“If I take you now, we are there in this afternoon.”
“Quietly.”
“Yes. Very quiet.”
“How much?” Caesare asked.
“Two hundred American dollars.”
Caesare smiled. He liked this kid. “Three hundred… and you help us get some things.”
Janvier grinned. “Of course.”
“Beginning with some petrol, rapido.”
Not surprisingly, there was another, much faster place to get gasoline. For an additional cost. Two more boxes of food were also secured with little trouble. By the time they made it beyond the outskirts of Kigali, it was still barely ten o’clock.
The road was in better shape than expected, allowing them to make it to the base of the mountain in less than an hour. The climb up, however, was very different. Plagued by ruts and deep potholes from the heavy rainfall, the road was missing many sections. This required the trio to slow to a stop before carefully inching forward onto the dirt.
And Caesare was right. Once they’d made it far enough out, they passed few people, none of whom paid the slightest attention to the gorilla or the monkey. Both animals had now moved forward and were sitting on the backseat between DeeAnn and Clay.
They’d be able to reach the mountain within hours. And while it would take time to find the coordinates Will Borger had identified, if the current road was any indication, they might be able to do it before anyone even knew they were there.
From the driver’s seat, Caesare was beginning to feel downright enthusiastic, which worried him. Because if there was one thing Clay and Caesare had learned from previous missions, it was that when things seemed to be going well… that was just about the time the bottom usually fell out.
63
The horror of the Rwandan Genocide finally ended in 1994, on the 4th of July. The armed wing of the Tutsis, known as the Rwandan Patriotic Front was the responsible party. Originally backed by Belgium and France, the RPF fought back against the Hutu-driven attacks, cutting off government supply routes and taking advantage of the rapidly deteriorating social order.
And yet, while the Tutsis had since reclaimed the Rwandan government, and driven most of the Hutus back across the Congo border, not all who had been responsible for the genocide had fled.
Amir Ngeze was one of those men. Powerful, and now into his late sixties with short white hair, his dark face and eyes resembled anything but a killer.
But inwardly Ngeze was, in fact, the very embodiment of corruption and death. He was a man well-known for his unforgiving ruthlessness and feared by everyone who knew him.
However, to Ngeze, the “genocide” was nothing of the sort. To him, it was the cleansing of a virulent pest. One responsible for the infestation and downfall of their once great country. A country that was now overrun with them.
But as dark as Ngeze was, he was also a man of extreme patience. The day would come when the tide would turn once more — when the Hutu would reclaim their country and their birthright, and God willing, Amir Ngeze might become their next president.
Ngeze was certain of the resurgence. Because unlike the Tutsi, he had something that no one else did.
Now dressed in ornate, embroidered clothing of red and gold, Amir Ngeze stood in a large, beautifully decorated courtyard with hands placed calmly behind his back — staring down at a man on his knees, sobbing.
The elitist watched while the man begged for his life, and he shook his head with a look of pity. He inhaled and let his eyes rise to scan the walls of his complex, peering out over the five-meter-high walls at the lush green mountains beyond.
“What did you see?” he asked in a low voice.
But the man on the ground did not hear him over his own pleas.
“I said,” Ngeze repeated impatiently, “what did you see?”
Now the man stopped and squinted upwards. His eyes filled with tears and a trace of spittle dripped from his lips. “Nothing! I saw nothing! I swear it!”
Ngeze’s cold eyes darted to one of his own men, standing next to him. He was dressed in red crimson fatigues. The color of blood.
Ngeze’s soldier shook his head silently.
Why were the lower class so extraordinarily stupid? he thought to himself. Why was it always the same? Saying anything to try to turn their lies into truth.
“You saw nothing?”
“No!” cried the man. “I swear to you! Nothing!”
Now Ngeze nodded to both soldiers. They reached down and pushed the man flat against the cold stone. One soldier pressed his boot hard against the man’s neck, keeping him in place, while the other pulled an arm free, nearly dislocating it at the shoulder.
The man screamed in pain, echoing eerily against the thick walls.
The soldier moved down the man’s arm until he held it like a vice at the wrist.
“Listen to me,” Ngeze said, raising his voice over the man’s wailing. “Are you listening?”
The man struggled to speak with his face and lips pressed against the floor. “Y-yes.”
“You have lied to me four times. And now you will lose four.” Ngeze bent down closer to him. “But I will have the truth. And you will only have six fingers left to tell it.”
Less than an hour later, Ngeze sat in a plush chair, shaded by a broad overhead umbrella. The terrace, adorned with statues and handcrafted chairs, provided a cool breeze as Ngeze sipped and savored a cup of Columbian coffee. It was considered an imported delicacy after Rwanda’s own coffee and tea industries had been utterly devastated.
He set the cup down and had just reached for a pastry when one of his soldiers appeared, waiting at a distance. Beside him was a young boy.
Taking a bite, Ngeze chewed slowly and deliberately. He then leaned back against the cushion before motioning them forward. He peered contemptuously at the boy who he’d seen before.
“Yves. What do you want now?”
The ten-year-old stepped closer and spoke in native Kinyarwandan. “My Eminence, you told me if I had information to bring it to you.”
“What is it now?”
“Some Americans are here.”
He shrugged. “So what?”
“They are scientist people.”
Ngeze took another bite of his pastry and waved them both away. “I don’t care.”
The soldier was already reaching for Yves when he quickly stammered, “They come to learn about the one that died. The Mountain Lady.”
Ngeze stopped chewing and held up a hand. The soldier froze with a hand on the boy’s arm.
“What did you say?”
“They came to learn of the Mountain Lady.”
“What did they say?”
“They wanted to go to the mountains.”
“For her?”
“Yes,” Yves nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Ngeze glanced at his man before letting his eyes fall back on Yves. “When?”
“This morning.”
This morning? Ngeze’s eyes became more intent. “Have they already left?”
“Yes.” Even at ten, Yves was smart enough not to mention who took them.
“What do they look like?”
“Two men and a woman. And two monkeys.”
“And you’re sure they’re Americans?”
“Yes.”
Ngeze stared at the boy for a long time. “You can go.”
The boy nodded and stepped back away from the hand of the soldier. But he wasn’t done. “Is this enough? To help my father?”
Ngeze squinted at the boy. “We’ll see. Maybe.”
Yves smiled. The man had never told him maybe before. He promptly turned and left, reaching the stairs and descending out of sight.