Outbreak (5 page)

The South African nodded almost serenely.

'Correct me if I'm wrong,' Ngomo continued, 'but the symptoms sound very much like those of extreme malaria.'

The South African inclined his head. 'Similar enough, I would say, for our purposes at least. Of course, there are rumours among the villagers . . .'

'Rumours are fine. They will keep people away. I understand that the village is extremely isolated, and that it seldom attracts visitors from the surrounding area. But if word gets out that we have discovered Coltan here, we can expect unwanted interest - you know how unstable that region is. I assume you have taken steps to stop word leaking out.'

'Of course,' the South African stated. 'Our mine manager controls all the transport in the village, and we have stopped any mail or deliveries from coming in or out. But I'm afraid there is an unforeseen problem.'

'What is that?'

'The workforce. They are dying more quickly than we anticipated. We don't have enough men or boys to work the mine.'

'Then you will need to bring in more personnel. Where is the nearest village?'

'Half a day's drive away.'

'We must import more workers from there. But we
must
keep it a secret, what we're doing.'

Suddenly one of the other white men spoke. 'If it's secrecy you want,' he observed, 'then I'm afraid it is already compromised.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean the scientist. He will return to the outside world soon enough; and what if
he
suspects what
we
suspect about the deaths among the mine-workers and their families?'

The South African smiled blandly. 'His work will be done in a matter of days,' he observed before standing up and looking out of the window into a neat courtyard below. 'Unfortunately he has his son with him.' The men around him looked troubled. 'He's an unprepossessing kid - I don't think he will cause us any trouble. But I caught him speaking to one of the villagers who works in our offices.'

'She told him the rumours?' Nkomo asked.

'I don't know. But it's OK - I have arranged for them to travel to Udok earlier than expected. That way, we don't risk anybody else filling their heads with ideas. And of course, people succumb to all sorts of things in that part of the Congo.'

He turned round and gave everyone in the room a knowing look, which they returned in unified silence.

'Then I suggest' - Nkomo spoke in a monotone voice - 'that once the scientist has done his job, he and his son are considered entirely dispensable.'

Everyone in the room nodded their heads slowly.

'Good,' Nkomo continued smoothly. 'Then I think that just about concludes our business. Thank you for keeping us informed, Mr Kruger. You have been most helpful.'

CHAPTER FOUR

The Cessna started losing height.

Since Abele's mysterious warning, there had been almost no conversation in the cabin, and Ben had resorted to gazing aimlessly out of the window and watching the vastness of Africa pass beneath him. From that height it was difficult to make out the landscape over which they were flying, but as they prepared for landing, he found himself able to make out more distinct features: the thick canopy of jungle, the occasional weather-beaten road, the river. They called Africa the dark continent, but all Ben could see was a riot of colour.

The landing was a lot less smooth than the one they had experienced in Kinshasa Airport earlier that day - Ben was pleased he had heeded the instruction of the smiling pilot to strap himself in. Finally, though, the vigorously jolting plane came to a stop, the doors were opened and the passengers stepped out into the oppressively humid outside. Ben felt his clothes cling immediately to his skin as Abele pulled down their luggage and carried it to the side of the runway. There was little to distinguish this airfield from any other patch of cracked earth - Ben squinted as he looked around at the unfamiliar, slightly hostile surroundings. Nothing. No buildings, no shelter: just an expanse of earth covered with low brush and brown dust. Abele spoke to the pilot in an African dialect: he shook his head and then walked over to Ben and his father, hand outstretched and grin still intact, revealing several misshapen, yellow teeth interspersed with four or five gaps.

'You are not coming to the village with us?' Ben's dad asked in that loud, slow voice people use when addressing someone who doesn't speak their language.

If anything, the pilot's grin became wider as he shook his head and waved a finger in front of him, before turning and clambering back into the cockpit. The Cessna was gone as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the three of them alone with their bags and an uncomfortable silence, staring as the plane disappeared into the skies.

By the side of the road was a small copse of palm trees which cast a long shadow in the afternoon sun. The trio took shelter in the shade as Ben and his dad waited for Abele to tell them how they were to be transported from here. 'They send someone to collect us,' he murmured, before turning his back on his two English companions and gazing out into the distance. Ben peered around him. The mid-afternoon sun was causing a wavy haze of heat in the near distance, making it difficult for him to focus on any one thing, even with the expensive Polaroid shades his mum had insisted on buying for him. In one direction, though - a mile away, perhaps less, perhaps more - he saw something moving across the horizon. It was a crowd of animals, travelling at some speed, though he could not make out what they were.

Suddenly he jumped as he heard Abele's voice right next to him. 'Olive baboon,' he noted, a look of distaste in his face.

'Are they dangerous?' Ben asked, unable to take his eyes off the troop.

Abele shrugged. 'Not wise to get too close. But more nuisance than dangerous. They steal food.'

Just then their attention was distracted from the baboons by the quivering, hazy sight of a car appearing in the distance. Abele raised his arm in the air and stood by the side of the road while Ben and his father waited wordlessly behind him. It took the car longer to reach them than Ben would have expected - it was a beaten-up old thing, trundling slowly along. Finally, though, it pulled up at a short distance - perhaps ten metres - from the trio, who were eagerly awaiting its arrival. The driver switched off the noisy engine, opened his door and started walking towards them. The smile on his face was perhaps broader even than that of the pilot who had just left them, though he walked with a curious posture, his hands held firmly behind his back. Noting the presence of two white men, he spoke in broken English. 'You want lift?'

From the corner of his eye, Ben saw Abele's brow furrow, and in that split second he himself realized that what this stranger had just said to them was odd. If he'd been sent to pick them up, why would he be asking them if they wanted a lift? He took an involuntary step backwards, but it was too late. He froze as the man let the smile fall from his face and pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal a dull, grey handgun.

Nobody moved. Ben felt a drop of sweat drip down the right-hand side of his face, though whether that was a result of the heat or the sudden fear that was like a shock through his body, he couldn't tell. He stared at the man who had them at gunpoint. His lip was curled now, and there was a look of flat menace in his eyes that suggested to Ben he would not hesitate to use his weapon if they didn't do exactly what he said - or even if they did.

Their attacker twitched the gun down towards the bags. 'Empty them,' he commanded.

Ben and his father glanced at Abele, who nodded at them. Ben was the first to bend down to his bag. 'Slow!' the attacker barked, the word spoken with such sharp urgency that for a millisecond he thought it was the sound of the gun firing. Struggling to keep control of himself, Ben slowed his movements down, unzipped his luggage and then started to upturn it.

But before he could spill its contents onto the dusty ground, there was movement.

The attacker had stepped closer to Abele who, with a quickness that Ben would never have expected of him, shot out his hand and grabbed the arm with which their attacker was holding the gun. There was a brief struggle, and suddenly the gun went off. The bang rang in Ben's ears and caused a host of unfamiliar birds to rise as one from their hiding places in the low brush. Ben and his father watched in frozen horror as the two men struggled to get control of the weapon. They were an evenly matched pair - both strong, both desperate - but eventually the attacker managed to strike Abele a vicious blow across the side of the face. Abele's head twisted round and he fell with a heavy thud to his knees as the attacker took a couple of steps backwards and aimed the gun directly at Abele's face.

There was a wildness in the man's eyes that put Ben in no doubt that he was about to shoot. He had to do something.

As quick as his trembling limbs would allow him to, he plunged his hand into his bag and grabbed the first hard object he came across - the bottle of water he had promised his mum he would pack. With a yank he pulled it out, ignoring his other belongings, which tumbled out onto the ground, and hurled it at the attacker. The bottle hit him squarely on the side of the face, suddenly distracting him, and for a short moment Ben thought he had done enough.

But he hadn't. For the second time in as many minutes, the gun cracked loudly, reverberating with a horrible quake through Ben's body.

'Abele!' he and his father shouted desperately in unison as their guide started to fall.

It all happened as though in slow motion. Abele lurched forward and in an instant Ben's desperation turned to sudden relief as he realized that their attacker had missed him and that Abele was seizing his moment - and his assailant. He grabbed the man's legs below the knees and the car driver fell to the ground, coughing loudly and hoarsely as he was struck with great fierceness in the pit of his stomach. Momentarily winded, he could do nothing but lie in the dust. Russell ran towards him to retrieve the weapon before he had time to recuperate, but Abele was already there. He banged the man's wrist vigorously against a sharp stone that was on the ground, causing it to bleed immediately and profusely, then grabbed the gun from his outstretched palm. 'Get in the car,' he shouted to them as he stood up, the gun aimed directly at the abdomen of the suddenly terrified attacker.

Ben stuffed his belongings back into his bag, then he and his dad started dragging the luggage towards the vehicle. He was vaguely aware of Abele circling around their assailant in the direction of the car, gun still pointing firmly at him; but when they were just a metre away from the vehicle, Ben looked back over his shoulder to see Abele stepping towards the prostrate man, the gun pointed straight at his head.

He meant to shoot him.

'Abele!' Ben shouted. 'No!' He dropped the bag and ran towards the guide, whose eyes flickered towards him, his face confused.

'Leave them, Ben,' his dad shouted, but Ben ignored him. He was standing next to Abele now, and knew he had to talk quickly.

'You can't just kill him, Abele.'

'This man was going to take my life,' Abele said in an emotionless voice, as though that excused everything.

'I don't care,' Ben told him, his voice low and urgent. 'Just get in the car - we'll leave him here.'

Abele looked back at the man, who was still lying on the floor, dread in his eyes. Ben suddenly became aware that he was muttering something in a strange language under his breath. A prayer, perhaps, though whether it was one of forgiveness or protection, Ben couldn't tell. Abele walked up to him and, after appearing to pause for thought, kicked him hard in the side of the ribs. The man groaned again and doubled up as he lay on the ground. Abele spoke - Ben didn't understand what he said - then repeated himself more harshly. Their attacker painfully got to his feet, raised his arms in the air, and stepped backwards until he was a good distance from them. 'Now get in the car.' Abele repeated his instruction to Ben.

This time, Ben did as he was told. He and his dad heaved their bags into the boot, then Ben took a seat in the back while his dad sat in the front. Abele walked backwards towards the car, still pointing the gun at their assailant, who stared after them with contempt etched on his face. The keys were in the ignition, so as soon as Abele sat in the driving seat and placed the gun on the dashboard, they were away.

As they drove past their attacker, Ben watched him from the back window. His lip was still curled, and his yellow eyes followed Ben, boring intently into his features. There was hate on his face, Ben thought, and humiliation. He tried to look for a sign of thanks - Ben had saved his life, after all - but there was none.

They drove down the road in a silence that was punctuated only by the grumbling of the car as it struggled on the bumpy track. Ben watched his father. His balding head was red and dotted with beads of sweat, but his face seemed pale and gaunt. Now and then he opened his mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. In the end, it was Abele who broke the silence for him. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he took the gun from the dashboard and carefully handed it to Russell. 'Do you know how to use it?' he asked.

'I really don't think . . .' Russell started to say, but his voice petered out at a withering look from Abele.

'I have already told you,' he intoned, 'my country is a very dangerous place, and you insist on coming to the most dangerous part. We have been fighting each other in civil war for many years, and life is not held in high regard. You never know when you will meet
voleurs
like him - the rule of law is weak here. Take the gun.'

There was a silence before Abele spoke again.