Decoy (16 page)
Two chutes deployed. Now three, four. Opening up like rain clouds over the forest canopy. Puffs of smoke. Air rushing past. Ed strained to check the altimeter on his wrist. Two more seconds. One, two. Rip-cord pulled at the last moment. The sudden yank backwards, jerking his shoulders upright, horizontal to vertical in a fraction of a second. The rushing sound ceased. The speed of descent dramatically slowed. He could see nine other chutes. A relief. They'd all opened. Now he just had to hope the navigator had got the bearings right and they weren't going to land in the treetops. He could see a snaking silver trail through the darkness. The river Congo. And over to the right the ghoulish glow of yellow floodlights. Had to be Clement's camp. Where was the airstrip? No time to check, he was scanning the ground below him, the clearing visible now. A dull grey roundish shape against the deeper blacks of the jungle.
Two parachutes disappeared, extinguished. Then another. And another. The team were landing, pulling in their chutes as soon as they hit the ground. The treetops reached up towards him, he sailed past, slowing himself the moment before his feet touched the ground. An expert landing. He jogged forwards, turned and tugged the chute in, hefting the pack off his shoulder and bundling it all together. Perfect conditions for a night jump. Good visibility, low wind and no rain. So far so good. Footsteps running towards him, the other members of the team. He didn't say anything, just signalled to the tree line. They sprinted towards it, into the cover of the undergrowth.
The two boys acting as lookouts kept their eyes trained on the night sky, not sure what they'd seen. The different shades that had flickered briefly against the clouds were long gone. No way of knowing what had caused them. They climbed down from their positions and ran to the house. Was this something to bother Clement with? The big boss? He'd beaten a boy half to death for interrupting a black jack game once before. Depended on how much he had been drinking.
They walked uneasily towards the dining room, the booming laughter from Clement echoing along the hallway. The other guests provided a nervous accompaniment, bad actors trying laugh convincingly in a surreal play. The boy who'd shimmied up the tree pushed the door open first, he was a year older than his friend and determined to show how brave he was. He marched up to the dining table and executed an untidy salute. Nobody noticed him. Clement had opened a bottle of whiskey and was pouring a generous measure into Gustav's glass.
“I tell you my friend, do not drink that jungle brew, it'll make you blind. I swear to God.” He laughed loudly.
“At least that was my excuse last time Uko dragged me to one of Kinshasa's more expensive brothels.”
The boy didn't know what to do, whether to interrupt the boss man or creep back out the room.
“Sah, please sah,” he said quietly. Arm still raised above his head in a mock salute. Clement didn't hear. The boy stepped closer, tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Clement spun round drunkenly, eyes rolling in his head, reached for his pistol and nearly fell off his chair. The boy jumped back nervously, his friend cowered against the door. Clement staggered to his feet, one hand resting on the edge of the table.
The barrel of the gun was unsteady, Clement's aim shifting indecisively between one boy and the other. “I swear there are two of you. I must be more drunk than I thought!” More booming laughter followed as he slipped the weapon back into his holster.
“Now tell me soldier, what did you see in the skies?” He asked, placing a heavy hand on the shoulder of the nearest boy.
“I don't know sah. Against the clouds. A flicker of something. We both saw.” Clements eyes narrowed.
“A flicker. Moving across the sky or downwards?” The other boy stepped forwards, realising they weren't about to be beaten.
“Downwards. But only for a second.” Clement nodded. Despite the amount of alcohol he had drunk he was still thinking clearly. “Take two other boys, two of the younger ones. Do not wear army clothes. Do not take guns or knives. Just some sticks. I want you to run to where you saw the shapes in the sky. Can you do that? For tonight you are not soldiers. Remember that. You are children hunting bush meat by night, setting traps. To bring your mama a nice meal in the morning. Do you understand?”
The two boys nodded solemnly. “Good, now if you find anything, broken branches, any trace of people who should not be in our lands, you are to run straight back and let me know. Is that clear?”
He waved the two boys away, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully. A flicker against the skies, hardly a reason to panic, but combined with the sound of the engine . . . He drained the glass. Always best to go with your instinct, he thought, setting it down noisily on the table.
“So what's your plan?” Jack asked, “now you're a responsible family man an' all”, he said, gesturing at the girl standing behind Monsieur Blanc. “And there's going to be a shit storm of apocalyptic proportions.”
Monsieur Blanc took out his silk handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “I doubt any
shit storm
, as you call it, will take place tonight. If someone has been dropped into the jungle they'll need a day to set up, get in position, carry out their reconnaissance. And seeing as a helicopter is picking me and Gustav up tomorrow night from Clement's runway, I am confident we should be able to get away.” He folded the handkerchief into a neat square and put it back into his pocket. “Frankly a helicopter is the safest way to fly in and out of this area. Landing anything bigger than a twin engine Cessna on that airstrip is asking an awful lot from your pilot.” He looked at the girl. “We will return you to your village won't we? You can point it out from the sky.” The girl nodded, a ghost of a smile flashing briefly over her lips. Monsieur Blanc turned back to Jack. “I'll tell Clement I found her wandering the corridors up here and would like to keep her with me.”
“You think he'll buy that?” Jack asked. Monsieur Blanc shrugged, “he is a man, he will assume another man has the same base reasons as he would for making such a request. In any case women are nothing more than objects to him, once he's finished with them he throws them to the wolves,” he walked towards the window, “lets the boy soldiers do what they want to them, brutalise and rape them, leave them for dead.” He made a strange tutting sound, shook his head.
Jack leant back on the makeshift operating table, gingerly touching the row of neat stitches with his fingertips. It occurred to him that Monsieur Blanc, although ruthless in his business dealings, and quite content to work with despicable men, had some kind of moral code, something that set him apart from a man like Nbotou. A strange contradiction.
“You did a good job of sewing me up, a lot neater than they managed at MI6. Now I don't wish to impose, but is there perchance room in your helicopter for me?” He asked, somehow managing to pull his face into what he hoped was a winning grin. Monsieur Blanc turned to him and shook his head.
“Regretfully no,” he said flatly. “But I have no interest in killing where it is not necessary, so I do not intend to take your life.”
“Very considerate of you,” Jack replied.
“Shut up.” He said in a heartbeat. “You can either take your chances tonight and attempt to escapeâthe guard on this room shouldn't be too much trouble and by this time of night most of the boys outside are either high or blind drunk. Or both. And if that doesn't appeal, you can go with Gustav into the jungle tomorrow. He'll take one of the jeeps, tell Nbotou he is driving you away from his lands to shoot and bury you.”
“And that's the better option?” Jack asked, incredulously.
“He will not shoot you. I will give him strict instructions. He is usually very obedient.” Monsieur Blanc said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned to leave the room. “I know the urge to escape is strong, but I think in this case the second option really is better. Try and get some rest tonight. I will see to it that you're brought some food tomorrow.” Jack nodded and lay back down on the bed.
“You know what would be really useful?” He asked as Monsieur Blanc was about to leave the room. “A map and a compass.”
Ed Garner switched on the GPS. His men had grouped in standard lookout formation. Four men on the perimeter, the rest at the centre. Equipment checks carried out, Ed was calling up the coordinates for their two targets: the runway and Clement's camp.
The on-screen map showed their position, ten miles from the runway and 12 miles from the house. On any other terrain it would take no more than ninety minutes to get to each location, a brisk jog, full kit on the back. Not so fast you used up your energy reserves. The jungle was different. All the men on this mission had jungle experience and all of them knew progress could be considerably slower through the thick undergrowth. If there weren't established tracks from animals or people they'd have to machete their way through and it would take three times as long.
“We're splitting into two groups, five men in each.” Ed said, casting a glance at his men. Team one will head to the airstrip.” He read the coordinates out. “Everyone got that? Gavin, I want you to head that team,” Gavin McCallister nodded. The surly Scot who'd proved so effective at demolishing Marcon Pharmaceuticals was looking forward to setting off a nice little firework display at the airstrip.
“Remember, I don't want any damage to the runway itself. Surrounding buildings fine, blow them sky high, but the tarmac needs to stay intact.” Gav nodded. “Once the explosives and charges are in place, radio me and I'll forward you our GPS position. The rest of us will be keeping the Camp under surveillance. We have the usual kit. Long range mics to hear what's going on, thermal imaging cameras to get an idea of which rooms are used. Most likely we'll be in the treetops, unless there's some real cover on the ground. It'll be daybreak by the time you have the charges set up, so you need to be fucking careful on your way back to us. I've no idea what time the camp rises but there's sure to be some lookouts. If you're spotted shoot to kill. Silencers on please.”
Gav nodded, adrenalin flowing at the prospect of getting on with the mission.
“Come on fellas, you heard what the man said. Let's be off. I'll lead with the GPS. Try and keep up.”
“Don't think we'll have any problems doing that ya fat bastard.” Mick replied with a grin. Gav was already away, pushing through the bush, it wasn't thick. He turned, “ten metres between each man, you'll need your night vision if those clouds come back over the moon.”
Ed watched them disappear into the night, the sound of the jungle loud in his ears, the crickets and cicadas, shrill as a dentist's drill.
“Ok, the rest of you gather round. According to the satellite images there's two vantage points on either side of the camp, both high in the trees. If we can get a good position we'll be able to build up a clear picture of how this camp functions. Maybe even send in a batch of RPGs from there once the fireworks have gone off at the runway. See who runs out the building. If we can't do this in one shot we're fucked. We'll have to make our way out of here through the jungle, across Lake Tanganyika and into Uganda. And I for one do not relish the thought of a hundred mile jungle trek followed by a very long swim, so please, stay focused. It's as straightforward as a raid on a warlord's camp can be, which for you boys should be a walk in the park.” The men around him nodded, their faces tense.
Ed checked his watch, “Right, behind me. Ten metres between us. Let's see if we can get in position before dawn.”
Jack lay back on the table, pretending to sleep. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the boy who was supposed to be guarding him. The child looked bored, only half-awake. His attention distracted by the ant that crawled over the barrel of his gun. It would be easy to overpower him, maybe even take his weapon, but getting out of the house and into the jungle was another matter. Could he really trust Monsieur Blanc? The man was an enigma. Full of contradictions, but there seemed something else to him, the sense that you could take him at his word, which was more than he'd felt from Sir Clive. He closed his eyes and decided to wait it out, let his body, which was clamouring for sleep, drift into a restful state.
Monsieur Blanc threw his cards down on the table. “Enough Clement, you have taken enough money from me for one night. Please, I need some rest,” he protested. He had allowed his losing streak to continue into the early hours of the morning. Asking to twist when it was likely he'd go bust, letting his debt pile up in hard cash, fifty-dollar bills. 15 or 20 thousand dollars worth. He wasn't concerned about the money, it represented a tiny fraction of what Clement was paying him for devices, but it was an important gesture, a way of maintaining their business relationship, showing his gratitude.
Clement looked at him slyly, “Rest? Are you sure Monsieur Blanc, with that young girl in your room? She is a wild thing, I can tell you. You won't be getting any rest.” He smiled a crooked smile and nodded his head slowly. Monsieur Blanc did his best to smile a lascivious smile back, hiding his disgust at the General's insinuation. Clement had been perfectly happy to let him take the girl.
I bet that little jungle cat was about to escape
, he'd said when Monsieur Blanc told him he'd found her wandering the corridor.
“You know me too well, Clement,” he replied, and stood up from the table. Gustav had passed out in a wicker chair, he let him be and headed up the marble staircase.
Outside the camp, the four boys raced each other into the jungle, all of them wanting to be the first to discover something important to tell the general. They had only a rough idea where they were going; they set their path by the moon. It was an adventure, and they didn't even have to carry those stupid heavy guns with them.
At night the jungle was alive in a very different way. Sounds magnified, frogs croaking. They followed a well-worn path, no idea what they were looking for and they didn't really care. It was a break from the routine of camp life. They swiped at the undergrowth with their sticks, pushed past each other, raced to see who could run fastest. They knew the area well, knew the stretch of forest where the ground had been cleared for mines, knew the areas where the canopy receded to let in more light so they could save the batteries in their torches. On and on they marched, legs getting heavier.
It wasn't until they'd been walking for nearly two hours that the boy in front declared they should rest. He was the oldest, already thirteen, and the biggest, so the rest of the group went along with his suggestion. They formed a small circle, leaning back against trees or squatting on the ground. The older boy took out a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, no more than a stub, something he had picked up off the ground in the camp, and tried to light it. The other boys watched, impressed at this display of sophistication. He puffed hard, managing to get a thin trail of smoke out of it, the red tip glowing briefly against the darkness.
“This is a foolish trip, Jumo. Why did you tell the General you saw something? If you had lied we could have stayed at the camp. Got ourselves some jungle brew,” he said, a cough catching at the back of his throat. “I don't believe you saw anything. You are always trying to show off to the General.”
“ Shut up,” Jumo replied. “Just because you are lazy . . .” the boy with the cigarette stood tall, hands hanging threateningly by his side.
“Say that one more time and I will beat you so hard you shit your teeth.” Jumo backed away wearily, he was only ten, no match for a boy already on the cusp of adolescence.
“Listen, all of you, stop talking.” Another member of the group hissed. The urgency in his voice made them pay attention. Over the background noise of the jungle, the incessant chattering of the cicadas and crickets, the belly croaks from the frogs, the wind through the canopy, there was something else. An uneven sound. A noise that shouldn't be there. A
swoosh
that started and stopped. Twigs snapped. The sound started again, then stopped. A heavy trampling through the undergrowth trying to make itself quieter.
“What is it? A gorilla?” The boy with the cigarette suggested. Jumo's ears strained, “there are no gorillas left here. And listen,” he strained his ears, “whatever it is there's more than one, into the trees quick.” Jumo scrambled to find a foot hold on the nearest trunk. He heaved himself up using the jungle vines, pulling himself high into the branches, huffing and puffing with the effort. Beneath him the sound of laughter, the older boy had stayed at ground level, still puffing on his cigarette, unaware it had gone out.
“Look at him run, little jungle mouse, afraid of a gorilla,” he called out, shaking his head, “I will stay here, maybe catch some bush meat. And I won't be sharing any of it with you.” The other boys had gathered round the older boy and were looking up at Jumo, they wanted to join him in the treetops but were afraid Toma would poke fun at them.
Toma was still chuckling as he turned to where the noise was coming from, “come here gorilla, come and give me some nice bush meat, here boy.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, pulled something from his pocket. He held it out in front of him. It glinted in the darkness.
My
God, he actually brought a gun,
Jumo shook his head, amazed Toma was prepared to disobey the General.
Either he is very afraid or very stupid,
he thought.
The sound was closer now. “Here boy, come and see the nice little surprise the soldiers have for you, good boy, you'll make a tasty meal for the camp.” In his mind he was already imagining the other soldiers' faces when he returned with such a prize. A gorilla would keep them in meat for the rest of the week. And ensure he finally got some respect from the older boys who didn't let him join in their games of football. “Here boy, don't be shy,” he said.
The sound had stopped. The boys looked at one another uncertainly, then at Toma. They turned in the direction his weapon was pointing. The menacing darkness of the jungle, were unknown and unknowable. On Toma's forehead a tiny red dot, a pin-prick of crimson light. He couldn't see it, wasn't aware of it. The other boys saw it. Moved away from him, quietly as they could, towards the undergrowth. “Hey, where you all going, what are you . . . ” he didn't finish his sentence.
A strange hissing sound, then a whoosh and a crackle. Toma exploded into a ball of bright white light before their eyes, his scream engulfed in the flames, echoing in the night sky even after his body had been incinerated. The other boys watched, horrified, stunned. They had seen weapons, seen war wounds, seen limbs hacked from corpses, but they had also seen their enemy. Knew his face before he went on the attack. The thin hissing sound began again, the build up. This time the boys' only reaction was panic, running for their lives into the trees. Too late. Ed Garner had decided to experiment with the settings on the new weapon. He broadened the width of the plasma pulse. A diameter of 25 metres, a wider flash, this time it lit up the jungle around him, a frozen moment of bright white light, like a still from a black and white film, the bodies of young boys caught mid-flight. Then darkness.
There was whimpering to his left, two voices. He switched to night vision. Two forms cowering behind the trunk of a tree. Children, he thought in disgust, raising his side arm and emptying three bullets into each of them. He made a mental note of the distance they were from him when he fired. Something for Centurion to work on, apparent ineffectiveness on the left-hand parabola. He scanned the jungle to the left and to the right. No other living forms. Just corpses.
He turned to his troops and signalled for them to move out. Didn't say a word. No time. Their stop-start march through the jungle was beginning again.
High in the treetops Jumo breathed deeply. The hands he used to hold onto the branches were shaking uncontrollably, causing the leaves to rustle, the sound of a gentle breeze. He watched the shadowy forms below moving stealthily along the path. They didn't look like any soldiers he had seen before. They were bigger, each one bulked out by a large pack on his back, the equipment he carried with him. And the way they moved, the stop-start motion, always wary, scanning the path ahead for trip wires, mines, enemy soldiers.
Jumo shimmied down the tree. He knew another way back to the camp. A different path that would enable him to overtake them. These were his forests and he could find his way faster than any other soldier, through the undergrowth and back to the camp, warn the general what was coming his way.