Death in the Congo: Book 5 in the Dan Stone series Page 3

  “I explained that is why you looked like mercenaries. No one would suspect you of working for our government.” His smile broadened. “I also told them you were well versed in the killing arts and that they would come to a bad end if they forced the issue. I also promised them you didn’t have any designs on their women. You had your own to comfort you.

  “I ended by saying how proud I was that they would step up to defend their honor and the honor of our women. Although I don’t think they were concerned so much about our women.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” Marcus said. He and Roland shook Santu’s hand. This time Santu didn’t snap his fingers when they unclasped.

  “So, what does bring you to Kinshasa? You look like you are ready for a safari.”

  “I’m here to talk with people about mining opportunities for my company.”

  Santu nodded his head. “You need a helper, a fixer. Someone who can help you navigate our customs and bureaucracies. From the looks of this evening, you need my help.”

  Dan laughed. “We do better in offices than in nightclubs.”

  “Yet you are not dressed for offices.”

  “These are not our only clothes.” Dan reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “I want to pay you for your help.”

  Santu shook his head and put out his hand to signal ‘stop’. “I did not help for money. I helped to avoid an international incident. It is what I do. I can help you with your endeavors.”

  Dan smiled. “Santu, we’re fine, and, again, thank you for your inspiration. But we have to go now.”

  He turned, and the three of them walked down the street to hail a cab. He could feel Santu’s gaze follow them.

  Once in a taxi Dan relaxed.

  “You know how close that was?” he asked.

  “I know,” Roland growled. “It was just a bit of fun, you know that.”

  Dan sighed. “Yeah, I know that. No one guessed those guys would confront us. You didn’t help though, by insulting him in front of his buddies.”

  “I know. He just pissed me off. Such a pecker head.”

  “You’d think they’d have more sense. We don’t exactly look like pushovers,” Marcus said.

  “Too much to drink. It makes one reckless.” Dan gave Roland a pointed look.

  “I’m sorry, boss man,” Roland said in a sheepish voice.

  “Cut the shit. I’m serious. We need to not fight our way around the country. Don’t be led by your dick, or you become the pecker head.”

  “You’re right.” Roland turned to Marcus. “Marcus, make sure I behave in the future. When I see a vision of a girl, remind me I’m supposed to remain celibate for my boss.”

  “You’re fucking incorrigible,” Dan muttered.

  He didn’t notice Roland’s large grin.

  Chapter 4

  ___________________________________

  T he next morning Dan went to the car dealer to make the final payment and pick up the Land Cruiser. Jane had set up the purchase over the internet, complete with pictures of the vehicle to be purchased.

  When he arrived, the salesman showed him the Toyota he said had been selected. It was in sad shape: the tires were worn, there were dings and dents all over the vehicle, the seats were torn, and it was missing the spare tire. Dan grabbed the keys and started the engine. He could tell from the way it cranked over that the battery was low. When the engine finally fired up, there was an audible knock coming from somewhere deep inside the engine. Rod or crank bearing going bad.

  “This vehicle is unacceptable,” Dan said in French. He had spent some weeks brushing up on his French along with his crash course in coltan mining.

  “Non, monsieur, this is what the lady agreed to purchase.”

  “It is not what was agreed to,” Dan said.

  “Oui. We have passed up on selling this machine to hold it for you. It is fine. Don’t be fooled by the looks. If you are driving out of the city, the roads bang the cars up. It may look rough, but it is a good car, one that can take you anywhere.”

  Dan stepped up close to the salesman. He backed the man up against the vehicle in question.

  “You are not speaking truthfully with me.” He held his finger up as the man started to reply. “Don’t speak. Just listen. You are trying to cheat me and I will not stand for it.”

  Dan reached into his pocket and took out a picture that Jane had sent, showing the Land Cruiser to be purchased.

  “As you can see, the machine you are trying to sell me is the wrong color.” He stabbed his finger at the picture. “This is the one we purchased. I will accept no other. Certainly not this morceau de merde, piece of crap.”

  The man’s eyes got big. He glanced at the photo and back at Dan.

  “There must be a mistake—”

  “Yes, there is. You tried to sell me this, he slapped the SUV, instead of this.” He pointed to the picture.

  Dan continued. “The mining company I work for may need many more vehicles if my trip is successful. They could be purchased from you. I can’t be successful, though, if I have to use this piece of junk. Now, if you don’t want further trouble from me, and if you want more business in the future, get me the vehicle I agreed to purchase.”

  “Un moment.” The man turned to go. “I must talk with my manager.”

  “Hurry. I have a schedule to keep.”

  Dan followed the man into the shade of the building as he disappeared into an inner office. The day was heating up and his shirt was already drenched in sweat. The pungent smell he noticed the day before still hung in the air. At the car dealership, the smell was altered but not improved by the odor of gasoline and oil.

  He could hear voices arguing back and forth inside the office. There was a little French, but most of the conversation was in an African dialect. A few minutes later, the salesman came out.

  “We have some confusion. The wrong car was entered into our records. The car your office arranged to purchase, the one in the picture, has been sold.”

  Dan gave the man an angry look. He stared hard into his eyes. “You must correct this at once. I don’t have time to wait around. If I have to go to another dealer, you will refund my money or my company will sue you, and you will never get any business from us again. We will also alert every foreign company we know doing business here, not to work with you.” He pointed his finger at the man. “You do not want to make an enemy of us.”

  “I…I…can clean the vehicle, fix the seats—”

  “Unacceptable. The motor is not good. It will break down.”

  The man thought for a moment. “I have another Toyota. It’s in fine shape, newer than the one you looked at. I can sell it to you.”

  “For how much?”

  “Let me show you the machine.”

  He led Dan back to the lot and showed him a late model, white Land Cruiser with a gasoline engine. As stated, it was cleaner and newer. Dan started it and the motor purred.

  “How much?” he asked again.

  “Only thirty-two thousand US dollars. It is quite a bargain.

  “That’s five thousand more than the one we agreed to purchase.”

  “Yes, but is it newer, better, less mileage on it.”

  Dan thought for a moment. He was getting played; he knew that. The dealer thought he would fall for the beat-up model they tried to push on him and reap a big reward. Since he raised a fuss, they were going to limit their downside by upgrading him to a newer model. Dan guessed the price was inflated by about three thousand dollars.

  “I will do this with three conditions. First, you replace the tires with better off-road tires, including the spare. Second, you put a roof rack on, I have much to pack. Third, you install a winch on the front bumper.”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t know…”

  “You get to keep the tires you take off and resell them. They are worth quite a lot. And I will give a good report to my company, not the one I was planning to give.”

  “We have to repla
ce the bumper to put a winch on it.”

  I’ll pay you an additional two hundred fifty for that part of the job. But I want it done today.”

  With a little more haggling, the salesman agreed. Dan would come back the next day to conclude the deal. He left thinking he had come out reasonably well considering how loose the deal was to begin with.

  After leaving the car dealership, Dan purchased four recovery tracks. They were four feet long, ladder-like in appearance, and were put under tires to get a vehicle unstuck from a mudhole. They added to his self-recovery capabilities. He didn’t want to underestimate the challenges of African roads.

  Dan and his two companions spent the rest of the day scouting locations to have the embassy make the drop. They wanted to remain anonymous so that regardless the results of their actions, no one at the embassy could tie the mysterious crate and its contents back to any US operative. Dan took them to Arome, a restaurant near to their hotel. When they returned, no one noticed the wiry man watching them enter the hotel.

  The next morning, Dan took a taxi to the car dealer. The work had been completed and, after a test drive, checking out the high and low range, he completed his purchase and filled out all the paperwork showing his company’s ownership of the Land Cruiser. His IDP, International Driving Permit was good for the DRC.

  When he returned to the hotel, he left the Toyota out front and went to his room. Both Marcus and Roland were waiting for him there, having packed while he was gone. They seemed eager to be off.

  “Less than two days in Kinshasa and you’re already tired of it?” Dan asked.

  “Not tired, but our boss won’t let us enjoy ourselves,” Roland replied. “So, we might as well get on with the mission.”

  “We can have fun when we get back,” Marcus said.

  “Give me a minute,” Dan said as he put his gear into his bag.

  Down in the lobby, Dan and the other two men checked themselves out separately. They were dressed for the journey into more rugged country, khaki pants, hiking boots, long-sleeve shirts and wide-brimmed hats to ward off the sun. As they approached the Toyota, Santu stepped forward.

  “Bonjour,” he said.

  Dan stopped in his tracks. “Santu, what brings you here? And how did you find us?”

  Santu flashed his large smile. It lit up his whole face. Dan felt himself smile in response.

  “I’m resourceful and clever. You three are on some important mission. You are very capable men. Big men, we call them. And you,” he pointed to Dan, “are the big man of the group—the chief. But even a chief needs his assistant, a fixer. Someone who knows the locals and the customs. I am a linguist. I speak English, French, Lingala, Swahili, and a few other Bantu dialects. Even some pygmy dialects. I can help you avoid what happened two nights ago.”

  Dan started to shake his head.

  “Isn’t it better to avoid such incidents? No matter what your mission, it will be smoother without conflict. That’s where I come in.” This last he said with a dramatic tap to his chest.

  “We don’t have room for you and you can’t be a part of my company’s project.”

  Just then Roland put his hand on Dan’s arm.

  “Maybe we could use him. Let’s face it, we’re not exactly going to blend in.”

  “Yes, yes,” Santu said with enthusiasm. “I help you blend in…smooth the way. That’s what a fixer does.”

  Dan stared at him for a long time. Santu met his gaze with a calm face.

  “We may be gone for a number of weeks. You can be away that long?”

  Santu’s face dropped just for a moment, and then his cheery countenance returned. “I am in between assignments, so, yes, I am free to travel with you for as long as you need me.”

  Marcus stepped in front of Dan. “We need to talk.” He turned to Santu, “Wait here, I want to discuss this with these men.”

  They stepped away from Santu.

  “Are you crazy?” Marcus asked. “We can’t have someone like him with us. We don’t know who he is. He could be a plant, a spy.”

  “No one knows who we are or that we’re even here,” Dan said. “I have a sense we might need him.”

  He turned back to Santu.

  “How much would you want me to pay you? If I took you on?”

  Santu thought for a moment and replied, “Three hundred Euros a day.”

  Dan smiled. “Good try. I’ll give you one hundred fifty Euros per day, plus your meals.”

  Without hesitation, Santu stuck out his hand. “Done!” he said.

  Chapter 5

  ___________________________________

  D o you need to pack your gear?” Dan asked as they headed to the Toyota.

  “I’ve got my gear,” Santu said and darted across the lawn to a row of shrubs. He reached into the bushes and pulled out his backpack and dashed back to the group.

  “How the hell did you know we were leaving?” Dan asked as they got into the Land Cruiser.

  “The way you dressed. Both the night I met you and today. This is not how one dresses to do business in Kinshasa. I could tell you were probably headed for the countryside.”

  “You’re very observant,” Marcus said. He sat in the front seat with Dan while Roland and Santu sat in the back. The third row of seats were folded up to the sides.

  They drove in silence to a run-down warehouse area. Dan stopped the SUV.

  “Marcus you wait here, out of sight. I’ve given instructions for the crate to be dropped behind that wall across the street.”

  There was an abandoned warehouse across the street. What was once a large metal doorway was now just an opening with the adjoining concrete wall partly broken down, leaving only a partial wall screening the building from the street.

  “We’ll drive around the corner where we can watch but not be seen. You keep an eye on the crate. When they drive off, we’ll come around and load it.”

  Dan looked around. “It seems empty. I don’t think anyone’s around to interfere.”

  Marcus got out. Dan drove to the corner and went into the alley. He found a turnaround and pulled the Toyota back to the intersection.

  “When the car comes, slide down in the seat. It’s important no one sees us.”

  Santu didn’t say a word during this time. Ten minutes later a dark Suburban drove up and stopped across from the wall. Two men got out and opened the rear. They dragged out a five-foot wooden crate and carried it behind the wall. After looking up and down the street, one of the men shrugged and spoke through the window to the driver. A few words were exchanged and the two men got back into the SUV, which drove off.

  Dan pulled out of the alley and up to the wall. Roland jumped out as Marcus came across the street. Dan scanned the road to the front and rear as the two men loaded the crate into the back of the Toyota.

  “Okay, Mr. Fixer,” Dan said, “direct me to highway N1.”

  “Where are we going?” Santu asked.

  “Goma,” Dan replied.

  Santu sucked in his breath. “By road?”

  “Can’t go by boat or train.”

  “What about flying? A car trip can take a week or more.”

  Dan shook his head. “Can’t use planes. You want out? Is this trip too much adventure for you?”

  Santu thought for a moment and shook his head. “No. You are an important man, a big man. You are all big men, so you must be going to do something important. I will go with you and help do this important thing.”

  Roland clapped him on the back. The smack was hard enough to shove Santu against the front seat. “Good decision. Always go with the strong hand. We are the strong hand. We’re a band of brothers. If you prove yourself, you might get to join us.”

  Santu smiled at Roland, who outweighed him by seventy pounds as he caught his breath.

  Roland gave him a not-exactly warm smile in return. “If you prove yourself. We have high standards, my slim friend.”

  Santu’s smile faded a bit.

  “The way t
o N1,” Dan asked again.

  Santu turned, his face showing some relief, and gave him the directions.

  When they were on the road, which was paved in this area, Santu told Dan the next good-sized town was Kikwit. It had a population of around 400,000.

  “We will not get there before nighttime. It is about eight hours away.”

  “With this nice two-lane blacktop, we can cruise along pretty well,” Marcus said.

  “Yes, but we must pass through small villages which will slow us down. We may want to stop in Kenge. It will have a small hotel, unless you want to camp beside the road—something I don’t recommend.”

  “Why not” asked Marcus.

  “Bandits and wildlife. This may look like pleasant country, but there are still dangerous animals out there.”

  “Kenge is it then,” Dan declared.

  They drove on and left Kinshasa behind. The land was farm and pasture, open, with the trees cut decades ago to make room for crops and animals.

  “This almost looks like the Midwest,” Roland remarked, “except the trees don’t look quite right.”

  “What is the Midwest?” Santu asked.

  “The US is divided into the East, Midwest, West, and West Coast. You can add the North and South to that.”

  “Just points on the compass?”

  “Yes, but each has a characteristic. The Midwest is open, often flat or rolling, but with large farm fields and long views, just like this.”

  They drove along in silence. Often, they slowed as the road became crowded with pedestrians. There were women in colorful skirts, sometimes with loads balanced on their heads, walking in a stately fashion, hips swinging but heads motionless and erect. Along the small roadside areas, there were shacks and vendors, and sometimes cars and small pickups parked waiting to pick up people and their goods.

  “They drive people to the larger towns so they can trade and sell their goods,” Santu said. “The drivers overload their pickups. It helps them to make more money. But along this part of the road, it’s not a problem. This is the way the whole road should be, but unfortunately it isn’t. You will see later in our journey. Then transporting people and goods becomes more difficult and dangerous.”