African Ice (7 page)

He finished his second year of college with a dismal two-point-six grade point average. He didn't bother registering for his third year, but enlisted in the Navy instead. His knee had healed, and they saw a healthy body and an alert mind. He was transferred to Little Creek, Virginia, almost immediately. Navy SEALs, Team Six. The rest was history. Except that he took the memories of a horrible youth with him everywhere he went. There was no escaping.

Travis McNeil took another drag on his cigarette and slowly blew the smoke into the humid air. “Not much to tell, really,” he said. “Normal family, cute house with a white picket fence on a quiet street. Mom and Dad went off to work each day, provided for us. I made a few sports teams, but never got invited to any training camps. Started smoking early, drank underage, that kind of stuff. Pretty boring, actually.”

Samantha nodded and opened a small pouch attached to her belt. She extracted a large pill and looked at it with great distaste. “Three weeks of these things has been hell,” she said, swallowing the last of her malarial pills. “Have you ever had malaria?”

“Once. It's not pleasant. How about you?”

“Lucky so far,” she answered.

Their drinks arrived and he crushed out his cigarette after ordering lunch. “I'll miss these when they're gone.”

“American cigarettes?”

He nodded. “They've got those awful French cigarettes. Gitanes, I think they're called. Quite vile,” he said, then turned as three men entered the restaurant. He motioned for his team to join them.

“Careful you don't get your shirt dirty, Troy,” Travis goaded his arms expert as he sat down. “You've only got two left.”

Troy just laughed and turned to Samantha. “Thanks,” he said. “Extra shirts or prison. It's an easy choice.”

Sam just smiled. Travis got down to business. “I was talking to Philip Acundo on the trip from the airport. He says the munitions arrived in Kinshasa two days ago. Colonel Mugumba took a personal interest in the shipment. He met with Ng at the docks and offloaded the cargo into a few Land Rovers. Acundo told me the equipment should be en route to Goma sometime tomorrow. If all goes well, we should be armed and dangerous in two days.”

“Thank God.” Alain Porter breathed a sigh of relief. “I feel naked. All four guys who picked us up at the airport this morning were packing.”

Dan Nelson agreed. “We're sitting ducks. It would be nice to pick up a few handguns. Just in case.”

“No. I'm sure Mugumba made it pretty clear to these four guys to get us out of Rwanda and into the Congo. If we don't arrive, they might as well not come back. If we get caught with weapons in Rwanda, they could shoot us on the spot. Zero tolerance toward foreigners.”

“Nice fucking place,” Ramage said.

“That's why you're getting the big bucks for this one, Troy. Let's just stay out of trouble until we get to the border and get our hands on our gear. Then we can kick some serious ass if we have to.”

The other three men nodded. Samantha watched them as they interacted. A bunch of overgrown macho men, she thought. And then she reconsidered. What kept these men alive was their ability to kill the other guy before he got them. And without guns, Dan Nelson was right. They
were
sitting ducks. If anyone wanted this entourage to disappear, what better time than before they picked up their guns? She realized the gravity of the situation. And in that, she found a new respect for these men.

They were here to protect her, to ensure she found the elusive diamond formation in the Ruwenzori Mountains. They were ready to lay their lives on the line. That they were being paid for it suddenly became insignificant. These four men brought a commitment to their jobs that few others did. If they had a bad day at the office, they died. She glanced around the table as they continued talking about the upcoming mission. She liked what she saw. And for a fleeting moment, she felt safe.

Then the doubt returned. Could she find the formation? The longer it took her to locate the diamonds, the greater the chance they'd all be killed. Ultimately, the success of the mission rested on her shoulders—her ability as a geologist. She felt a slight curl at the edge of her lips as this thought hit her. Kerrigan was right about two things. She had a knack for staying alive, and she was one damn good geologist.

Things would be okay. Keep her alive long enough and she'd find the diamonds.

Samantha was up before the sun. She wriggled out of her clothes and started the shower. A trickle of dusty water spilled from the showerhead into the claw-foot tub. She stepped in and shivered in the early morning heat. The water was freezing. She wondered how in such a sweltering climate, the water could be so cold. Other than the planned stop in Butembo, she knew this would be the last decent shower for some time, and she tried to enjoy it. It didn't work, but she emerged clean and refreshed after ten minutes. She dressed and took the stairs to the main floor.

The front-desk clerk was the only sign of human life. She said good morning and walked into the street. She glanced both ways, then turned right and began to jog. The cobblestone road was rough and slippery under her feet, and she relaxed a bit when she turned off the main road and the stones turned to dirt. She picked up her pace, pressing her cardiovascular system to work harder. She was breathing heavily as she turned right into a narrow street a few blocks from the hotel. This was the Rwanda she remembered.

Shanty housing lined both sides of the lane, many shacks with broken windows, and few in good repair. Mottled doors infested with termites stood as testaments to the resident's position in Rwandan society. Most in this area were in poor condition, with peeling paint and rusted hardware. An occasional one boasted a new coat of paint, a sign that the owner was doing just fine. She continued along the road for half a mile, then cut left into a darkened alley. She slowed her progress as she approached the end of the street.

Twenty feet from the dead end was a door, similar to almost every other door she had run past in the last ten minutes. She stopped and knocked. Inside, there were scuffling noises as the residents roused themselves. A moment later, the door opened. A short man, just over five feet, with a pug nose and a puzzled expression, looked out. Suddenly he brightened.

“Doctor Sam,” he said, grinning widely, his white teeth shining in the low light of dawn. “Doctor Sam, you've come back.” He waved his arm for her to enter his house.

“Hello, Hal,” she said, grasping the man's hand and holding it affectionately. “You look great.” She glanced about the room, where five other people now stood looking at her. “Mauri.” She dropped Hal's hand and gave his wife a hug. The woman smiled and nodded. English was not her native tongue, nor had she ever learned it.

“Doctor Sam, what brings you to Kigali?” Hal asked, motioning for her to sit at the lone piece of furniture in the tiny house. She sat at the table and watched as Mauri prepared the morning tea.

“I may need your services, Hal,” she said. “You know the Virunga Mountains, near Gisenyi.”

“I have led many expeditions into the wilds in search of the mountain gorillas. I know the area very well.”

“I need you to know the Ruwenzori Mountains as well. Please tell me you've been there.”

“I've been there, Doctor Sam, but not for a long time. The Democratic Republic of Congo does not appreciate Rwandans since our government sided with the rebel forces that are trying to overthrow the Congolese government. The border is shut down. We can't get across anymore.”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “The important thing is that you know the area around Butembo.”

“Oh yes. That's where the upland gorillas live. I've been there many times. I know the area very well.” He looked at her suspiciously. “You're not an anthropologist. You're a geologist. Why are you interested in gorillas?”

“I have no interest in the gorillas unless some government type asks. I'm looking for a rock formation.”

Hal winked at her. “I understand.”

“Then I'd like to hire you, Hal. I'll pay very well, but it will be dangerous. You may not make it back alive.”

“Living in Rwanda is dangerous. Some people don't come home from a trip to the corner store. Perhaps, since it is so dangerous, we could arrange for payment in advance. For my widow.”

Samantha laughed. The little man was exactly the same as she remembered from four years ago. She dug into her pockets and pulled out five hundred American dollars. She handed it to Hal. “Another one thousand if you make it back. Deal?”

“Deal, Doc,” he said. This time his smile lit up the entire room. The sum represented almost four year's wages for an average Rwandan.

Sam spent the next half hour sipping tea with Hal, his wife, and their four children. After arranging for Hal to meet her at the hotel bar within the hour, she excused herself and headed back to the hotel. The sun was up and the streets had changed. Gone were the closed doors and empty laneways. Instead, windows and doors were open, and children hung from them, watching her as she moved through the teeming slums. Street vendors hawked their goods from small carts or off the dirt that served as the sidewalk. She attracted a great deal of attention as she walked, her white skin and blond hair visible from a distance. At times, conversations stopped as she passed, the natives intent on watching her as long as possible. None of it made her feel uncomfortable. Rather, it made her feel special.

And special is not something New Yorkers feel when they walk down a crowded street. But here in Africa, she was a square peg in a round hole. She was different. She was someone to be stared at in bewilderment. She was an outsider, someone who didn't live in the most populated country on the African continent. She was someone who had a life beyond the daily misery that defined Rwandan society. And for that reason alone, they stared at her with envy.

She arrived at the hotel just after eight and found the four ex-SEALs in the restaurant eating breakfast. She sat down and ordered, waiting until the waiter had left before explaining where she had been since before sunrise.

“I met Hal last time I was in Rwanda,” she said. “He is absolutely trustworthy and will make an excellent guide. He knows the region we're headed for. He's spent a lot of time in the mountains on both sides of the border between the Congo and Rwanda. And he speaks the language.”

“You're sure he's okay?” Travis asked. “There's no way he could be a plant?”

“Impossible!” she responded quickly. “He had no idea we were here, and I approached him, not the other way around. This one is not negotiable—we need this guy.”

“Okay,” the team leader said, “he's in. But he's on a short leash.” She nodded. Travis finished his coffee and continued. “We have two Land Rovers from Kigali to the border. Once we arrive, Colonel Mugumba will have our supplies in two additional vehicles. We get to keep all four. We lose the support team we have now, but pick up a military escort from Goma to Butembo. After that, we're in the jungle, and on our own.”

“My geological equipment is with your guns?” Sam asked.

“Supposed to be,” he answered. “According to Kerrigan and Ng. They stowed everything you asked for on the boat the night before we arrived with the missiles.”

“Missiles?” Samantha asked, intrigued.

He grinned sheepishly. “We probably won't need them. Overkill, you know. When will our guide arrive?”

“I told him within the hour, so he should be here soon. What time do you want to leave?”

“Soon.” He brightened as the concierge entered the restaurant. The man carried a small box and looked quite pleased. He placed it on the table in front of Travis and waited as the team leader poked through the contents. A few moments later, Travis thanked the man and slipped him some cash. He held up a mason jar containing a clear liquid, a handful of flowers, and some thin rope.

“Everything you need to keep the creepy crawlers out of your sleeping bag. Diesel fuel,” he said, holding up the mason jar. He slipped one of the flowers from the box. “Pyrethrum. Mixed with diesel, this stuff is totally repugnant to any jungle creature.”

“What's the rope for?” Alain asked.

“We're going to be on army cots,” Travis said. “We'll have mosquito netting over the cots and draped on the ground surrounding the bed. The problem is, snakes and other poisonous things can get in under the netting, unless you stop them. We soak the rope in the diesel and Pyrethrum mixture and then lay the rope around the edge of the netting on the ground. Presto. Nothing poisonous in your bed.”

“Fucking brilliant,” Dan said.

Philip Acundo entered the restaurant, followed by the three Congolese soldiers assigned to protect Sam's group. He approached the table, smiling broadly.

“Good morning, my American friends. It is a perfect day for traveling. Not too hot, not too cold.”

Troy Ramage glanced at the thermometer on the restaurant wall. It was shielded from the morning sun, and it already read ninety-two degrees. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “What do they consider hot around here?”

Sam checked her watch as the men threw their overnight bags into the Land Rovers. It was over an hour since she'd left Hal's house. She walked to the corner and peered down the street. She spotted her friend a block away and motioned for him to hurry. He broke into a swift jog and reached the corner a few moments later. They walked to the vehicles and she introduced him to the team. With his easygoing nature, the guys all seemed to accept him. Samantha felt grateful for that.

“Hal isn't exactly an African name,” McNeil remarked to the man as they cruised through Kigali. “How did you end up with it?”

“My mother only saw one movie in her life. She wanted me to be smart, so she named me after a computer in the movie.”