“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.
“I understand you worked for GenSys,” Jack said.
“For three years,” Arturo said. “But no more. The manager is a bad person. I prefer to stay in Bata. I’m lucky to have work.”
“We want to tour the GenSys facility,” Jack said. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble?”
“They don’t expect you?” Arturo asked with bewilderment.
“Nope,” Jack said. “It’s a surprise visit.”
“Then you may have trouble,” Arturo said. “I don’t think they like visitors. When they repaired the only road to Cogo, they built a gate. It’s manned twenty-four hours a day by soldiers.”
“Uh-oh!” Jack said. “That doesn’t sound good.” He’d not expected restricted access to the town and had counted on being able to drive in directly. Where he expected to have trouble was getting into the hospital or the labs.
“When Esteban called to say you were going to Cogo, I thought you’d been invited,” Arturo said. “I didn’t think to mention the gate.”
“I understand,” Jack said. “It’s not your fault. Tell me, do you think the soldiers would take money to let us in?”
Arturo flashed a glance in Jack’s direction. He shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re better paid than regular soldiers.”
“How far is the gate from the town?” Jack asked. “Could someone walk through the forest and just pass the gate?”
Arturo glanced at Jack again. The conversation had taken a turn in a direction he’d not expected.
“It is quite far,” Arturo said evincing some unease. “Maybe five kilometers. And it is not easy to walk in the jungle. It can be dangerous.”
“And there is only one road?” Jack asked.
“Only one road,” Arturo agreed.
“I saw on a map that Cogo is on the water,” Jack said. “What about arriving by boat?”
“I suppose,” Arturo said.
“Where could someone find a boat?” Jack asked.
“In Acalayong,” Arturo said. “There are many boats there. That’s how to go to Gabon.”
“And there would be boats to rent?” Jack asked.
“With enough money,” Arturo said.
They were now passing through the center of Bata. It was composed of surprisingly broad tree-lined, litter-strewn streets. There were lots of people out and about but relatively few vehicles. The buildings were all low concrete structures.
On the south side of town, they turned off the main street and made their way along a rutted unpaved road. There were large puddles from a recent rain.