Blood Gold in the Congo Page 22

  “I-I don’t know. Once they’re in the jungle, they vanish into thin air. That’s where they’ve captured my men.”

  “And they’re returned to you without their weapons or uniforms,” Bodho taunted. “What do you say, General?”

  Gizenga stroked his chin before saying, “We’ll surround the jungle and send in five units of a thousand men all coming from different directions. We’ll use our superior numbers.”

  “Five thousand men?” Bodho said. “What do you think, Colonel?”

  Still smarting from Gizenga’s lie, Donatien said, “It won’t work. The jungle is enormous. You could put twenty thousand soldiers in there, and they still wouldn’t be successful. Yannick Kyenge and his gang know every blade of grass in there.”

  Gizenga started to protest, but Bodho held up his hand and silenced him.

  “I need to do your thinking for you. Like leading a bee to honey, we will draw this criminal out, and when he surfaces, we will have him. The honey will be New Dawn’s gold. Now listen to me.”

  Ten minutes later the two officers were congratulating and fawning over the president. “It is a great plan, Mr. President,” Donatien said.

  “Yes, it is,” Bodho said, “and something you two should have devised. I never thought I’d miss General Zamenka so much. When I think of Muamba murdering him, my blood boils.”

  “Speaking of Muamba,” Gizenga said, “Boucher called to say he’s in London. We could launch extradition proceedings. As they proved when they rejected the South Africans’ extradition application, the English are anxious to stay in our good graces.”

  Bodho rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “You’ve learned nothing,” he hissed. “If our English partner’s worried, he can take care of Muamba. Let him get his hands dirty for once. Besides, the English diplomats wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship with the U.S. More importantly, as I’ve repeatedly told you, I’ll be pleased if Muamba never sets foot in Kinshasa again. The faster the people forget him, the better. Only a fool would seek to extradite him, and unlike you, General, I am not a fool.”

  Donatien put his hand up to his mouth to conceal a smile but wasn’t fast enough.

  “Don’t smile, Colonel,” Bodho growled. “If you fail to capture or kill the rebel leader, it’ll be your head on the block. Now get out of here and put my plan into action. I’m sick of the pair of you.”

  Joseph was almost certain Thibault and Sir Richard were one and the same. His only doubt came as a result of the knight’s generous charitable donations. He hadn’t been able to find one web page that consolidated Sir Richard’s donations, but when he listed those made over the previous year, they aggregated more than £125 million. Why would someone so generous be so ruthless and uncaring with his workers? Why would someone chairing large public companies invest in small, private, African companies? What had he meant when he said, “Sometimes all is not as it seems?” As he stared out at Hyde Park, he felt the buzz of his cellphone.

  A refined voice said, “Mr. Muamba, my name is Aaron Price. I’m Sir Richard Corson-Devlin’s private secretary. Sir Richard has requested the pleasure of your company for drinks at his St. James residence tonight. I’ll text the address. Is eight o’clock convenient?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER 42

  ..................

  JOSEPH DRESSED IN A SMART blue sports jacket, a white business shirt, casual fawn slacks, and sneakers for drinks with Sir Richard. The weather was balmy when he left The Dorchester. He walked slowly, enjoying the sights and sounds of Mayfair.

  Thirty-five minutes later, he entered the private entrance to Sir Richard’s penthouse and was greeted by the knight’s concierge, who wore a black morning suit. Joseph wondered whether he should have worn a suit.

  “Good evening, Mr. Muamba,” he said. “Please take the lift to the first floor. Sir Richard is waiting for you.”

  Joseph sunk in the lift’s carpets. Seconds later the doors opened to reveal a white marble tiled reception area and a valet dressed identically to the concierge. Large vases housed freshly picked roses, which gave off a delightful fragrance. The valet bowed to Joseph, and said, “Welcome, Mr. Muamba. Sir Richard is in the library. Please follow me.”

  On the short walk to the library, they passed two more reception areas and a large carpeted living room. The valet opened the lofty walnut double doors and took a step back to let Joseph enter. He gasped. The room was at least six times the size of his hotel room. Matching fully laden walnut bookshelves almost concealed the four walls, extending from the lush royal purple carpet to the ceiling. Sir Richard was sitting behind a hand-carved desk, in a black leather chair resembling a throne. On either side of the desk were full height windows, the only break from books in the room. Three matching recliners sat in front of the desk.

  Sir Richard stood up and extended his hand. He was wearing a dark brown smoking jacket and loafers. “I’m glad you could come. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Mineral water, thank you.”

  Sir Richard pressed a button on his desk and said, “James, mineral water for my guest and Macallan neat for me.”

  There was a pause, and Sir Richard said, “Of course 1972. Need you ask? Bring the bottle.”

  In less than a minute, James appeared in a morning suit carrying a silver tray bearing the drinks.

  “Mr. Muamba, what we are going to discuss is highly confidential,” Sir Richard said. “James is ex-MI5 and also handles my personal security. I don’t want to offend you, but do you mind if he pats you down, and takes your cellphone? I’m afraid if you say no, we’ll just have to discuss cricket and soccer, games you’re probably not familiar with.”

  With those few words, Joseph knew he had found the beneficial owner of the New Dawn Gold Mining Company. “I don’t have any objection,” he replied, turning his cellphone off before handing it to James. He then stood and raised his hands above his head while the ex-MI5 man thoroughly patted him down. “I’ll take your watch, and the gold ingot and chain too,” he said.

  When he had finished, he said, “He’s clean, Sir Richard.”

  “Good. That will be all for now, James.”

  “You’re a cautious man,” Joseph said.

  “I am. Now, why don’t you tell me why you came to London?”

  “I wanted to talk to the beneficial owner of the New Dawn Gold Mining Company.”

  “One of the beneficial owners. George Faraday told me you were snooping. How did you find me?”

  “So you did buy the mine off Faraday?”

  “Yes. Now answer my question.”

  “There was a photo of you standing on the steps of the Supreme Court building in Johannesburg with Jacques Le Roux – or should I say, Marc Boucher – at his bail hearing.”

  Sir Richard looked puzzled. “If memory serves me, it was a group photo. How did you connect me to New Dawn?”

  “I didn’t. I had no idea who you were. A friend and I were looking at a photo of Marc Boucher at the African Mining Conference, and you were in the background. My friend remembered seeing the Johannesburg photo. We thought the probability of coincidence was remote.”

  “One tiny slip-up.” Sir Richard grimaced. “Your girlfriend’s astute.”

  Now it was Joseph’s turn to be taken aback. Before he could respond, Sir Richard said, “You’d be amazed by what we know about you. Your girlfriend was in South Africa at the time of Boucher’s bail application. Of course, it was her who put two and two together. Then you pulled your little phone trick today, and it confirmed my relationship with Boucher. You think you’re so smart.”

  “No, I don’t, but I am surprised by your transparency.”

  “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. Well, nothing you can prove. I’m not in the least worried about you. What I can’t understand is why you came to London.”

  “There are men, women, and children dying in the New Dawn gold mine every day. They have no protective clothing. Some even
work in their bare feet. They’re grossly underpaid, and recently more than seventy workers and villagers were killed by the army at the direction of Marc Boucher.”

  “You have proof?” Sir Richard asked, sipping his whiskey.

  “New Dawn provided the helicopters and trucks that carried the murderers. Is that enough proof for you?”

  “Calm down, Mr. Muamba. Shouting and losing your temper doesn’t make what you say right. Didn’t the court in Kinshasa exonerate the company and its management?”

  “A military court more interested in protecting its own than delivering justice.”

  “That’s a scurrilous, unfounded allegation. You can’t prove bias. While we’re talking off the record, let me ask you some questions. Didn’t you kill those two soldiers in the jungle? And didn’t you throw General Zamenka into the Congo River?”

  Joseph paused, and a mirthless smile crossed his face. By his insistence that they were speaking off the record, Sir Richard had just revealed that he was in fact recording their conversation. “You were misinformed. I have no idea who killed those soldiers, and I tried to save General Zamenka.”

  The permanent smile on Sir Richard’s momentarily disappeared as he topped up his glass. “I was also told you’re clever, or are you just blessed with rat cunning?”

  “That is for others to judge. It is evident you know what is going on and don’t care. I don’t understand. Your generosity to the underprivileged and handicapped is legendary. Why can’t you see and empathize with the plight of those in the mines? Marc Boucher is a cruel, ruthless manager. Why do you employ him?”

  “Marc Boucher is the best mine manager in the whole of Africa. Over the years, he has rewarded my partners and me generously. It cost a lot of money to get him out of South Africa after those workers were killed, but it was worth every cent.”

  “You own the South African mine?”

  “And many more,” Sir Richard said, nipping the end off a Cuban and lighting it. “Tell me, do you think your father’s rich?”

  “It’s of no interest to me. Why do you ask?”

  “Let me help you. He’s worth perhaps $50 million. Do you think he’s rich?”

  “I told you, I’m not interested. What game are you playing?”

  Sir Richard blew a smoke ring, smirked, and threw his legs up on the desk. “I give away five times that amount every year. He’s not even close to being rich.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point? Simple. You are a nosy young man who thinks he can pry into other people’s business without repercussions. My friends and I could break your father, and at this late stage of his life, he’d never recover. You’d be wise to give that serious consideration.”

  Joseph wanted to leap across the table, take Sir Richard’s paunchy neck in his hands, and wring it.

  As if reading his mind, Sir Richard said, “You’d like to kill me, just like you killed General Zamenka, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone, but leave my father out of it. You haven’t answered my question. Why do you give so much money away, but treat your mine workers so poorly?”

  “Ah, the philanthropy I’m famous for.” Sir Richard smirked. “I give away three-quarters of my yearly income. Dividends from public companies, directors’ fees and consulting fees. More than £130 million last year. I get a huge tax deduction, but more importantly, I get the plaudits of the people. I wonder if their feelings would be so warm if they knew I was earning over £600 million a year from my offshore mining investments and not paying a single penny in taxes. A cynic might say the government is paying those donations that I’m supposedly making. Ironic, isn’t it? The people who are feting me are the people who are making the donations.”

  “Why are you telling me? What’s to stop me from going to the Serious Organized Crime Agency or the media and exposing you? You’ll end up in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “For someone who’s supposed to be clever, you are naïve. You have no proof, and I would deny your claims as the ramblings of a madman. Further, no one in SOCA is going to investigate me. I not only make charitable donations, but monetarily help government ministers and their opposition too. Did Rupert and James Murdoch go to jail over phone hacking? Of course not. They were too influential. The fear of what they might do in the future had our politicians protecting their collective asses. I’m far more powerful, and you are no more than a nosy little pissant. The media owners know I’ll sue them if they put a foot out of place. There is nothing you can do to me.”

  “Why did you summon me then?”

  “My partners thought I should talk to you. We can drive an enormous amount of business through your father’s firm. Enough to make him genuinely wealthy. All you have to do is stop this silliness and put an end to your friend’s sabotage in the Congo. I have a partner in the U.S. who is one of the wealthiest men in the world. He could make your father’s firm the next Goldman Sachs. Think it over.”

  “Who is he?”

  Sir Richard laughed. “You found me. You won’t find any of my partners. What do you think?”

  “Tell your partners I intend to have them and you charged with the murder of seventy-four men, women, and children.”

  “You’re a fool. Fortunately, you won’t even get close to causing us any serious problems. If you do, the forces I unleash against you and those who you love will make you regret the day you were born,” Sir Richard said, pressing the button on his desk.

  The ex-MI5 man appeared almost instantly. “James, Mr. Muamba is leaving. Please show him out.”

  Joseph reached the door and turned around. “I’ll see you in court,” he said.

  “For your sake, I hope not,” Sir Richard replied.

  CHAPTER 43

  ..................

  YANNICK KYENGE LED A SMALL army of a thousand freedom fighters, but he wasn’t a natural leader. If Joseph was still in the Congo, he would lead from the front, being first in any attack, and his men would follow him through hell. Yannick was a planner, a skilled tactician who always carefully weighed the risks before launching a campaign. Some of the young hotheads called him an old woman behind his back and threatened to form a breakaway rebel group.

  When word reached Yannick that due to the unavailability of helicopters, New Dawn would transport its ingots to Lubumbashi by road the following week, he was immediately suspicious. The hotheads were not. They were elated by the news and demanded to be part of the unit that they thought should attack the convoy. Yannick had reservations about launching an attack.

  Equipping and feeding his freedom fighters’ families was an expensive exercise. Yannick had enough gold to fund his ever growing army for another six months, but the idea of an easy heist was tempting. Despite this, he was not going to make a decision until he had fully considered the risks. The emboldened young hotheads called him a coward to his face and demanded he stand down as their leader. Wiser heads prevailed, but Yannick remained under pressure to make a decision. If he decided to attack, he would need to start moving men and equipment within forty-eight hours. Equally importantly, he knew those who opposed him were using his decision as a test of his leadership.

  Many of Yannick’s fighters had relatives who worked for New Dawn, and this was how he had found out the gold was going to be transported by road. It concerned him that the sensitive information had leaked far too easily. Surely it should have been more closely guarded, he thought. Fifty soldiers were being transported to the mine on Thursday to guard the gold shipment to Lubumbashi the following day. Yannick knew they would be heavily armed, but so were his men. If need be, he could have two hundred hidden in the jungle along the road. There would be loss of life on both sides, but there was no way fifty could win against two hundred.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. Luckily, it was a clear day, and there were no problems with the satellites when he turned on his smartphone. He Googled helicopter hire companies at Lubumbashi Interna
tional Airport and jotted down the phone numbers of two companies. He called the first and inquired about hiring a helicopter for the latter half of next week. Availability wasn’t a problem. The receptionist at the second company gave him the same answer. She even offered a discount if he’d make the booking and give her a credit card number. Yannick put the smartphone back in his pocket and smiled. He knew what the army was up to and was almost positive they wouldn’t run the risk of shipping the gold. They would most likely fill the safe with rocks.

  When he informed the hotheads they wouldn’t be attacking the convoy, they were furious. He implored them not do anything and assured them if they still opposed his leadership after Friday, he would stand aside.

  Fifty soldiers in four trucks and two Jeeps noisily entered New Dawn’s mine site on Thursday. The next morning, they roared out just after five o’clock for the eight-hour trip to Lubumbashi. Two soldiers guarding the entrance stood at attention and saluted. More than three thousand soldiers lay hidden at strategic locations along the road. Four helicopters carrying heavily armed soldiers were hovering at strategically positioned intervals high in the sky, waiting to respond when notified of the attack. Colonel Donatien was in the front Jeep. His informants had told him the rebels had been moving men and equipment to the south. He knew they were going to attack, and that fool Kyenge, who called himself a leader, would soon be dead. He was going to make President Bodho proud, and with luck, the president might even offer him Gizenga’s position.

  At 5:00 a.m., Yannick and twenty of his best men – all toting machine guns and wearing army uniforms – marched at double pace through the jungle to where they had hidden the stolen vehicles. Yannick wore a major’s uniform at least two sizes too big for him. One of his men, a former powder monkey at the mine, was carrying six sticks of dynamite. Yannick got into the passenger seat of a Jeep, and three of his men joined him. The others climbed into a truck, and the little convoy set off for the New Dawn mine.