraman got hurt.’
Mukobo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think I am not wise enough to pass t
hese tests, Dr Wilde?’
‘I’m saying that maybe none of us are – not individually. But the more of us there are, the better our chances. And wisdom isn’t about whether or not you have a doctorate. Eddie found the secret entrance, not me.’
Both the warlord and Brice gave Eddie dubious looks. ‘I did,’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘I actually out-thought King Solomon. Didn’t expect that, did you?’
‘I genuinely did not,’ said Brice, though with sarcasm rather than praise.
‘We can get through the tests,’ Nina went on. ‘It’ll take all of us, working together, but we can do it. But if you hurt my husband,’ she added forcefully, ‘then you might as well kill me right now, because . . . I’d sooner go to hell than help you.’
Mukobo stared at her, expression unreadable . . . then finally nodded. ‘You are brave, Dr Wilde. As my friend Mr Brice said, that can be very close to stupid. But for now, I will not hurt you, or Chase.’ He stepped back. ‘Or the rest of your people. I have decided they will be useful.’ He snapped his fingers, then pointed at the camera. One of his men picked up the Sony. ‘They will film me.’
Lydia looked up at him. ‘What?’
He gave the documentary crew a crocodile smile. ‘You will film my discovery of the treasures of King Solomon. Such wonders will increase my reputation, and win me more followers.’
‘After all you’ve done to keep Le Fauchet’s true identity secret,’ said Brice, far from approvingly, ‘now you want to be filmed?’
‘I will not put it on YouTube,’ Mukobo replied with a mocking snort. ‘It will be kept for when the time is right. But such a film will serve my legend. It will prove that I am the true ruler of the Congo. And if there really is a source of great power hidden here, then the world will see me take control of it.’
He gestured at the injured team members. ‘See to their wounds. Bring the others – and their camera. Dr Wilde, take us inside.’
16
With Rivero’s injuries making it impossible for him to scale the ladders, Howie took over camera duties. The three wounded men remained under guard at ground level as the others climbed to the palace roof.