Ghost Watch (10 page)

We were airborne within twenty minutes, heading generally west. With some elevation I could see that Kigali, the Rwandan capital, was only a large village with few substantial buildings and almost no paved roads; at least, not where the airport was situated.

We flew low, not more than two thousand feet above the ground. The Rwandan countryside was a monotony of treetops, scrub, and rust-colored earth punctuated here and there with flimsy huts.

‘Flying time is under an hour,’ came LeDuc’s voice in my headset. ‘We cannot go as flies the crow today, and I cannot provide you with a precise flight time – there is much of the weather over the mountains to the east of your base.’

I made no comment and sucked some water from my camelback.

‘You have not been to Africa before?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Where do they keep all the lions and tigers?’

‘There are no tigers in Africa, except at the zoos. But there are plenty of lions. Your people will be entertaining at Cyangugu?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. The skinny guy back there in the white baseball cap can rhyme “motherfucker” with almost anything. And Leila, who’s traveling in your other chopper, has a pretty good routine, too.’ Here I was referring specifically to those things she could do with her ass.

‘Yes, those two are big news in France also. I mean, no concerts other than the one at Cyangugu? It is a long way to come for one performance.’

‘Yes, it is, unless the schedule has changed. Travis, has the schedule changed?’

‘No, no. Not as far as I know,’ he said.

I examined his face. All those ‘no’s suggested a yes but he gave nothing away, so I turned to see how my principal was getting on. The rapper was asleep. On the seat across the aisle, Cassidy’s head was at an angle and I couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses. ‘How’s it going, Cy?’ I asked.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘How’s it going with you, sir?’

‘Good,’ I said. Glad we’d settled that, although Cassidy’s manner, tone and body language hinted at his true feelings about Air Force guys – that we were a life form elevated only slightly above bugs.

I did my best to ignore Boink, who’d been giving me a disapproving glare from the moment we boarded, daring me to contest his authority as Twenny Fo’s chief protector. Beside him, Peanut was staring out the window, his knees knocking together while he pointed excitedly at something of interest below, his eyes wide with wonder.

In the row behind them, Snatch was sitting forward in his seat, wringing his hands, body twitching as if he had Tourette’s. Any second now he was going to shout ‘fucknuts’ or something. Either that or he had a phobia about flying. If so, I could relate, having had one of those once.

I looked back through the front windshield over LeDuc’s shoulder. ‘Hey, ever crash in one of these things?’ I asked him.

‘French helicopters never go down,’ he replied.

‘Unlike French women, right?’

No response from LeDuc.

One thing I know how to do is get along with foreigners.

LeDUC GUIDED THE PUMA into a descending arc. Out the front window, steady rain was falling from a solid horizontal wall of black cloud cover. Camp Come Together was laid out ahead of us like any temporary base I’d ever seen on the front lines – everything prefab in neat rows set among heaps of boxes, drums, broken concrete, and rusting machine parts, all safely tucked behind a perimeter fence of coiled razor wire. This one, though, appeared to be sinking in a sea of orange mud.

The welcoming committee, standing next to the chopper pad, turned their backs on the Puma’s downwash as the aircraft bounced and then settled on the steel matting. Snatch lunged for the exit door, which earned him a palm in the face from the French loadmaster who commanded him to sit.

‘Yo, Snatch. Be cool, man,’ Boink called out, stepping into his hall monitor role.

As soon as the aircraft was shut down, the loadmaster slid the door open. The air rushed in. It smelled foreign, laced with hot aviation fuel, the tang of rainwater, sodden earth, wet cooking fires and trash. Beyond the pad, I could see men ambling around in jungle-pattern fatigues I didn’t recognize. Their pants were soaked black by the rain and streaked with orange mud.

A man with a large bald head, rusty-gray mustache and heavy black-rimmed glasses shouted through the open door. ‘I’m Colonel Firestone. Welcome to Camp Come Together, Cyangugu,’ he said. ‘Where’s Lieutenant Colonel Travis?’

Travis removed his headset, fired up a smile, ripped off a salute and led with a handshake as he made his way toward the door. ‘Colonel,’ he said, jumping down onto the matting. ‘Have we got a show for you, sir.’

‘Excellent, excellent. Good flight?’

‘First class all the way,’ Travis said, full of baloney.

I thanked LeDuc for the transport and then followed Travis, Cassidy instructing the principals to stay put.

Firestone was accompanied by his own entourage, a mix of civilians and US Army and local officers who’d come to ogle the celebrities.

I approached the colonel and said, ‘Special Agent Vin Cooper, sir – Security Team Leader.’

‘Ah, yes. Now, are you the same Vin Cooper we’ve been reading about in the news lately?’ Firestone asked, shaking my hand.

‘I think so, sir.’

‘You think so. You’re not sure? Is there another Vin Cooper up for the Air Force Cross? How many of you could there be?’

‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ I said, giving him the smile he was after. Full colonels are allowed to have a lame sense of humor – comes with the bird. I turned to Cassidy and signaled at him to disembark the principals from the Puma.

Twenny Fo hopped down from the chopper, followed by Boink, who made the maneuver look difficult. Peanut came next, staring open-mouthed at the new surroundings, as if he’d been catapulted into a fantasy. Snatch followed, looking pale, with Cassidy right behind him. Travis herded them away from the chopper toward Colonel Firestone.

The humidity had frosted up the colonel’s lenses like they were beer glasses. ‘Have to apologize for the weather,’ the colonel said to Travis. ‘Wet season came later than usual this year, and it’s still hanging around.’

‘Colonel, allow me to introduce Twenny Fo, our headliner,’ Travis said, bringing him forward, his arm around, but not quite touching, the star’s shoulders.

‘Mr Twenny Fo. Well, I’m a big fan,’ said Firestone.

Somehow I doubted it.

‘Dis be the land of my forebears, you feel me? Dis be my dream. You want any special songs, Gen’ral, just tell my people, yo.’

Colonel Firestone cleared whatever it was that had stuck in his throat and said, ‘Well thank you, thank you very much. That’s very gracious of you. You can call me Colonel.’

Standing behind Twenny were his bloods, definitely fish out of water, or, in Boink’s case, beached whale.

‘Twenny, why don’t you introduce your assistants?’ Travis said.

‘Yeah,’ said the star, ‘I was gonna. The big man here is Boink. He be my security man. Snatch – he take care of my bidness. An dis here is Peanut. I take care of Peanut, ’cause Peanut ain’t so good at takin’ care o’ hisself, you feel me?’

Boink and Snatch were standing side by side. Boink had his arms folded, detached and above it all. Peanut smiled and tore off a thumbnail.

‘Wonderful, wonderful. Well, I’m pleased to meet y’all, too,’ said Firestone, hurriedly shaking each of their hands. ‘Y’know, we’re doing some great work here to help freedom take root in Africa.’

The noise from the arrival of the second Puma, carrying Leila’s troop, obliterated all conversation. I turned to watch its arrival just as a burst of rain fell as hard as marbles from the low black sky.

‘Let’s get you folks out of the weather,’ Firestone shouted over the roar of the chopper’s turbine and rotor noise.

Firestone led the way, trotting over to a hangar at the edge of the helipad. I scoped it as a matter of course and saw that it was mostly empty. The only activity going on inside was the servicing of an old Mi-8 Soviet helicopter, one of its engines lying in pieces on the floor. A couple of mechanics were standing over the oily puzzle, scratching their heads as if they didn’t know where to start. No threat here, except perhaps to that aircraft’s next payload.

Colonel Firestone brought his VIPs over to meet my principal.

‘If you don’t mind, Mr Twenny, I have some introductions of my own,’ he said.

‘Meet your people be my pleasure,’ the rapper said, with a lopsided smile.

‘This is Colonel Olivier Biruta of the National Congress for the Defense of the People, and his second in command, Major Jean Claude Ntahobali. Colonel Biruta commands the CNDP brigade currently in training here.’

‘Please t’ meet choo, brother,’ Twenny Fo said, unsure about what he should do next – bow or shake hands. He settled on both. The rapper seemed genuinely overwhelmed by the occasion.

‘Yeah,’ said Boink, joining in, giving the colonel and his offsider some kind of homie salute, sliding his hand diagonally across his chest with thumb, forefinger, and pinky prominent. ‘Real pleased.’

Biruta smiled broadly, showing receding gums and very large teeth. He was tall and slim, with skin the color and luster of liquorice, his face almost perfectly divided in half by a scar that ran nearly as straight as a desert road from his forehead to his chin, leaving a grooved trench down the middle of his nose. Biruta’s XO, Commandant Ntahobali, was equally thin and black, though not as tall as his boss. A three-inch chunk of flesh was missing from the muscles of his right forearm, where a badly applied skin graft had created an ugly pink raised keloid scar. Both men had the detachment of soldiers who’d seen far too much.

Peanut, disengaged from proceedings, gazed in wonder at the dismantled Soviet aircraft.

Firestone stuck to his game plan. ‘I’d also like you to meet Beau Lockhart. Beau’s from Kornfak & Greene, the contractor that built this camp. He’s ex-Army Special Forces, so he knew from personal experience what we needed, didn’t you, Beau?’

Lockhart nodded and stepped forward into the space between the rapper and Colonel Firestone, and more handshaking ensued. He wore a diamond stud in his left ear and his nearly shoulder-length hair had been coiffed into glistening black ringlets. The guy was swimming in a pool of cologne. He didn’t seem the Special Forces type to me, retired or otherwise.

‘Can’t wait to hear the concert,’ he said.

‘Pleasure to entertain y’all,’ Twenny Fo replied.

Pulling Travis aside, I said, ‘I need to speak with someone about security.’

‘Yes of course,’ he said. ‘They gave me his name already – Holt. I’ll see if I can track him down.’

Just then, the people from the second French helicopter ran into the hangar, with a squad of enlisted soldiers holding ponchos over their heads. Biruta, Firestone, and the other officials seemed to forget about Twenny Fo completely and craned their necks to get a better view of the new arrivals.

‘Colonel,’ said Travis, smiling broadly, ‘come and meet America’s hottest female performer.’

‘Love to,’ the colonel replied, licking his lips.

‘Look at us,’ Leila said to Ayesha and Shaquand, as she brushed a few drops of water off her thigh with the flat of her hand. ‘I mean, just
look
at us!’

She didn’t need to say it twice because that’s what every male in the hangar was doing. Biruta was acting as though he’d just been given a shot of morphine; he was staring at probably the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life. Drooling was a real possibility.

Ayesha held up a small mirror so that Leila could examine her makeup disaster zone.

‘Leila,’ said Travis, approaching her, ‘how was your flight?’

‘Appalling. The plane leaked.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Realizing that it wasn’t a particularly good idea to continue down this path, Travis changed the subject. ‘The commander of the camp would like to meet you.’

‘Can’t it wait? Is there a dressing room I can use?’

‘I’m sure there is, but you look amazing. A couple of quick introductions, and then you can start rehearsing.’

The star sighed heavily, then turned away from Travis and said, ‘Shaq, honey, see if you can’t find me a bottle of Evian?’

Shaquand scoped the hangar, I guessed for a vending machine. I didn’t like her chances.

Colonel Firestone was standing to one side, waiting patiently beside Biruta, Ntahobali, Lockhart, and their assistants.

When Leila turned back, it was as if a new personality had invaded her being. A warm smile suffused her features, and she radiated light.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said, holding out her hand, which Firestone eagerly took. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am to have been given the honor to come here and do my patriotic duty.’

I had to smile. Leila played the room like a hit single.

Firestone more or less repeated the introductions I’d already heard, although with considerably more flawning.

Travis extracted himself from the center of the male vortex swirling around her and brought me one of Firestone’s junior officers.

‘This is Alex,’ said the colonel. ‘Holt’ was stamped on his nametag. He was US Army and black, with the build of a quarterback and sharp, intelligent eyes.