Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) (15 page)

“Or perhaps not,” Jean finished weakly.

“Come. Let’s report what we found to the general,” Lutalo said as he turned away from the corpse and headed up the hill.

Jean followed through the forest until they emerged in the dense thicket that served as camp. The men hurried about, the tents folded and put away. A chainsaw buzzed in the distance and axes thudded into tree trunks. A pair of men dug a hole at the center of the encampment, Imani’s body rolled in cloth beside it. The same shallow grave would be used for both men.

Jean watched as a large red truck rolled through the camp. The tires crushed plants and branches, struggling to move the vehicle forward. The hood was rusted straight through in places. Behind the truck, a trailer bounced over the rough terrain. A few supplies were loaded on the back, including two motorbikes, but the true purpose of the trailer lay on the banks of the river not far ahead.

The chainsaw and axes were needed to cut a wide enough path through the jungle to take the trailer to the river. Even with the undergrowth being chopped away, thick roots and trees too large to cut obstructed the path. To make matters worse, the jungle sloped, gradually turning from forested hills to muddy swamp.

Zadu stood among a sparse group of advisors. He spoke to them in quiet tones, relaying new orders. Each of the men nodded when he was spoken to. One of them offered a firm salute and sped off toward his appointed task. Zadu turned to address Lutalo and Jean as they approached.

They saluted crisply and explained to Zadu what they had found. Zadu listened, digesting their words. A loud conversation drew Jean’s attention to the men cutting into the jungle. The operation had stopped, the chainsaw falling silent. As Lutalo explained his suggestion of doubling the camp’s guards, men pointed up into the canopy shouting to each other.

Jean excused himself, drawing cold stares from both Zadu and Lutalo. He strode across the encampment and made his way to the tree line. Stacks of wood and brush piled onto one side. An open swath, barely large enough for the truck, stretched fifty meters back into the forest.

He walked up to the closest soldier. “What’s going on?”

The soldier turned. “Bazim found something. If you look up there you can see.” He thrust a finger upward at the green ceiling.

Jean lifted his head. His eyes followed the thick, round trunks of the nearby trees until they branched out. From there he searched the masses of swirling green. For a few moments he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The forest was such a mass of shapes that it was like sorting through a jigsaw puzzle.

Finally, he spotted something weaving through the leaves. Cables suspended among the canopy. They seemed to originate at the top of a nearby tree. He saw something flash there in the morning light, something metallic. He called out for binoculars. A soldier appeared next to him with a pair. Jean gazed through them up at the canopy. He searched through the green until he saw the silvery flash of metal. Bolts dug into the trunk of the tree, holding up a complex piece of equipment. He spotted what looked like a radar dish, pointed slightly downward and in the direction of the river.

A radar dish? Who would have placed something like that? Was someone worried about aircraft? No, that didn’t make sense. The dish was angled downward, toward the river. Was someone tracking watercraft? As he scanned the dish with his lenses he saw places where vines crept around the machine, as if the thing had been there for quite a while. Who could have done this? Were they somehow tracking the militia’s movements?

“Get General Zadu,” he ordered the closest soldier. The soldier nodded and ran off.

Zadu and Lutalo came trudging over, sour looks on their faces.

“What is this?” Zadu asked.

Jean handed the binoculars to him and pointed up at the canopy. The general snatched them and looked up. It took him a minute of scanning before his jaw tightened and he snapped the binoculars back down at his side.

“You saw it?” Jean asked.

Zadu nodded.

“Somebody is watching this forest. Someone with a lot of money.”

“The Belgian?” Lutalo asked.

Zadu snapped a glare at his bodyguard. Lutalo shifted uneasily.

“It’s pointed toward the river,” Jean reminded them.

Zadu nodded. “Perhaps he is watching the plane.”

Jean considered that. None of it made sense. Was the radar dish a tracking device? If it were, then why would it be pointed in such a way? And did the Belgian have the resources to employ such devices?

Jean heard whispered murmurs from the nearby soldiers. They spoke quietly enough to not disturb their general. But he could tell their suspicion was high. The discovery of the dish changed everything. A moment before, he had been worried about pygmy spirits. Now he was worried about international conspirators.

14

A
breakfast of assorted fruits awaited them in the morning; sweet and sour delicacies to start their energy off high. The Frenchman buzzed about the table, singing a lively tune. Temba and Kuntolo stood outside, visible through the house’s windows, packing supplies for the trip.

Sam’s long makeshift skirt was gone, replaced by her shorts. The pink scabrous rash glowed brightly on her leg. She reached a hand down to scratch it, but pulled it away before her fingers touched.

They ate breakfast while Raoul packed. Sam and Brandon were prepared to go at a moment’s notice. They helped Raoul clean up, grabbed their packs, and stepped outside. Temba and Kuntolo waited on the porch. Raoul donned a white hat to shield sunlight from his eyes. He cleaned up rather well, looking every part the European explorer. He carried a hefty pack on his back, which he attempted to unload on Temba. Temba adamantly refused, stating that Raoul packed way too much stuff anyway.

The five of them joined the five from H. Hurley International in the center of the village. The mercenaries carried the bulk of the group’s weight on their backs. The two chemists carried small packs on their shoulders and bags on their hips.

The Australian eyed Temba curiously, when he saw the two pygmies ready for the trek. “Temba, you boys are coming with us?”

He nodded.

“Whatever happened to, ‘the forest is bad? It isn’t good for anyone. I won’t take you there for
any
amount of money.’”

He shrugged, ignoring the Australian mercenary as he led Brandon to a place to fill the water bottles.

“Are they paying you?” the Australian asked. When Temba didn’t respond, he turned to Sam. “Are you paying him?”

She shook her head and shrugged helplessly.

“You’re doing this for free?”

Brandon bobbed the bottle into the water, noticing the liquid’s ruddy color. Maybe he could wait until they reached the river.

“Why not?” Temba asked. “I am already a rich man.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“Life is not fair,” Temba argued. “I am much better looking than you. It is not fair, but there is nothing we can do about it, is there?”

Brandon tapped his arm lightly. “In America, we have a saying. ‘Be nice to the people with the guns.’”

Temba shrugged, but the Australian laughed loudly. He introduced himself to Brandon and Sam as Ike. He pointed out Delani and Gilles as well. He explained that they were a security detail hired by Nessa Singer.

Alfred stepped over to greet them. “I want to make sure we’re in agreement here,” he said. “You lead us to this pond. Mr. Devereaux inspects your plane and sees if it can be salvaged. You help us find the lowlands, and then we find a way to get your plane out of the jungle.”

“That sounds about right,” Brandon replied.

“And Temba, you and Kuntolo are here for . . . moral support?” Alfred asked.

“To make sure you don’t get lost or smack your heads on any trees,” Temba finished. “And to meet the ghost.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

Temba laughed. “I don’t.”

Marcel emerged from his hut and made his way across the village to the group. He shouted something in French to which Raoul immediately replied. Although Brandon couldn’t understand a word, he could tell that an argument had just broken out. Marcel was making demands and Raoul was trying to placate him in his nonchalant way. Finally, Marcel gave up, spitting out a few last parting words. He headed back toward his hut and disappeared in a throng of villagers.

“He’s worried we’ll bring back a curse,” Sam explained in a whisper.

“Are you worried?”

She smiled thinly and shook her head. “We beat it once. We can do it again. Easy.”

Sam and Brandon headed through the village toward the break in the trees. Rows of submerged rice on one side, twisting tomato plants on the other. Temba and Kuntolo appeared next to them. The entrance to the trail loomed up ahead.

Soon the rainforest leaves towered over their heads, blocking out the sunlight. One by one they marched out of the light and into the darkness. The tiny trail wound through the forest.

Brandon fell back from Sam’s side to walk beside Ike.

“I’ve seen your face,” the tall mercenary noted.

The statement took Brandon by surprise. “You have?”

“On television.”

He nodded. “I play a little poker.”

“Is that right? You must be a pro to be on
TV
.”

Brandon shrugged. “How’d you end up out here?” he asked. “Were you military?”

“Australian
SASR
.”

“Is that special forces?”

“The most elite. Australian Special Air Service Regiment. The hardest goddamn thing to get into and when you’re there they put you through hell.”

“Like the British
SAS
?”

“Similar,” Ike replied. “Deployed all over the world, but most of our casualties occur in training. And the boys in Perth aim to keep it that way. Train hard like that and you get great results. We have one of the best records in the world. Five hundred-to-one kill ratio in Vietnam. The communists called us ‘Phantoms of the Jungle.’ Some bloke I met one time, he was U.S. Marine Corp, he used to call us ‘Shaggies’ cause we all had long hair and beards. You don’t shave your beard when you’re out on deployment.”

He looked sidelong at Ike.

Ike noticed the look. “I’m a deserter. I left the
SASR
on a temporary assignment. I applied for a deployment with
UNAMIR
. I guess I wanted to see Africa.”

“What’s
UNAMIR
?”

“United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda. It was a peacekeeping force,” Ike explained. “Mostly Belgian, French-speaking. I already spoke French so I was a good candidate.”

“Belgium used to control this whole area.”

“That’s right. Called it the Belgian Congo back in the days of Imperialism. The Belgians were horrible overlords if you ask me. They didn’t spend money on infrastructure or education like the Brits would do. Instead they just gobbled up the country’s resources and left it the mess it is now when they pulled out. Throw in a few decades of feuding warlords and exploitation by corporations and you’re throwing salt on the wound.”

Brandon nodded, staring up at the tall trees. The thick logs provided one of those resources. As terrible as the fighting was, an end to it would mean that the logging companies would be free to move into the Ituri Forest unhindered. Logging would not be controlled; impossible in such a wild zone. The land of the BaMbuti and okapi would rapidly vanish.

“Anyway, in the beginning,
UNAMIR
was mostly made up of Belgian forces. But our commander was a Canadian brigadier general, Romeo Dallaire. I stayed there with Dallaire up until the very end. I couldn’t leave Kigali until he did and that was a long time after the Belgians left.

“It’s the same fight that’s going on out here. You see, there are two major groups in Rwanda. You’ve got the Hutus, the biggest group. And then you’ve got the Tutsis, the smaller group. The Tutsis ruled Rwanda as the upper class until the Hutus took power. Then an insurgent group of Tutsis moved in, trying to regain control of the country. And that really sparked the hatred.

“At first they sent us to help maintain a peace treaty between the two fronts. The problem was that there were so few of us, and we didn’t have any authority to do a goddamn thing. They didn’t give us clear rules of engagement, you see? By this point the whole world was freaked out by the Somalia-U.S. thing. Too scared of our own guys getting shot. So they didn’t let us take an active role.

“Anyway, things seemed to be working themselves out for a while. Then one day, the Rwandan president was shot down flying outside of Kigali, where we were stationed. All hell broke loose in the country. A group of Belgians were killed and the Belgian government demanded their guys pull out.

“That left us with only a couple hundred. The
UN
ordered Dallaire to leave Kigali. The whole situation had gotten too hot. But Dallaire refused. We stayed there to do what we could. He asked for more troops—clearer guidelines—something, but got nothing.

“That’s when the genocide started. The Hutus got scared of the Tutsi insurgents and started exterminating the Tutsi population. I mean exterminating. With machetes. We did the best we could, and I think we saved a lot of lives, but essentially we were powerless.”

Brandon watched Ike quietly.

“I don’t think the world knew what was happening,” Ike went on. “I don’t think you could know until you were there. Watching people being hacked apart. Defenseless people. To everybody else, Africa was another world. But to us, it was
our
world, happening right in front of us. You can’t ask somebody to get up and leave that.”

“No,” Brandon agreed.

“Eventually the Tutsis took control and the worst of the killing ended,” Ike went on. “We finally got some of those troops we were asking for, but it was too little too late. Our whole mission was a failure. When we were ordered to pack up and head home, I couldn’t leave. So I stayed in Africa.”

“And you got a job working for Hurley?”

“Nope. I work for Delani,” Ike corrected.

“How long do you think you’ll stay out here?” Brandon asked.

“No idea,” he replied with a grin. “I’m a different person than I was before. Just not sure how the new me and Oz would mix, you know?”

Brandon wasn’t a stranger to risk and danger, but Ike lived in a world of constant peril.

“I didn’t mean to bum you out,” Ike said with a laugh.

“It’s okay.”

“You should know,” he went on. “The rebels that shot down your plane were probably Hutus who fled Rwanda after the takeover, possibly involved in the genocide. The blood runs deep out here. This place is beautiful, but it’s completely insane.”

Brandon wondered what would have happened to him and Sam if they had stumbled across these rebels.

“How did
you
get out here?” Ike asked, deflecting the conversation. “Is there some secret high-stake poker game I don’t know about?”

“We were out here counting villages.”

“Is that right?”

“The Bantu villages,” he clarified. “One of our friends was planning to do it before he died. He was a journalist working with the National Geographic Society. They wanted someone to gather data about the populations and towns throughout Africa. When he passed away, Sam wanted to do it in his place.”

“You two travel a lot?”

“You could say that,” he answered. “Some people call us adventurers.”

Ike nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of it. We have some of those back home. Takes a fair bit of money now, doesn’t it?”

Brandon nodded.

“Money or balls, I’d say,” Ike corrected, smiling.

“If that’s the case, I’ve got the money, and Sam has the balls.”

Ike laughed loudly. “Too much info, mate.”

As their conversation quieted, Brandon listened to Sam and Temba talking up ahead. Their voices echoed around the surrounding forest. Temba described a game, much like tug of war, except that all the BaMbuti women would line up on one side with the men on the other.

“When one side begins to win, they will send help over to the opposite side,” Temba explained, “until there are men and women on both.”

“How does anyone ever win?”

He laughed. “Why does anyone need to? The game is about the need for men and women to work together,” he explained. “When will we see this ghost?” Temba asked suddenly.

Sam fell silent.

“I think we should have a talk,” Brandon said.

As they walked, Brandon and Sam related the tale, beginning right after their crash into the pond. When they described the encounter with the baboons, Alfred commented that baboons were the most violent primates. But when Sam recounted the tale of the okapi, Brandon saw Temba wrestling between his own doubt and his desire to trust Sam.

“Believe us or not,” Brandon told them. “I know how crazy it sounds. But keep a close handle on your thoughts. If you feel angry or paranoid for no reason, try to ignore it.”

“Don’t trust everything you see or hear,” Sam added.

Streaks of blue light filtered through the canopy, lighting the twisting trail ahead of them. The ground sloped downward, becoming flatter and less hilly. They had passed the point where they originally encountered the BaMbuti girls. At such a rate they might reach the river before being forced to camp.

Raoul whistled a tune as he strode off to the side. Delani and Gilles were at the rear, backs bowing under the weight of the packs. They kept their eyes as much on the procession as on the forest. Nessa and Alfred walked side-by-side, whispering to each other at times.

They didn’t rest much. It surprised Brandon how little they stopped. But when he regarded the muscled frames of the mercenaries and the lithe bodies of Kuntolo and Temba, the only one who really surprised him was Raoul. For a drunk, he was in good shape.

The sky darkened overhead, preparing for its customary rain. They continued their march unconcerned, even when the raindrops drummed the canopy overhead. After staying in the village so long, the forest rain felt mild and cool. The air refreshed him.

Soon they passed the campsite they had used their final night in the jungle. Sam paused, recognizing the surrounding foliage and a light imprint on the ground made by their tent. As Brandon gazed at the dark soil, he felt a familiar presence return. His eyes scanned the nearby forest.

“We should move off the trail soon,” Temba suggested.

“I thought the trail led straight to the river,” Alfred replied.

“It does,” Sam said.

Temba put a hand to his chin. “The place ahead is not good.”

“All right,” Alfred declared in frustration. “We didn’t ask you to come along. And I’ve had enough of your vague warnings. If there’s something out here for us to be concerned about, then you bloody better tell us now.”

Temba and Kuntolo conversed briefly. Nearby, Raoul cocked his head, apparently catching snippets of conversation.

“It’s because of the campsite, right?” Sam asked.

“What’s this campsite?” Nessa asked.

“Brandon and I found an old abandoned camp on the river. We’re pretty sure it was BaMbuti. The huts were burned down, and there was a grave.”

“What kind of grave?” Alfred pressed.

“An unmarked one,” Brandon explained. “Big enough for a lot of people.”

“It is a bad place,” Temba insisted. “It is better to forget.”

Brandon suggested, “We can press through the jungle and head straight to the river. If it doesn’t get too thick it might even save us some time.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Ike replied.

Alfred nodded in agreement.

Temba guided them off the trail.