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.
49
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.