“So I’ve heard,” Jack said. “I’ve also heard GenSys has a primate farm. Do you know if that is in Bata?”
“No, it is in the south,” Esteban said. “They built it in the jungle near an old deserted Spanish town called Cogo. They have rebuilt much of the town for their people from America and Europe, and they have built a new town for local people who work for them. They employ many Equatoguinean people.”
“Do you know if GenSys built a hospital?” Jack asked.
“Yes, they did,” Esteban said. “They built a hospital and laboratory on the old town square facing the town hall.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Jack asked.
“Because my cousin used to work there,” Esteban said. “But he quit when the soldiers executed one of his friends for hunting. A lot of people like GenSys because they pay well, but others don’t like GenSys because they have too much power with the government.”
“Because of money,” Jack said.
“Yes, of course,” Esteban said. “They pay a lot of money to the ministers. They even pay part of the army.”
“That’s cozy,” Laurie commented.
“If we were to go to Bata, would we be able to visit Cogo?” Jack asked.
“I suppose,” Esteban said. “After the Spanish left twenty-five years ago, the road to Cogo was abandoned and became impassable, but GenSys has rebuilt it so the trucks can go back and forth. But you’d have to hire a car.”
“Is that possible?” Jack asked.
“If you have money, anything is possible in Equatorial Guinea,” Esteban said. “When are you planning to go? Because it’s best to go in the dry season.”
“When’s that?” Jack asked.
“February and March,” Esteban said.
“That’s convenient,” Jack said. “Because Laurie and I are thinking of going tomorrow night.”
“What?” Warren spoke for the first time since they’d arrived at Esteban’s apartment. He’d not been privy to Jack and Lou’s conversation. “I thought me and Natalie were going out on the town with you guys this weekend. I’ve already told Natalie.”
“Ohhhh!” Jack commented. “I forgot about that.”
“Hey, man, you gotta wait ’til after Saturday night, otherwise I’m in deep shit, you know what I’m saying. I told you how much she’s been ragging on me to see you guys.”
In his euphoric mood Jack had another suggestion. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you and Natalie come along with Laurie and me to Equatorial Guinea? It will be our treat.”
Laurie blinked. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
“Man, what are you talking about?” Warren said. “You’re out’a your friggin’ mind. You’re talking about Africa.”
“Yeah, Africa,” Jack said. “If Laurie and I have to go, we might as well make it as fun as possible. In fact, Esteban, why don’t you and your wife come, too? We’ll make it a party.”
“Are you serious?” Esteban asked.
Laurie’s expression was equally as incredulous.
“Sure, I’m serious,” Jack said. “The best way to visit a country is to go with someone who used to live there. That’s no secret. But tell me, do we all need visas?”
“Yes, but the Equatorial Guinean Embassy is here in New York,” Esteban said. “Two pictures, twenty-five dollars, and a letter from a bank saying you’re not poor gets you a visa.”
“How do you get to Equatorial Guinea?” Jack asked.
“For Bata the easiest is through Paris,” Esteban said. “From Paris there is daily service to Douala, Cameroon. From Douala there’s daily service to Bata. You can go through Madrid, too, but that’s only twice a week to Malabo on Bioko.”
“Sounds like Paris wins out,” Jack said gaily.
“Teodora!” Esteban called out to his wife in the kitchen. “You’d better come in here.”
“You’re crazy, man,” Warren said to Jack. “I knew it the first day you walked out on that basketball court. But, you know something, I’m beginning to like it.”
CHAPTER 17
MARCH 7, 1997
6:15 A.M.
COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
KEVIN’S alarm went off at six-fifteen. It was still completely dark outside. Emerging from his mosquito net, he turned on the light to find his robe and slippers. A cottony feeling in his mouth and a mild bitemporal headache reminded him of the wine he’d drunk the night before. With a shaky hand he took a long drink of the water he had at his bedside. Thus fortified, he set out on shaky legs to knock on his guest rooms’ doors.
The previous night, he and the women had decided that it made sense for Melanie and Candace to spend the night. Kevin had plenty of room, and they all agreed being together would make the departure in the morning far easier and probably elicit less attention. Consequently, at about eleven p.m., amid lots of laughter and gaiety, Kevin had driven the women to their respective quarters to collect their overnight necessities, a change of clothes, and the food they’d gotten from the commissary.
While the women had been packing, Kevin had made a quick detour to his lab to get the locator, the directional beacon, a flashlight, and the contour map.
On each guest room door, Kevin had to knock twice. Once quite softly, and when there was no response, he rapped more vigorously until he heard a response. He sensed the women were hungover, especially after it took them significantly longer than they planned to show up in the kitchen. Both of them poured themselves a mug of coffee and drank the first cup without conversation.
After breakfast they all revived significantly. In fact, as they emerged from Kevin’s house they felt exhilarated, as if they were setting off on a holiday. The weather was as good as could be expected in that part of the world. Dawn was breaking and the pink and silver sky was generally clear overhead. To the south, there was a line of small puffy clouds. On the horizon to the west, there were ominous purple storm clouds, but they were way out over the ocean and would most likely stay there for the day.
As they walked toward the waterfront, they were enthralled by the profusion of bird life. There were blue turacos, parrots, weaverbirds, African fish eagles, and a kind of African blackbird. The air was filled with their color and shrieks.
The town seemed deserted. There were no pedestrians or vehicles, and the homes were still shuttered against the night. The only person they saw was a local mopping the floor in the Chickee Hut Bar.
They walked out on the impressive pier GenSys had built. It was twenty feet wide and six feet high. The rough-hewn planks were wet from the humid night air. At the end of the pier, there was a wooden ramp that led down to a floating dock. The dock seemed to be mysteriously suspended; the surface of the perfectly calm water was hidden by a layer of mist that extended as far as the eye could see.
As the women had promised, there was a motorized thirty-foot-long pirogue languidly moored to the end of the dock. Long ago, it had been painted red with a white interior, but the paint had faded or had been scraped off in large areas. A thatched roof supported by wooden poles extended over three-quarters of the boat’s length. Under the shelter were benches. The motor was an antique Evinrude outboard. Tethered to the stern was a small canoe with four narrow benches extending from gunwale to gunwale.
“Not bad, eh?” Melanie said, as she grabbed the mooring line and pulled the boat to the dock.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” Kevin said. “As long as the motor keeps going, we should be fine. I wouldn’t want to paddle it very far.”
“Worst-case scenario we float back,” Melanie said undaunted. “After all, we are going upriver.”
They got the gear and food aboard. While Melanie continued to stand on the pier, Kevin made his way to the stern to examine the motor. It was self-explanatory with instructions written in English. He put the throttle on start and pulled the cord. To his utter surprise, the engine started. He motioned for Melanie to hop in, shifted the motor into forward, and they were off.