CHAPTER 21
MARCH 9, 1997
4:30 A.M.
BATA, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
JACK awakened at four-thirty and was unable to get back to sleep. Ironically, the racket made by tree frogs and crickets in the courtyard banana trees was too much even for someone fully adjusted to the noisy sirens and general din of New York City.
Taking his towel and his soap, Jack stepped out on the veranda and started for the shower. Midway, he bumped into Laurie on her way back.
“What are you doing up?” Jack asked. It was still pitch dark outside.
“We went to bed around eight,” Laurie said. “Eight hours: that’s a reasonable night’s sleep for me.”
“You’re right,” Jack said. He’d forgotten how early it was when they’d all collapsed.
“I’ll go down into the kitchen area and see if I can find any coffee,” Laurie said.
“I’ll be right down,” Jack said.
By the time Jack got downstairs to the dining room, he was surprised to find the rest of his group already having breakfast. Jack got a cup of coffee and some bread and sat down between Warren and Esteban.
“Arturo mentioned to me that he thought you were crazy to go to Cogo without an invitation,” Esteban said.
With his mouth full, all Jack could do was nod.
“He told me you won’t get in,” Esteban said.
“We’ll see,” Jack said after swallowing. “I’ve come this far, so I’m not going to turn back without making an effort.”
“At least the road is good, thanks to GenSys,” Esteban said.
“Worst case, we’ve had an interesting drive,” Jack said.
An hour later, everyone met again in the dining room. Jack reminded the others that going to Cogo wasn’t a command performance, and that those people who preferred to stay in Bata should do so. He said that he’d been told it might take four hours each way.
“You think you can make out on your own?” Esteban asked.
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “It’s not as if we’ll be getting lost. The map indicates only one main road heading south. Even I can handle that.”
“Then I think I’ll stay,” Esteban said. “I have more family I’d like to see.”
By the time they were on the road with Warren in the front passenger seat and the two women in the middle seat, the eastern sky was just beginning to show a faint glow of dawn. As they drove south they were shocked at how many people were walking along the road on their way into the city. There were mostly women and children and most of the women were carrying large bundles on their heads.
“They don’t seem to have much, but they appear happy,” Warren commented. Many of the children stopped to wave at the passing van. Warren waved back.
The outskirts of Bata dragged by. The cement buildings eventually changed to simple whitewashed mud brick structures with thatched roofs. Reed mats formed corrals for goats.
Once completely out of Bata, they began to see stretches of incredibly lush jungle.
Traffic was almost nonexistent save for occasional large trucks going in the opposite direction. As the trucks went by, the wind jostled the van.
“Man, those truckers move,” Warren commented.
Fifteen miles south of Bata, Warren got out the map. There was one fork and one turn in the road that they had to navigate appropriately or lose considerable time. Signs were almost nonexistent.
When the sun came up, they all donned their sunglasses. The scenery became monotonous, uninterrupted jungle except for occasional tiny clusters of thatched huts. Almost two hours after they’d left Bata, they turned onto the road that led to Cogo.
“This is a much better road,” Warren commented as Jack accelerated up to cruising speed.
“It looks new,” Jack said. The previous road had been reasonably smooth, although its surface appeared like a patchwork quilt from all the separate repairs.
They were now heading southeast away from the coast and into considerably denser jungle. They also began to climb. In the distance they could see low, jungle-covered mountains.
Seemingly out of nowhere came a violent thunderstorm. Just prior to its arrival the sky became a swirling mass of dark clouds. Day turned to night in the space of several minutes. Once the rain started, it came down in sheets, and the van’s old, ragged windshield wipers could not keep up with the downpour. Jack had to slow to less than twenty miles an hour.
Fifteen minutes later, the sun poked out between massive clouds, turning the road into a ribbon of rising steam. On a straight stretch, a group of baboons crossing the road looked as if they were walking on a cloud.
After passing through the mountains, the road turned back to the southeast. Warren consulted the map and told everyone they were within twenty miles of their destination.
Rounding another turn, they all saw what looked like a white building in the middle of the road.
“What the hell’s this?” Warren said. “We’re not there yet, no way.”
“I think it’s a gate,” Jack said. “I was told about this only last night. Keep your fingers crossed. We might have to switch to plan B.”
As they got closer, they could see that on either side of the central structure were enormous white, lattice-work fences. They were on a roller mechanism so they could be drawn out of the way to permit vehicles to pass.
Jack braked and brought the van to a stop about twenty feet from the fence. Out of the two-story gate house stepped three soldiers dressed similarly to those who’d been guarding the private jet at the airport. Like the soldiers at the airport, these men were carrying assault rifles, only these men were holding their guns waist high, aimed at the van.
“I don’t like this,” Warren said. “These guys look like kids.”
“Stay cool,” Jack said. He rolled his window down. “Hi, guys. Nice day, huh?”
The soldiers didn’t move. Their blank expressions didn’t change.
Jack was about to ask them kindly to open the gate, when a fourth man stepped out into the sunlight. To Jack’s surprise, this man was pulling on a black suit jacket over a white shirt and tie. In the middle of the steaming jungle it was absurd. The other surprising thing was that the man wasn’t black. He was Arab.
“Can I help you?” the Arab asked. His tone was not friendly.
“I hope so,” Jack said. “We’re here to visit Cogo.”
The Arab glanced at the windshield of the vehicle, presumably looking for some identification. Not seeing it, he asked Jack if he had a pass.
“No pass,” Jack admitted. “We’re just a couple of doctors interested in the work that’s going on here.”
“What is your name?” the Arab asked.
“Dr. Jack Stapleton. I’ve come all the way from New York City.”
“Just a minute,” the Arab said before disappearing back into the gate house.
“This doesn’t look good,” Jack said to Warren out of the corner of his mouth. He smiled at the soldiers. “How much should I offer him? I’m not good at this bribing stuff.”
“Money must mean a lot more here than it does in New York,” Warren said. “Why don’t you overwhelm him with a hundred dollars. I mean, if it’s worth it to you.”
Jack mentally converted a hundred dollars into French francs, then extracted the bills from his money belt. A few minutes later, the Arab returned.
“The manager says that he does not know you and that you are not welcome,” the Arab said.
“Shucks,” Jack said. Then he extended his left hand with the French francs casually stuck between his index finger and his ring finger. “We sure do appreciate your help.”
The Arab eyed the money for a moment before reaching out and taking it. It disappeared into his pocket in the blink of an eye.
Jack stared at him for a moment, but the man didn’t move. Jack found it difficult to read his expression because the man’s mustache obscured his mouth.
Jack turned to Warren. “Didn’t I give him enough?”