Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Democratic Republic of the Congo
The stench was nearly unbearable. Trash littered the dirt-packed roads. In this part of the world, municipal trash collection did not exist. Clouds of flies swarmed and wrestled over the latest piles of shit. The tang of urine, filth, and excrement made breathing an unpleasant chore. Yet it had to be done. Every inhalation caused the mouth to water as it does in pre-vomit fashion. The uninitiated would
try to get by by holding their breath. They’d soon gasp for air, only to inhale more of the disgusting fumes. After God’s have mercy, the nose will accept its fate, gaining the ability to filter out the landfill before it. Running water, a luxury reserved only for members of the government. A fragile to nonexistent electric grid made power unreliable. The heat coupled with the humidity only amplified the smell of the garbage. Yes, then there was the heat. Landing roughly 500 kilometers from the equator made the tiny village feel closer to hell on Earth.
The convicted felon watched carefully. A pair of eyes gazing in his direction might send a hail of deadly gunfire at his location. He’d been there long enough to know that even a shadow at night was fair game, sending lead showers into darkness. Hell, they were children. Afraid of the dark, just like any other child would be. Being armed to the teeth couldn’t change that. If he were seen in broad daylight, his lighter skin complexion would give him away. That would be attention he could literally live without.
He’d only known that they had transferred him to a “hot zone,” to carry out the rest of his sentence. Life in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. He’d go to the grave swearing it. None of that mattered now, here he was. Survival was a top priority. Despite the warmth and suffocating moisture emanating from the thick scrub surrounding him, the murderer shivered as the gravity of the moment weighed upon him. He’d have to come up with a plan in a hurry.
He was unfamiliar with this jungle although he’d seen one before as a boy. He and his older cousin spent summers visiting his nana in Panama until her passing during his junior year of high school. He didn’t remember it being this hot. He peered anxiously through the brush at the only guard shack he’d seen while circling the perimeter. The tiny light that shone brightly from within for the past three nights was now out. Was there a power failure or was no one home? He weighed his options. Moving forward could mean death. Staying put meant certain death.
He gathered himself and rose as steadily as his fear would allow. He allowed another handful of seconds to lapse for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the night. Moonlight alone wasn’t enough to pierce through the heart of the jungle canopy in most places, which caused massive patches of blackouts down underneath. The path created by the dirt road leading into the village, and the village itself provided the only clearing by which the light from above illuminated down to the floor.
He thought he heard voices. He froze mid-step, trying to consciously slow his breathing. There they were again, this time more anxious, much closer. He wished he knew what they were saying. Had they found him? Had they found traces of a rival force? He had no way of knowing. They were children’s voices. He strained, desperate to find out how many there were. Barry nestled himself into a thick cropping of ferns and tried once again to slow his rate of breathing. He battled unsuccessfully as his fight-or-flight instincts wrestled for control of the helm. His heart thumped in his chest, as his subconscious already fled. Somewhere high in the rafters of the jungle canopy, a chimpanzee screamed. Moments later, the cry was answered by an equally excited respondent.
A sudden dose of adrenaline jolted through his body, causing him to tremble slightly in the grove. The voices grew louder, more excited now. Barry laid down prone, pressing his face flat against the earth as he dared not even look to see if they’d spotted him. The jungle around him came alive as though every animal kingdom had gathered to watch his fate. Now, he detected the chopping action of a machete, cutting and slicing through a dense jungle brush. Footsteps followed, as did the clinking of metal upon metal. Boots stomped eagerly through the freshly laid trail. He counted ten pairs, then twenty. Every fourth or fifth pair carried a torch; A whitish orange flame illuminated only small patches of the night surrounding them. Without moving his head, Barry opened his eyes. Only thirty meters away, a single file rank of boys he guessed from ages eight to early twenties stalked through the jungle. Each armed with AK-47 assault rifles, many with magazines duct taped to each other. Some wore belts of ammunition slung across their chests in the same way he’d seen in the movie Rambo. Most carried what he guessed to be grenades. He wasn’t sure how many, but he counted at least four carrying tubes topped with a strange green cone slung on their backs. He closed his eyes, causing the sound of the passing militia to drown out thought. Deep in the heart of Africa, Barry Jones exhaled a sigh of relief as the last of the torches passed, leaving only pitch blackness together with the symphony of a jungle at night.
William and Fiona Malter headed Malter Global Resources, a conglomerate of business operations ranging from mining, dredging, excavation, raw material processing, and a half dozen other endeavors. Its client list spread throughout most of Central Europe, Southeast Asia, part of the Pacific, Africa, and the Americas. The company had been founded by his great grandfather, Charles Malter. A former sea captain who sank his entire savings along with a small inheritance into the venture, he proved a brazen and daring man.
Will Malter was almost as handsome as he was rich. The fifty-seven-year-old multi-Billionaire appeared tall, well aged, and usually stylishly overdressed for the occasion. An alpha male, at once taken notice of in every room entered. A voracious reader, his library included volumes of original works by Shakespeare and Voltaire. Being an avid consumer of theater and the arts, it came as no surprise when the family announced it would make a sizable donation to the Cairo Museum of Ancient and Modern Art.
The luncheon would start in roughly fifteen minutes, a time reserved for when topics of great interest were debated, family affairs discussed, and other more delicate matters handled. In today’s digital age, emailing proved more convenient, but family was family. This afternoon’s edition should be a straightforward one, with topics such as marriages, pregnancies, and the juiciest rumors appearing high on the agenda. The latest in personal achievements, be it a promotion or acquisition, would make themselves known.
Easily the most pressing issue of all was how they intended to make their next move. It’d been nearly six months since they’d been able to make a move. They’d never even been serious contenders until now. Gaining the mines throughout Sub-Saharan Africa had been huge. It allowed the family access to a wealth, power, and secrets not known existed. Rare Earth metals formed throughout Africa. Without them, life as it revolves would come to a lightning fast halt. Any device using an electronic circuit board relies heavily on these precious metals.
Advancements in healthcare and silicon valley only enhanced their value. When large deposits of coltan, tantalum, and gold were discovered outside an already established diamond mine five and a half months earlier, the family’s net worth tripled overnight.
William still remembered the telegram, not because of the message, but because someone sent a telegram. Nobody used those anymore, but then again, the senders weren’t just anybody. Shortly after the discovery of the new mines, it arrived, except more than a letter. This one came with a package. He hadn’t expected either. Included was a small white box wrapped with a velvet red bow. How dramatic? Will thought as he read the card. The rules were laid out on the back of the card. If he accepted these rules and stipulations of the game, he only needed to accept the package. If not, the delivery boy should return the box along with the card and everyone involved should forget the entire ordeal. He used the allotted thirty seconds to decide as he read the card once more while the delivery boy waited. He’d heard of things of this nature before, back in his college days. There were fraternities who used strange and entertaining ways of sending invitations to their pledges. He realized the new-found minerals might open doorways not yet seen, but this? Upon acceptance of the package, the card stated to open the box. Inside cardboard packaging, a large and heavy brick of a mobile phone, complete with an unwieldy antenna resembling a stick of dynamite. Maybe it was supposed to be a gag, or a jest. A relic of the past as we move towards the future? After removing the phone from its nest, instructions mentioned to dial the number listed at the bottom of the card. That was it, the end. In actuality, it spelled the beginning of a whole new world of possibilities and power. That occurred a little over three months ago. He’d used the phone only twice since, calling in his bid for a chance to make a move. He’d been outbid both times.
It was now the family’s turn again to make a move, as the rest of the players grew impatient. They’d have a few more weeks to decide on a move before their turn would be given up. This would be neither good nor bad, only that things would stay the same. For men like William, ‘the same’ had been unacceptable. It meant they’d have to sit through another round of treaties, violations of treaties, acquisitions and liquidations by rivals, and countless laws passed. All of that would make their next turn even more difficult. Whenever that would be. A war breaking out somewhere could throw a monkey wrench into an already fastly spinning spoke.
William pulled back the cuffed sleeve of his blazer, checking the time on an exquisite Breitling Aviator Swiss Automatique. Things had been moving along all morning, now the time approached to get down to business. He watched as his guests...family mingled, as though he’d become a great pharaoh admiring his kingdom. An elation, a sense of euphoria swept across his nerves and mingled with the mountain of pride he held deep inside a vault of self obsession.
He was dislodged out of his dreamlike state when his bulldog of an assistant, Philip placed a well-manicured hand onto the mogul’s shoulder. Philip, being the only one on in attendance not a blood relative, didn’t bother the man in the least. Phil had proven one thing over time: loyalty beyond words. The man leaned in close enough for his cologne to be noticed as he whispered in his boss’s ear.
“We’ve got a problem in Africa. In The Congo I believe.” Philip’s native outback Australian accent rained disappointment onto William Martel’s parade.
“It appears as though an incident happened at one of the mines. A young boy has been lost.”
Lost meant dead or killed. Will replied.
“Release a statement, send payment to the family.”
Phil, the ever so faithful and diligent servant of the Martel empire, speculated where the boss was going.
“That’s just it. Nobody knows who the next of kin is. The whole damn village wants to claim the little bugger since he has no official parents. They say he belongs to everyone. They’re all demanding extra compensation. Say they won’t go back to work otherwise. And since the boy was so young they demand double their pay.”
Well then, Will thought, looks as though the savages need to be reminded.
As the two men continued their private discussion, it became more and more clear the toll placed on his family by society. The weight of the family namesake. The power, the responsibility. Being a Malter meant something. His father and grandfather before made sure of that. Every time something went wrong, someone somewhere was sure to pop up from beneath a sandy crevice where he knew someone conceived them, head lowered and hands out waiting and wanting money. Where was their pride?
When their impromptu meeting concluded, William Martel’s stately features had hardened from just a few moments ago. As Phil busied himself seating the guests, Will pulled a smartphone from his pocket and dialed. A cold gravelly voice answered on the distant end.
“Do it.”
The Billionaire said and hung up the phone.
Will tucked the device back into his pocket and began the trip into the dining hall, greeting and smiling at relatives as though the prior ten minutes hadn’t even taken place. Yes, it was obvious; they needed to make their next move count.
