Bundy is in Charge
Captain Ismael Bahati and his UCFF had only tarps or shelter halves to sleep under during the rain storm. Several men tried sleeping under the truck, but streams of fast flowing water forced them to climb into the covered truck, where sleeping was limited to an awkward theft of a few winks. Inevitably, a soldier would fall over on a comrade or crash to the floor on a pile of soggy troops. They were tired and hungry when the sun rose, piercing the mist and fog with rays of smoky, defused light. The day was going to be humid and hot—to the point where breathing would be hard. They should be used to air that could be cut with a knife, but at best they learned to adjust their breathing. Lasting much longer would require food and fresh water. The convoy of one truck was still a couple hundred miles from where the expedition had parked their vehicles.
Ismael ordered all to board the truck and headed southwest at a fast clip. “Fast” was a relative term, since maintenance had stopped decades ago. Now, the highways were mostly dirt and gravel, with rare pavement where it survived the DRC’s failed economic experiment. One hundred inches of annual rainfall had turned the roads into obstacle courses. Very few villages existed along the so called highway, since most natives had moved back to the rivers. One of the few large villages left, Bandgadi, was about a three hour drive from their present location. Everyone in the canvas covered truck looked forward to arriving there and having some real food, even if it was bush meat and wild fruit. Village residents would, in all probability, not share their enthusiasm when they saw this pack of rebels show up in their town—especially the women.
The Dominican Republic gang decided to get together for breakfast. The two mechanics, who did a little of everything, had a fire going. They were cooking eggs in skillets placed on rocks at the edge of the flames. Several steaming pots of coffee showed black stains halfway up the aluminum sides. The group had arrived with metal plates and cups and grabbed camp stools for seating. Roland and Zoe had joined them, bringing the number to eight. The Haitian couple had no specific jobs, but neither did Lu or Angel. Since Gretchen was a doctor, she could easily be put to work. Chris and Mit would be the primary divers. Modesto was a great diver too, but might be better utilized as Bruny’s assistant, in a military or translation role.
The men tending the fires began to pass around the coffee pots, and scrape eggs out of skillets. A Dutch oven lay in the middle of some heavy white coals. More coals laid on the lid. A metal hook lifted the lid handle, and revealed large homemade biscuits. Mit asked the mechanic if he would marry him. He received a weak smile in reply.
Angel elbowed Mit in the ribs. “Hell, you haven’t married me yet! Here you are two-timing me.”
“If you could make me biscuits like those…well, it might push me over the edge.”
“When are you guys getting married?” Lu and Gretchen spoke in unison.
“Soon, and if you behave yourselves you may be invited,” Angel said.
“Define ‘behave ourselves,’ and does this little side trip count against us?” Chris asked.
“I will look at everyone’s body of responsible work before sending out wedding invitations,” Angel said.
“We’re screwed!” Zoe said.
“Count our ass cooked,” Chris said. Modesto shook his head from side to side.
When they heard the end of this conversation, Carol and Sony sat down across from them. “I’m sure we will screw up sooner or later, and we have no real body of work. But…assuming you guys like us later—we’d love to attend the wedding,” Sony said. Then, he introduced himself and Carol.
“Sony and I had a quick jungle wedding before we got on the helicopter. According to Sony, it can’t be undone unless I’m taken as a slave by a pygmy chief,” Carol said. She poured a cup of black coffee. “Is there any half and half and Splenda? Oh shit—I forgot. We’re in Africa.”
The whole group laughed at this crazy couple, and started asking questions. Sony didn’t have to say a lot, since most everyone had read his mother’s journal. They were in awe of his parents.
Carol explained she was an anthropologist from France, but had studied in the States. She now lived in a tent in the jungle with a large primate. The group hoped that the natives with the poison arrows found her amusing as well.
Bruny stopped by to say, “Hi,” and explained that the supply helicopter was leaving shortly. Anyone having an emergency could go with it to see a doctor in Kisangani.
“Mr. Bruny. I have a request for half and half and Splenda. Hurry, my coffee is getting cold.” Carol laughed when she made her request.
“Hot and black! Just like your men. It’s Africa! Live it! Love it! You and Charlie get ready to meet your natives soon. Rishi will start calling them any minute,” Bruny said. He marched off to give orders elsewhere.
Chris, Mit, and Modesto had met these people briefly before their departure, but the girls and Roland had no idea who they were—except for two coal black Haitians who had climbed down from guard duty. When Devil Man and Jackie saw them, they ran for the girls and picked them up, swung them around, and accepted kisses from all of them. They knew a little English now, as Modesto had arranged schooling for them. They certainly knew when Lu called them names for not letting them know they were part of this expedition.
“Big damn secret, Miss Lu. Could tell nobodies. Not safe here. You girls go home,” Devil Man said. He grinned and accepted hugs from Angel and Gretchen.
“The only safe place I’ve ever been with you, Devil Man, was at my wedding,” Lu said. She grabbed his huge arm and squeezed it.
“Much fun. Someday Devil Man gets married. You welcome to come,” he said. He smiled down from his six-foot seven inch frame and locked on Lu with his one good eye.
“You no speaking to me?” Jackie said. He also picked her up and hugged her.
“Always, my love. I see you have taken good care of the Devil Man,” Lu said.
“Must keep him out of trouble. You made us famous,” Jackie said.
“You can blame Modesto for that. He got you dual citizenship, passports and a little restitution from the Italians who owned the batey, or let’s call it a sugar cane prison in the D.R. and your pictures in all the papers,” Lu said.
“We must go speak to the others,” Jackie said. He went over to shake Chris, Mit, and Modesto’s hands, even though he had talked to them at the airport. Chris had to practically drag Zoe and Carol over to meet Devil Man. He still had a hideous scar. It ran down the front of his face through an eye that was white, to an ear that was severed in a couple places. He was a giant of a man, with huge muscular arms marked by battle scars on most of his exposed skin. Roland spoke to both men and explained how important their role was for the Haitian government. Modesto overheard, and found that he and Roland had similar roles in their respective countries. They had met before at the Abu Camp Lodge, but had never really gotten into their occupations in any depth. A fast friendship began, and they forgot the spying incident.
The sun was unobstructed and blasted the small army of humans scurrying around in the quarry to find their positions in the new tent city. The supply helicopter lifted off, carrying one of the Congolese military men who had developed a fever after marching in the rain. Then, there was a laundry list of requests from everyone, (Splenda and half and half were missing.) The chopper would be back before dark. If it weren’t storming, it would make this run almost every day.
Bundy Jean-Baptiste ran a tight ship. He made sure the military men took shifts around the wall and at the gate. Some were stationed in the jungle and others on the bluffs as lookouts. All had radios and orders not to shoot anyone—not just yet. The geologists were roping off the pitchblende area with crime scene tape that was found in abundance in Kinshasa. They took mineral samples from all areas of the old quarry. Human remains and artifacts were turned over to the two anthropologists. Chris and Mit worked with the mechanics to get the compressors ready and to study the compression chambers built into the old cave structure. The stone cottage now opened directly into the water.
Gretchen introduced herself to Dr. Devine. He was pleased to have the young beautiful blond German doctor assisting him. They both made sure they prevented mayhem by regulating sanitation and mosquito control. There could be no standing water. The blue hole was not a problem, because mosquitoes would not breed in such cool water. Latrines were a major concern, and they made plans to build better ones with lumber brought in by the chopper. Showers were also a part of the cleanliness profile. Bruny stuck his head into the medical tent and volunteered to shower with the ladies as a water-saving measure. Gretchen complimented him on his sense of humor and sent him on his way. Bruny and the other twenty or thirty men in the compound noticed there were at least five drop dead gorgeous young women wandering around in the quarry. Maybe more if they looked a little harder..
Several people went with Rishi to make his call out for the natives. A script had been created by Carol and Charlie with Bruny’s approval. He would use languages he had learned when he lived with natives in the area. They had spoken their own indigenous language for thousands of years, but the slave traders in the mid ninetieth century had used a Swahili dialect that became pretty much universal in central Africa. The two women could read and translate Swahili, but neither could speak it fluently.
The announcement was simple and took a minute or two to read aloud. Rishi read the announcement three times, standing at the edge of the bluff facing upriver, at thirty minutes intervals.
“We mean you no harm. We will remove the bad witches from the inside of the sacred place. We have gifts for you, and wish to sit and talk to you peacefully. We hope to find minerals that will be valuable to us. If we do—then there will be jobs for you. You will not have the bad seasons when the Lese cannot grow crops and hunting is poor. We do not want to move your villages to the roads. You can stay where you are. We would like to send one man and two women to speak to you tomorrow. We hope we can speak to the chiefs of both tribes. They will cross the river and wait for you by the bank at midday. They will have two guards with them. One of the men has lived in a native village before. Do not shoot your arrows at us tonight, as we do not want to kill any of your people. Thank you.”
There was no rustling of the jungle foliage, no covey of birds that flew out of bushes, no squawking of monkeys, just silence—which the expedition leader felt was a good sign.