With another ten feet to go, Kevin could now see the black silhouette of the jungle below. The nocturnal sounds of the jungle were now audible over the bonobos’ snores.
Kevin was close enough to begin worrying about how to make the steep descent to the ground when calamity struck. His heart leaped into his throat as he felt a hand on his leg! Something had grabbed him around the ankle with such force that instant tears formed in his eyes. Looking down in the half light, the first thing he saw was his watch. It was on the hairy wrist of the powerful bonobo number one.
“Tada,” shouted the bonobo as he leaped to his feet, upending Kevin in the process. Luckily, the floor of that part of the cave was covered with refuse which broke Kevin’s fall. Nevertheless, he landed on his left hip in a jarring fashion.
Bonobo number one’s yell brought the other bonobos to their feet. For a moment, there was utter chaos until they all understood that there was no danger.
Bonobo number one let go of Kevin’s ankle only to reach down and grasp him by his upper arms. In an amazing demonstration of strength, he picked Kevin up and held him off the ground at arm’s length.
The bonobo gave a loud, long, angry vocalization. All Kevin could do was wince in pain at the animal’s tight grip.
At the end of his tirade, bonobo number one marched into the depths of the cave and literally tossed Kevin into the smaller chamber. After a final angry word, he went back to his pallet.
Kevin managed to push himself up to a sitting position. He’d again landed on his hip, and it felt numb. He’d also sprained a wrist and scraped an elbow. But considering the fact that he’d been literally thrown through the air, he was better off than he’d anticipated.
More cries echoed inside of the cave, presumably from bonobo number one, but Kevin couldn’t tell for certain in the darkness. He felt his right elbow. He knew that the sticky warmth had to be blood.
“Kevin?” Melanie whispered. “Are you okay?”
“As good as can be expected,” Kevin said.
“Thank God,” Melanie said. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “I’d thought I’d made it. I was right at the cave’s entrance.”
“Are you hurt?” Candace asked.
“A little,” Kevin admitted. “But no broken bones. At least, I don’t think so.”
“We couldn’t see what happened,” Melanie said.
“My double scolded me,” Kevin said. “At least that’s what I think he was doing. Then he threw me back in here. I’m glad I didn’t land on either of you.”
“I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go,” Melanie said. “I guess you were right.”
“It’s good of you to say,” Kevin said. “Well, it almost worked. I was so close.”
Candace switched on the flashlight with her hand shielding the front lens. She held it near Kevin’s arm to check his elbow.
“I guess we’re going to have to count on Bertram Edwards,” Melanie said. She shuddered and then sighed. “It’s hard to believe: we’re prisoners of our own creations.”
CHAPTER 20
MARCH 8, 1997
4:40 P.M.
BATA, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
JACK realized he’d been clenching his teeth. He was also holding Laurie’s hand much harder than was reasonable. Consciously, he tried to relax. The problem had been the flight from Douala, Cameroon, to Bata. The airline was a fly-by-night outfit that used small, old commuter planes, just the kind of aircraft that plagued Jack’s nightmares about his late family.
The flight had not been easy. The plane constantly dodged thunderstorms whose towering clouds varied in color from whipped-cream white to deep purple. Lightning had flashed constantly, and the turbulence was fierce.
The previous part of the trip had been a dream. The flight from New York to Paris had been smooth and blissfully uneventful. Everyone had slept at least a few hours.
Arrival in Paris had been ten minutes early, so they’d had ample time to make their connection with Cameroon Airlines. Everyone slept even more on the flight south to Douala. But that final leg to Bata was a hair-raiser.
“We’re landing,” Laurie said to Jack.
“I hope it is a controlled landing,” Jack quipped.
He looked out the dirty window. As he’d expected, the landscape was a carpet of uninterrupted green. As the tops of the trees came closer and closer, he hoped there was a runway ahead.
Eventually, they touched down onto tarmac, and Jack and Warren breathed simultaneous sighs of relief.
As the weary travelers climbed out of the small, aged plane, Jack looked across the ill-maintained runway and saw a strange sight. It was a resplendent white jet sitting all by itself against the dark green of the jungle. At four points surrounding the plane were soldiers in camouflage fatigues and red berets. Although ostensibly standing upright, they’d all assumed varying postures of repose. Automatic rifles were casually slung over their shoulders.
“Whose plane?” Jack asked Esteban. With no markings it was apparent it was a private jet.
“I can’t imagine,” Esteban said.
Everyone except Esteban was unprepared for the chaos in the airport arrival area. All foreign arrivals had to go through Customs. The group was taken along with their luggage to a side room. They were led to this unlikely spot by two men in dirty uniforms with automatic pistols bolstered in their belts.
At first Esteban had been excluded from the room, but after a loud argument on his part in a local dialect, he was allowed in. The men opened all the bags and spread the contents onto a picnic-sized table.
Esteban told Jack the men expected bribes. At first Jack refused on principle. When it became apparent that the standoff was going to last for hours, Jack relented. Ten French francs solved the problem.
As they exited into the main part of the airport, Esteban apologized. “It’s a problem here,” he said. “All government people take bribes.”
They were met by Esteban’s cousin whose name was Arturo. He was a heavyset, enormously friendly individual with bright eyes and flashing teeth who shook hands enthusiastically with everyone. He was attired in native African costume: flowing robes in a colorful print and a pillbox hat.
They stepped out of the airport into the hot, humid air of equatorial Africa. The vistas in all directions seemed immense since the land was relatively flat. The late-afternoon sky was a faraway blue directly overhead, but enormous thunderheads were nestled all along the horizon.
“Man, I can’t believe this,” Warren said. He was gazing around like a kid in a toy store. “I’ve been thinking about coming here for years, but I never thought I’d make it.” He looked at Jack. “Thanks, man. Give it here!” Warren stuck out his hand. He and Jack exchanged palm slaps as if they were back on the neighborhood basketball court.
Arturo had the rented van parked at curbside. He slipped a couple of bills into the palm of a policeman and gestured for everyone to climb in.
Esteban insisted that Jack ride in the front passenger seat. Too tired to argue, Jack climbed in. The vehicle was an old Toyota with two rows of benches behind the front bucket seats. Laurie and Natalie squeezed into the very back while Warren and Esteban took the middle.
As they exited the airport they had a view out over the ocean. The beach was broad and sandy. Gentle waves lapped the shore.
After a short distance, they passed a large unfinished cement structure that was weathered and crumbling. Rusted rebars stuck out of the top like the spines of sea urchins. Jack asked what it was.
“It was supposed to be a tourist hotel,” Arturo said. “But there was no money and no tourists.”
“That’s a bad combination for business,” Jack said.
While Esteban played tour guide and pointed out various sights, Jack asked Arturo if they had far to go.
“No, ten minutes,” Arturo said.