He had an idea. Clearing an unruly pile of papers from his desk with a sudden sweep of his arm, he pulled the keyboard of his computer towards him and directed his Internet browser to a search engine with a light tap of his fingers. Within seconds he had directed himself to the United Nations website. His eyes scanned quickly over the screen until he saw the link he was looking for: 'PEACE & SECURITY'. He navigated to the peacekeeping section of the website, then found the link for 'CURRENT OPERATIONS'. A drop-down menu directed him to ' AFRICA ' and then 'MONUC (DEM. REP. OF THE CONGO)'. A few clicks later, he found himself scribbling down the number of the main office in Kinshasa of the UN Mission in the DRC.
Then he stopped.
What were they going to think, these people, when he phoned them out of the blue to alert them to a deadly virus in an unheard-of backwater of the country? What would he think, if someone he had never heard of called him up to say that half the population of Britain might die if he didn't quarantine Macclesfield? If ever there was a long shot, this was it. Sam Garner knew he was going to have to be very convincing.
He dialled the number.
'Oui, bonjour,' a woman's voice answered almost immediately.
'Do you speak English?'
'Yes, sir, a little.'
'Good.' Sam spoke slowly and clearly. 'My name is Dr Sam Garner. I'm calling from England and I am a specialist in infectious diseases. You're going to have to listen to me incredibly carefully…'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
'When will you be coming home, Daddy?'
The thin child who looked up at her equally emaciated father was eight years old, with large dark eyes and tightly curled hair. She didn't want her father to leave.
'In two weeks,' he said gruffly, softening only when he saw the tears welling up in his daughter's eyes. He knelt down and took her hand. 'The men say there is work in the next village. When I come back, I will have a little money. Enough, maybe, to buy some meat for us. You must look after your mother while I am gone. Do you think you can do that for me?'
The little girl nodded bravely. Her father smiled at her, stroked the side of her head, then stood up. His wife was standing in the corner of the hut, obscured somewhat by the shadows. He nodded cursorily at her, then left.
Outside, the minibus was waiting. It was an old bus, like every vehicle the man had ever seen, with rust patches and mismatched wheels. And it was almost full. He hurried towards it, not wanting to risk missing his seat. The smiling men who had flown in from Kinshasa the previous day had told him that this was a limited opportunity for work, that if they wanted to earn some of the money that was available, they needed to sign up now and leave tomorrow. Little did anyone know that they would be back to transport another busload of workers as soon as possible.
Quietly the man took his place at the front of the bus. It was hot and smelly, and filled with men who, like him, had faces that reflected the hardship of their lives, yet now showed hope that they might be able to earn the money they so desperately needed to support their families.
That had been this morning. They'd expected to be in Udok by lunchtime, but the rains had come, holding them up. Now they trundled along slowly, all of them anxious to be at their destination.
None of them, of course, had heard the rumours. There were no televisions in this part of the world, no newspapers. Half the men in the minibus did not even know the name of the village they were going to.
And none of them knew what they were letting themselves in for…
The first thing Ben and Halima needed was an axe.
Halima had suggested that there might be one near the mine – the workers were forever clearing trees to make room for new excavations – but Ben wasn't keen on the idea. The rains had cleared, and although the paths and tracks were still deep with puddles, the villagers had come out from their huts. The last thing Ben wanted was for them to be seen by Suliman and his men. Not yet, at least.
'There is a man who lives near me,' Halima told him. Then she corrected herself. 'I mean, he lived near me. He is dead now, along with his family. But he used to cut wood. His hut is deserted, but I think we might find something there.'
The pair kept their heads down as they crossed the square, doing their best to remain inconspicuous but acutely aware of the fact that they had no time to lose. At least, Ben thought, they had one thing in their favour: the area round Halima's house always seemed to be deserted, and if the inhabitants of the hut they were heading for were dead, there would be a red cross on the door and people would be avoiding the place anyway. Sure enough, when they got there, nobody was around.
The door was locked. Ben sized it up and decided that it looked flimsy enough. 'Stand back,' he said to Halima, before stepping back a few metres and then running at it with his left shoulder. The door rattled a little, but it didn't give way, so Ben tried again. Only on the third attempt did he break in. They rushed inside.
The hut was dark and unwelcoming. A couple of old, thin mattresses that had seen much better days lay on the floor, and there was a table and two chairs. All sorts of other paraphernalia of daily life were littered around, and Ben and Halima immediately set to work trying to find what they were looking for.
It didn't take them long. A heavy-handled axe was lying on the floor, its blade covered by an old rag. It was Halima who found it, and she tried to pick it up, with difficulty. It was a very weighty thing, and even Ben didn't feel like he could carry it for too long. If only Abele were here, he thought to himself.
But Abele wasn't there, so they were going to have to make do by themselves. 'I can't carry this all the way up to the mine,' he told Halima. 'It'll just get in the way. We're going to have to hide it somewhere and pick it up later.'
They left the hut, Ben dragging the axe behind him, and headed for the road leading west.
Once they were on the outskirts of the village, Ben started looking around for a suitable hiding place. Finding somewhere to secrete the axe wasn't a problem – there were plenty of low bushes that would have concealed it – but ensuring that he could locate it again was more tricky. In the end, they found a small pile of burned-out tyres in front of a patch of scrubland, and they hid the axe there. 'When we get separated,' Ben told Halima, 'we'll meet back here, OK?'
And then they sprinted back through the village, towards the mine.
The rainfall had done a little to ease the humidity, but nothing to reduce the terrible heat of the day. As he ran, Ben felt his wet clothes steaming and becoming hot from the sunshine, the water boiling against his skin. He did his best to put the scorching sensation from his mind and tried to focus on the task ahead. It was a foolhardy venture, but it was the only thing they could think of.
Rather than take the main road up to the mine, Halima led them a more roundabout way that would keep them out of sight. It took them past the clearing where Ben had witnessed the dance to the ancestors a few nights previously, and through an area of forest that he would have found intimidating if he had not spent so much time in the jungle. They approached the mine from the south-east, and moved stealthily once they were away from the protection of the trees to avoid being seen by the occasional guard who was milling around with the standard AK-47. Before long, Suliman's office, with his old Land Rover still parked outside, was in sight.
The two friends caught their breath. 'Are you sure you're happy to do this?' Ben asked Halima, though the steely look of determination in her eyes told him he needn't have worried.
'Be at the meeting place as quickly as you can,' she told him, before flashing him a quick smile of encouragement. 'What is it you say?' She searched for the words. 'Break a leg?'