Old Lovers Don't Die (9 page)

“That’s a relief! I thought I might have been too forward for you and had thought about apologising. I think I also got caught up in your description of chemistry. I think I was slightly envious”

“I like your honesty. It’s refreshing. You don’t need to apologise for that. I was thinking that if I was going to trust anyone with that kind of information, it would be you”

“Now that we know each other well, there was something I did want to ask. That look that you gave me when we were in the lounge?”

“I liked your shape and I wanted you to know that so that I would get to know you more. Did you read that sign correctly?”

“To be honest, only in retrospect.” Christian smiled.

“Don’t worry. A primary and secondary scan does not tell me your inner thoughts and it’s not completely foolproof, and I have been known to be wide of the mark on occasions, especially when it comes to chemistry.”

“Just to reassure you, I’m not worried. If truth be known, a little flattered that after such a short time you could determine that I was interesting enough to sit next to.”

“That look you gave me was similar to what Isabella used to give me.”

“And you want to know whether I am as interested as Isabella was in you or just that we have the same way of looking at you?”

“I was thinking the former, but now that you mention it?”

“I see, Christian, that you are getting the hang of interpreting signs, or at least mine. In addition, if we weren’t at 39,000 feet, things may happen. I can see, though, if we continue this line of thought, we both may become very frustrated and you need to sort out Isabella first. Let me tell you about some of the things that you need to know going into the Congo. “

“That would be good.”

“Always remember that in the Congo, humanity tends to be at its worst not its best. Human life has no protector; animals have a greater chance of survival in some areas. You need to be extremely careful. I am going to give you a list of four names before we get off the plane. You will need to promise me two things. Firstly, if you come across them, avoid them at all cost. They will kill you just to satiate a bloodlust. Secondly, I’m going to give you my personal number so you can let me know if you do hear where they are.”

“Hopefully, I don’t see any of them. Am I allowed to use your personal number for anything else?”

“There is something I need to tell you first before I give you carte blanche to use my personal number.”

“What is that?”

“On the personal level, I think you need to find Isabella and either become convinced in your mind that she is unique for you and make her an offer she cannot refuse. If that doesn’t work out, then call me.”

“It would be great to remain in touch informally.”

“Of course we can. It has been great fun talking to you and I would enjoy doing that anytime. And you never know, once you sort out the Isabella thing, you might also discover some of your chemistry answers lie elsewhere.”

“Thanks, Petrea, it has been great talking to you. Now we should try and get some sleep.”

The Qantas hostess tapping him on the shoulder woke him up before reminding him that it was twenty minutes before the descent into Heathrow. Christian was surprised that he slept so long. He looked across and Petrea still had a blanket pulled up around her neck, asleep. He leaned over and whispered.

“Time to wake up.”

Petrea opened her eyes, looked at Christian and smiled.

“I dreamt about you.”

“I hope it was a good dream.”

“You were very good.” Petrea laughed. “And that’s all the detail you are getting. Let me go to the bathroom and then I need to give you that list of rogues and killers in the Congo and also how to get hold of me if you need to.”

Christian thought he would not worry about shaving; he knew there would be a shower and shaving facilities in the lounge at Heathrow. He brushed his hair roughly into place. Petrea squeezed out past him.

“Going for the rough and unkempt look this morning, I see.”

Before he had a chance to reply, she quickly walked up the aisle to the bathroom. Even the way that she walked attracted his interest. Deliberate long strides, with just a small sway of the hips. He was wondering whether they would meet up again when she paused, before opening the curtain in front of the bathroom, and looked at him and smiled. An answer, he wondered? Would it ever be more than what it was now? A few moments later as she walked back towards him and squeezed past him to the inside seat, she deliberately touched him on the thigh; it was a simple but personal communication of approval.

“Reading the messages?” she said as she sat down.

Christian laughed. “Correct me if I’m wrong but was that so I did not misinterpret that you would like to see me again?”

“Ten out of ten. You have come a long way on this flight.”

“Great teacher!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but this is the list of people whom you need to be extremely cautious of if you know they are around. Kariba Offengowhe. Bosco Demungu, aka Bosco the Brutal. They are both notorious evil warlords. There are, in addition, two buyers of mineral resources, who are equally
unscrupulous: one, a Jewish Frenchman, called François Segal, and the other a Syrian, Raoul Assad. We would prosecute both of them for crimes against humanity and corruption as well as arraigning them for child and sex and slavery charges.”

“Hopefully, I will not come into contact with any of them and just can get on with learning more medicine and surgery.”

Christian looked down at the envelope and on the back was Petrea’s mobile number.

“One big hug before we go is the deal.”

“I like a forceful man. Consider that a deal and remember the list of people to avoid that I gave you; if things work out when I see you again, I want the whole 195 cm of you intact, please.”

Raoul Assad knew he was a fat bastard. However, since he had become rich and powerful, the only person who could say that to him and remain alive was Kariba. Kariba Offengowe controlled all the Casserite ore, gold, silver, and diamonds in the Northern Congo. Raoul bought everything that Kariba could force out of the ground with his army of emaciated enslaved children. The recent discovery of tantalum, and its use in microchips for phones and computers had made the metal the new platinum. The Congo, and therefore Kariba, owned 30% of the world’s supply. Selling refined tantallum to the electronics companies was a licence for Raoul to print money. Raoul loved money almost as much as he loved the young African girls, which Kariba supplied.

Raoul initially supplied arms as well as money to Kariba in exchange for exclusive access to the resources. Fortunately, there had been a ready supply through his friend, General Alaki. The donations to the general’s retirement fund had become more demanding but they ensured the regular delivery of arms, which had maintained the balance of power in Kariba’s favour. In the ten years that he had known Kariba, they had formed a successful team. For the first five or six years, Kariba was unchallenged, other than small individual gangs of subsistence workers who attacked his mining gangs. Kariba would hunt them down, ruthlessly, execute them, and hang their bodies in the trees as a deterrent for others. For some time that deterred further attacks. However, as others saw his growing riches, opposing gangs started to become more organised. Kariba saw the need to develop an army to protect his personal kingdom.

Then in the last two years, two more serious threats to their wealth emerged. On the one side was the Congolese army, whose political masters coveted the massive profits Kariba made. They made repeated attempts at a takeover of Kariba’s mines, but their organisation and firepower was so pathetic that Kariba’s well-armed men easily repelled them. On the Rwandan side was a far more serious threat. A gang lead by Bosco the Butcher was better trained and a greater threat. Bosco used the same type of violent intimidation that Kariba used, competing perversely for the title of most depraved inhumane atrocity. Raoul had heard that Bosco’s growing influence was that he was supported by Rwandans and Chinese desperate to gain access and control all of the North Congo’s resources, especially tantallum. Plans were already underway to develop a microchip processing factory and mobile phone industry in Rwanda’s capital Kigali. Kariba had suddenly decided the answer to both problems was chemical weapons. He knew that Raoul, with his Syrian contacts, could access them for him.

Raoul told Kariba that he was fucking mad no one had chemical agents in Africa, and that’s the way it should stay in order not to attract world attention. If word got out, it would lead to an outrage, which would completely stuff up their business. Kariba had looked at him for a few seconds before saying,

“No one gives a fuck what happens in the Congo as long as they can use their fucking mobile phones and computers. Either get me the fucking gas or Segal will take over.”

Kariba smashed his hand on the desk and stood up. Raoul knew that Segal would not hesitate to find chemical weapons for Kariba. Anyone could find them if they had the money and Kariba would ensure that Segal had lots of money. He finally agreed and told Kariba he would check with his contacts in Syria and have a reply for their next meeting. The next meeting would be in June, he had replied, and that is when he would expect Raoul to deliver the weapons

With an alternative supplier in the unscrupulous Segal, it was now Kariba who was able to dictate terms to Raoul, a situation Raoul detested immensely. All his life Raoul had been in charge. He also hated that he could do little about it. Kariba was now so drunk on not only money and power, but also the drugs that Segal supplied that Raoul’s influence had diminished. Segal was an unprincipled whore, even by Congo standards, and now had 40% of Raoul’s ore supply from Kariba. In previous years, Raoul would simply have had Alexey or Pierre bury Segal in a convenient, fast-setting concrete foundation. He wondered momentarily if he was getting too old adjusting to a 60% share of the resources; moreover, he should also have Segal killed as a warning to anyone else trying to muscle in on his business. However, he knew if Segal suddenly disappeared, Kariba would suspect that Raoul had killed him, and that might interrupt the supply of young African girls.

Raoul arranged an appointment in Damascus. Initially his friend General Alaki had refused; Raoul’s final offer of a US $5 million dollar donation to Alaki’s retirement fund finally changed the General’s mind. Despite having persuaded Alaki to supply Tabun nerve gas, Raoul considered not going through with the deal several times. Kariba was becoming too unpredictable, even by his own wild standards. He was certain that this change in his behaviour was linked to Segal supplying Kariba with mind-altering drugs. Kariba had jived his way into their last meeting complete with sunglasses, earphones, and with his whole entourage talking to each other in some kind of strange finger sign language. This had all magically stopped, when Kariba held up his hand, and then spoke to him in some kind of black American jive language.

“Shit man, you need to chill out. Ice yourself down. You are tighter than a fat broad’s underwear.”

That had been a signal for Kariba’s entourage to laugh outrageously and start clicking their fingers and jiving again. What annoyed Raoul more than the fat insult, which he was used to, was the constant clicking of fingers and the rhythmic nodding of heads. Then one of the entourage had twirled to his left, jinked and pointed his weapon indiscriminately at whomever he felt like. Raoul thought that either Alexey or Sharif might protectively shoot one of them. That was not the way that Raoul liked doing business. The only consolation, despite all the clicking noises and sunglasses, was that deliveries were on time and the money continued to flow. In addition, he needed to keep the whore Segal from gaining any more advantage.

A nerve gas such as Tabun would be dropped or exploded above Bosco’s men. Alaki had agreed to supply the latest Syrian quad copters, which would enable Kariba to release the gas from treetop height, killing hundreds of Bosco’s men on the ground. Each of the quad copters was a million dollars - it was another $4 million donation into the general’s retirement fund. Even with such a delivery system, Raoul did wonder, with Kariba’s men high on drugs, that there was the potential for them to gas themselves. Outside of the irony of that happening, the more significant issue was that if they did learn to fly the quad copters, then there was no guarantee as to who else Kariba would not use it on. He had to go ahead with the supply of the Tabun and the meeting in June in the Congo; his addiction demanded it.

Raoul’s private car met him at Goma airport and quickly whisked him past all the shanties and begging children to the Ihusi Hotel. He walked slowly up the loose stone pathway of the Ihusi Hotel. He had to walk slowly; stone pathways in the Congo were treacherous when you were as obese as he was. On either side of the path were small, neatly cropped trees shaped to resemble African animals and birds. Mostly they were carefully trimmed small elephants, lions, and hippos, but the last two trees were shaped like large green vultures hovering above prey. Raoul always paused in front of them for a few minutes and offered a silent prayer to an unknown God. The tree vultures had their talons outstretched like small knives and neatly sharpened beaks; they were a reminder to him that unless he was careful in Africa, he could also be a carcass picked over by the increasingly deranged human vulture he had come to meet, Kariba Offengowe.

The Ihusi Hotel was normally one of his favourite places to stay, washed on both sides by the calming waters of Lake Kivu. The one exception was the month of June, the month that Kariba had demanded a meeting. June was the prelude to the rainy season in the Congo and the humidity was disgusting. Five minutes after leaving his air-conditioned car, Raoul knew his obese body would be overheating and unable to cope with 96% humidity. Perspiration would be soaking his shirt, making it stick to him like some giant rubbery spider’s web. His wet shirt would wrap around between his rolls of fat, emphasising his huge stomach, which would bounce repulsively as he walked. He hated such a conscious reminder of his physical unattractiveness. The reminder of how fat he was threatened to destroy the remaining vestige of vanity to which he tenaciously clung. He constantly tried to reassure himself that being a large size in Africa was a sign of prosperity. Despite his ratiocination, he always tried to disguise his fat stomach by wearing his shirt loose. That did not work in June in the Congo, for the humidity made it like a wet T-shirt contest for repulsive satyrs.

“Fuck Kariba,” he said loudly to himself.

Walking from the pathway up the steps to the reception area, he caught a reflection of himself in the large picture window. He tried to ignore it, knowing it would probably confirm his worst fears. His vanity instantly overrode his inhibition. He glanced quickly at the reflection and physically recoiled in horror from what he saw. Perspiration enthused by the smug humidity was gathering on his head; small pools coalesced around his temples before running down in rivulets through the grey-black stubble beard that he grew to hide his double chin. The remaining hair on his head was plastered to his bald scalp, greasy strands falling on either side in front of his ears. The image repulsed him.

“Fuck Kariba to hell!” he shouted to himself again.

His reflection in the window had also made him instantly depressed, the opposite of the mood required to effectively deal with the maniacal vulture Kariba. Another reason to have all his faculties fully alert was that he had noticed Kariba, since he had been on drugs, was developing an unbridled evilness. No longer just killing to protect his ore mines, he was now killing and brutalising for pleasure. Women were raped then sexually brutalised, Kariba’s men leaving them in a state where they could no longer function as women. That disgusted even a paedophile like Raoul.

Walking up the stairs which ran up the side of the hotel, he could feel the coolness of the air but it did little to change his mood. He stopped in front of reception out of breath, dripping with perspiration, and angry. Michael, the African receptionist, dressed in a freshly starched perspiration-free white shirt, greeted him from behind the counter with a cheeriness which irritated him.

“Welcome back, Monsieur Benefactor.”

Raoul looked at Michael without his normal welcoming recognition, ignored his greeting, and put his hand out for the keys to his room. A shower and clean clothes would make him feel less repulsive. Michael, he knew from previous experience, would be upset at the lack of warmth and recognition in his greeting; he would sulk for a few days but recover when Raoul left his normal tip.

Providing a generous tip was always part of what Raoul did to ease his conscience. He was uncertain why he had the need to do that, given that he had screwed so many people in his life without a second thought. To make the millions in this world, it helped to have no conscience. To be able to screw people on a whim was a necessity, which ensured success in his line of business. Life, he believed on some level, demanded balance, the bad set-off against the good to maintain stability. Yin and Yang applied to the business world. Without some kind of balance, the poison of life would seep unashamedly into all parts and stuff up the workings of the whole world. The reality was also that the judicious spread of largesse in the form of money provided information and warnings. An investment of a few dollars could pay off with a warning needed for his survival.

The hundred thousand dollars that he contributed to the local hospital each year had nothing to do with the yin and yang of business, or even guilt as Kariba had once suggested. Neither was it motivated by aberrant altruistic need, as his ugly first wife had suggested. It was a self-preservation investment; if he became unwell on one of his trips to the Congo, there would be somewhere medically half-decent to treat him until he could be evacuated to a Western medical facility. There was also another selfish reason, despite local officials being convinced his donation was related to his generous nature. Raoul was desperate to prevent situations happening, like the one where one of the eleven-year-olds that Kariba had bought him in the beginning had turned out to be HIV positive. Eventually he had persuaded another Syrian family to take her on, but the condition was that he paid the family a monthly allowance to keep her and he had to supply retro viral medication. Now with his donation to the local hospital, there was no longer that risk; any girls Kariba gave him were examined and blood tested before they flew out with him. However, his last contribution nearly caused a situation that he was desperate to avoid.  Médecins Sans Frontières heard about the donation and the local director insisted that he appear in their monthly magazine. Raoul refused to participate, as he did when they nominated him for local citizen of the year. That kind of media attention could bring scrutiny of his part in the rape of the Congo resources.

Room fifty-four was the luxury suite which they always reserved for Raoul. The only issue was that it was located on the second floor of the hotel. This location was something he had complained to the management about on multiple occasions. He even offered to pay to build a luxury suite on the first floor so he did not have to climb the stairs. The old French owners had refused to consider the plans that he had drawn up, or the alternative suggestion he had of installing a lift to the second floor. It would not be in keeping with the overall 1950s appearance of the hotel, they had finally advised him in a sharply worded letter.