Chromosome 6

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.

The hotel was an unimposing two-story concrete building with rusted rebars sticking out the top for potential future upward expansion. The facade had been painted blue but the color had faded to an indistinct pastel.

The moment they stopped, an army of congenial children and adults emerged from the front door. Everyone was introduced down to the youngest, shy child. It turned out that several multigenerational families lived on the first floor. The second floor was the hotel.

The rooms turned out to be tiny but clean. They were all situated on the outside of the U-shaped building. Access was by way of a veranda open to the courtyard. There was a toilet and a shower on each end of the “U.”

After putting his bag in his room and appreciating the mosquito netting around the inordinately narrow bed, Jack went out onto the veranda. Laurie came out of her room. Together, they leaned on the balustrade and peered down into the courtyard. It was an interesting combination of banana trees, discarded tires, naked infants, and chickens.

“Not quite the Four Seasons,” Jack said.

Laurie smiled. “It’s charming. I’m happy. There’s not a bug in my room. That had been my main worry.”

The proprietors, Esteban’s brother-in-law, Florenico, and his wife, Celestina, had prepared a huge feast. The main course was a local fish served with a turniplike plant called “malanga.” For dessert there was a type of pudding along with exotic fruit. An ample supply of ice-cold Cameroonean beer helped wash it all down.

The combination of plentiful food and beer took a toll on the exhausted travelers. It wasn’t long before all of them were fighting drooping eyelids. With some effort, they dragged themselves upstairs to their separate rooms, full of plans to rise early and head south in the morning.

Bertram climbed the stairs to Siegfried’s office. He was exhausted. It was almost eight-thirty at night, and he’d been up since five-thirty that morning to accompany the animal handlers out to Isla Francesca to help get the mass retrieval under way. They’d worked all day and only returned to the animal center an hour earlier.

Aurielo had long since gone home, so Bertram walked directly into the manager’s office. Siegfried was by the window facing the square with a glass in his hand. He was staring over at the hospital. The only light in the room was from the candle in the skull, just as it had been three nights before. Its flame flickered from the action of the overhead fan, sending shadows dancing across the stuffed animal trophies.

“Make yourself a drink,” Siegfried said, without turning around. He knew it was Bertram, since they’d talked on the phone a half an hour earlier and made plans to meet.

Bertram was more of a wine drinker than an imbiber of hard alcohol, but under the circumstances he poured himself a double scotch. He sipped the fiery fluid as he joined Siegfried at the window. The lights of the hospital lab complex glowed warmly in the moist tropical night.

“Did you know Taylor Cabot was coming?” Bertram asked.

“I hadn’t the faintest idea,” Siegfried said.

“What did you do with him?” Bertram asked.

Siegfried gestured toward the hospital. “He’s at the Inn. I had the chief surgeon move out of what we call the presidential suite. Of course, he was none too happy. You know how these egotistical doctors are. But what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m running a hotel here.”

“Do you know why Cabot came?” Bertram asked.

“Raymond said that he came specifically to evaluate the bonobo program,” Siegfried said.

“I was afraid of that,” Bertram said.

“It’s just our luck,” Siegfried complained. “The program has been running like a Swiss clock for years on end, and just when we have a problem, he shows up.”

“What did you do with Raymond?” Bertram asked.

“He’s over there, too,” Siegfried said. “He’s a pain in the ass. He wanted to be away from Cabot, but where was I supposed to put him: in my house? No thank you!”

“Has he asked about Kevin Marshall?” Bertram asked.

“Of course,” Siegfried said. “As soon as he got me aside, it was his first question.”

“What did you say?”

“I told the truth,” Siegfried said. “I told him Kevin had gone off with the reproductive technologist and the intensive care nurse and that I had no idea where he was.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He got red in the face,” Siegfried said. “He wanted to know if Kevin had gone to the island. I told him that we didn’t think so. Then he ordered me to find him. Can you imagine? I don’t take orders from Raymond Lyons.”

“So Kevin and the women have not reappeared?” Bertram asked.

“No, and not a word,” Siegfried said.

“Have you made any effort to find them?” Bertram asked.

“I sent Cameron over to Acalayong to check out those cheap hotels along the waterfront, but he didn’t have any luck. I’m thinking they might have gone over to Cocobeach in Gabon. That’s what makes the most sense, but why they didn’t tell anyone is beyond me.”

“What a God-awful mess,” Bertram commented.

“How did you do on the island?” Siegfried asked.

“We did well, considering how fast we had to put the operation together,” Bertram said. “We got an all-terrain vehicle over there with a wagon. It was all we could think of to get that many animals back to the staging area.”

“How many animals did you get?”

“Twenty-one,” Bertram said. “Which is a tribute to my crew. It suggests we’ll be able to finish up by tomorrow.”

“So soon,” Siegfried commented. “That’s the first encouraging news all day.”

“It’s easier than we anticipated,” Bertram said. “The animals seem enthralled by us. They are trusting enough to let us get close with the dart gun. It’s like a turkey shoot.”

“I’m glad something is going right,” Siegfried said.

“The twenty-one animals we got today were all part of the splinter group living north of the Rio Diviso. It was interesting how they were living. They’d made crude huts on stilts with roofs of layered lobelia leaves.”

“I don’t give a damn how those animals were living,” Siegfried snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, too.”

“No, I’m not going soft,” Bertram said. “But I still find it interesting. There was also evidence of campfires.”

“So, it’s good we’re putting them in the cages,” Siegfried said. “They won’t be killing each other, and they won’t be playing around with fire.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Bertram agreed.

“Any sign of Kevin and the women on the island?” Siegfried asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Bertram said. “And I made it a point to look. But even in areas they would have left footprints, there was nothing. We spent part of today building a log bridge over the Rio Diviso, so tomorrow we’ll start retrievals near the limestone cliffs. I’ll keep my eyes open for signs they’d been there.”

“I doubt you’ll find anything, but until they are located we shouldn’t rule out the possibility they went to the island. But I’ll tell you, if they did go, and they come back here, I’ll turn them over to the Equatoguinean minister of justice with the charge that they have severely compromised the GenSys operation. Of course, that means they’ll be lined up out in the soccer field in front of a firing squad before they knew what hit them.”

“Nothing like that could happen until Cabot and the others leave,” Bertram said with alarm.

“Obviously,” Siegfried said. “Besides, I mentioned the soccer field only figuratively. I’d tell the minister they’d have to be taken out of the Zone to be shot.”

“Any idea when Cabot and the others will be taking the patient back to the States?”

“No one has said anything,” Siegfried said. “I guess it’s up to Cabot. I hope it will be tomorrow, or at the very latest, the following day.”