The Congo Affair

Norman Shakespeare

Description

A fascinating nail-biting and romantic exodus from civil war in the heart of the equatorial jungle.

It takes compelling reasons to leave rewarding jobs and comfortable urban lifestyles, and move to an isolated aero-space project in an equatorial jungle. The facility, constructed during a brief lull in the country's tumultuous history, is located on the equator; a good place to launch large rockets. Nearly three thousand westerners live and work behind a fence separating them from the jungle and the darkness. Few take an interest in the primeval ecosystem outside.

As happens frequently in the Congo, things start to go downhill. Civil-war spreads and the base, fifteen-hundred miles up the river, is slowly cut-off. Regular re-supply flights are suspended after a near miss with a surface-to-air missile fired from the bush. The alternate route; ten days by dilapidated ferry to Kinshasa, becomes less reliable by the week. Head-office personnel in Europe are out of touch with things on the ground, and reluctant to 'upset' local politicians by suggesting curtailing operations prematurely. The situation reaches a point where the inhabitants are forced to prepare for the worst, and to seriously consider their desperate evacuation plans.

While the mighty river flows endlessly by, camp security guards assume power from the academic admin staff, and 'martial law' is imposed. James Kent, a very private divorcee with I.T. and military experience engages the help of friendly natives to gather intelligence and questions the head-guard's escape plan. The community starts to polarize. Some make it to the coast by ferry but the situation deteriorates further, with repeated attacks by rebels causing more tensions.

The stage is set; darkest Africa, suspense and passionate romance take control.

Sujets

• Romance
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 10 mars 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456624194
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Congo Affair
 
 
Norman Shakespeare

Copyright 2014 Norman Shakespeare ,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2419-4
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 
 
Disclaimer
 
This book is pure fiction. None of the characters represent anyone in real life and none of the content is intended to be historically, culturally, naturally, or geographically factual.
Chapter 1
Although nothing seemed out of the ordinary, James woke earlier than usual with a subtle, inexplicable feeling of foreboding. Through the bug screen he watched the resident troop of vervet monkeys scamper across dewy lawns to forage in the giant banana trees behind the bungalows. Tendrils of early-morning mist seeped from the shadows and disappeared with the squawking cries of gaudy parrots echoing under the dense, gloomy canopy.
He decided to take a walk along the river; on weekends he spent many hours exploring the primeval tranquility of the mighty Congo. He donned cargo shorts, sneakers, and bush hat: more than enough for the climate. On workdays he added a short-sleeved cotton shirt, to look a little more businesslike.
With an old canvas satchel containing water bottle, dried nuts and assorted gear, and a fishing rod in hand, he stepped into the pre-dawn humidity. The screen door banged behind him.
The sound of distant tom-toms floated across the river from the wall of vegetation on the far side. It wasunusual to hear drums so early in the morning; they fuelled his sense of unease.
 
A thirty-yard walk through a partially concealed side-gate and across a sloping, grassy flood plain led to the banks of the river. As far as he knew, James was the only person in the compound who used this gate: it was probably used during construction five years earlier. Most inhabitants lived for the day when they would return to ‘civilization’: few aware of or interested in the ‘real’ Africa outside the fence.
On a baking-hot afternoon six months earlier, while observing a butcher-bird hanging its insect prey on the fence to dry, he had found the gate-key dangling innocently on the razor wire near the gate. It was coated in a thin layer of spider web; and an insect had built a cocoon on the side. Assuming no one else knew of the key, he had moved it to a more private location.
The gate was nearly a mile upstream of the main entrance and the wharf which were obscured by a wide bend in the river.
 
The plaintive, haunting cry of a fish eagle greeted him as he waded through soft, waist-high grass on the slope down to the flood plain. It reminded him of the Bald Eagles back home. He cautiously approached the top of the sandy, fifteen-foot cliff above the deep, silently-moving water.
Early morning forays were often rewarded with magnificent views of elephant, buffalo, and other animals at the water's edge. Today the river was deserted, mostly shrouded in low mist that concealed the far side.
It was a spectacular sight. A mile-wide swathe of swirling, brilliant white vapor gleamed snow-like in the first rays of sunlight. The huge red ball lifting over distant mountains dusted fluffy pink tints on its surface.
As he strolled quietly along the bank, James felt at one with nature. Behind him, the tall grey support-structures of the launch site contrasted with the jungle. An Orion rocket, after which the base was named, stood patiently waiting for launch day, now delayed indefinitely. The supply route by river from the coast was often closed due to civil unrest and the grass airstrip, unused since the Hercules transports stopped coming a month before, was already overgrown with grass and small bushes; on the equator everything grew faster.
The aircraft had been shot at by rebels in the jungle, effectively closing the only viable supply link to the coast. The ferry route was much longer but slightly safer. Most of the passengers on the ancient vessels were poverty-stricken natives who posed little threat to warring parties. It was a tenuous supply-line at best; more than one thousand four hundred miles of often turbulent, bush-flanked river, serviced by a few dilapidated ferries: when they weren’t under repair.
 
As if by magic the mist evaporated and the full splendor of Africa’s mightiest river unfolded; the silent, shifting expanse broken only by small clumps of drifting salvinia weed. A skein of Egyptian geese skimmed nose-to-tail a foot above the water, honking in turn.
Although infested with crocodiles, hippopotamuses and numerous undocumented threats, described by the natives in terrifying detail, nothing broke the surface. James had grown up in Africa and discounted most of the tales as pure superstition exaggerated by primitive fears and fuelled by the ever-present jungle, mysterious and brooding, even to his skeptical western eyes. The cradle of life was a catalyst for fertile imaginations.
There were huge eels, catfish, and tiger fish, all fearsome and some capable of eating a grown man, but he doubted the stories of two-hundred foot monsters, three feet thick, that swallowed whole boats full of people. Selfishly perhaps, it suited him to add credibility to the accounts of the wide-eyed natives; fewer residents of the compound would be inclined to venture into his personal domain. A private, million-square-mile park appealed to him.
The water was clear and fresh but ran so deep it was difficult to see the bottom, except in shallower areas where sunlight reflected off the white sand below. Sometimes dark shapes loomed under passing boats; submerged logs or hippopotamuses trying to escape the relentless equatorial sun.
‘Mboka’ and ‘Congo Queen,’ the ferries that plied the hundred-mile stretch from Ubundu, had eight-foot drafts, but rarely touched bottom. Massive, floating logs, some more than eighty feet long and four in diameter, were much more of a danger than shoal water.
 
A rustling in the gully ahead brought James to a silent crouch. All along the bank, small, perennial streams cut steeply to the river, forming short ramps in the sandy alluvial soil and providing wildlife with easy access to drinking water. Dense thickets of reeds up to fifteen feet tall filled these mini-gorges and obscured all manner of dangerous occupants. He waited patiently.
Another loud rustle, followed by the wrenching sound of vegetation being torn from the ground gave a clue. Amongst the reed beds, patches of lush green grass grew thick in the rich silt. Hippopotamuses, the second largest animal in Africa, and nocturnal by nature, spend nights grazing the flood-plains and grassy slopes right up to the perimeter fence. In the day they usually return to the coolness of the river to rest. Occasionally one needed a 'midnight snack' and ventured into the reeds during daylight.
Although ‘hippos’ are vegetarian, James was well aware of the danger of surprising a two-ton wild animal when it was out of its natural daytime retreat. He backed off very slowly and quietly, choosing to fish further away.
 
This section of river was on the outside of a wide bend; the current eroded the bank over the years as it gradually changed course like a huge, twisting snake, When large trees were undermined they fell into the river, providing shelter for small fish and a food-source for larger ones.
James stripped twenty yards of line from his reel onto the sand at his feet. The dark brown sinking-line and ten foot leader was tipped with two feet of fine, nylon-coated steel wire, and a number sixteen Mrs. Simpson fly. Without the steel tippet the razor-sharp interlocking teeth of the notorious tiger fish would bite through the line and steal the fly in an instant. James tried to avoid the larger tigers and catfish; hooking a hundred-pounder from the bank, in the strong current, was useless and could result in the loss of line, tippet, and fly.
Three quick flicks of the rod back and forward over his shoulder propelled the line gracefully through the air, straightening far out over the water. The feathery fly floated softly on the water near a partially submerged tree, twirling briefly in a tiny eddy before disappearing below the surface.
A sharp tug announced the take of a 'Chessa,' probably the finest small game fish in the world. Up to six pounds of hard muscle covered with a coat of tough silver scales and backed up by a big, businesslike tail, the fish endures a life of strong currents all the while avoiding the vicious teeth of the tiger fish; making for a very fit wily opponent.
For the last ten years James had worked on computer projects all over the world; spending much of his spare time fishing for salmon trout and other game fish. Pound for pound, none could compete with the sheer endurance, tenacity, and power of the Chessa.
After a brief entanglement in submerged twigs the fish headed for open water. The taut line skimmed and whined as the fish dragged it tirelessly, first upstream then down, and then up again.
James gradually worked his line further and further away from the tree, hoping a big tiger fish wouldn’t attack the exposed Chessa but, at the same time, not wanting to lose it in the mass of branches below the surface.
He finally landed the fish by dragging it firmly onto the sand. With a deft wrist motion, he extracted the barbless hook and gently returned the dazed fish to the river. It drifted for a second, stunned, and then swam away enthusiastically, none the worse for wear. He never killed a fish unless he intended to eat it, and Chessa were far too bony.
 
James maintained peak physical fitness by running six miles almost every day, usually inside the compound. Whenever he had the oppo