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"I received the same advice from a co-worker at the embassy who I had reason to believe was getting his orders from Langley, Virginia. Consequently, I remained in the Congo as long as I could, another six months.
"Then, after an assignment to the Philippines, I returned in time for the tragedy at Stanleyville. That was August to November 1964. I left the day we jumped the Belgian Paras on Stanleyville; a large Belgian Army medical officer took one look at me and ordered me onto an airplane. Actually, he carried me onto it.
"I haven't been back to the Congo since. But in 1965, shortly after by then-Lieutenant General Mobutu had become commander in chief of the Army and had appointed himself president for five years"--he looked at Svetlana a moment--"I was then political counselor in our embassy in Copenhagen; we must exchange opinions of what makes a really good smorgasbord when we can find the time"--he looked back at Castillo--"someone, who I suspect was the agency man who advised me to seek a transfer, apparently remembered that I had once been friendly with the general, and of course that I had been in the bush outside Stanleyville during the tragedy and I was proposed as ambassador to what was by then Zaire. The word quickly came that I was considered not acceptable. I later learned that my report on what had happened there was considered insulting to Congolese national dignity."
He stopped, looked thoughtful, exhaled audibly, and finished: "Further deponent sayeth not."
"Sir," Castillo said after a moment, "please don't misunderstand this. That background was fascinating, but what I hope you'll tell us is what we can expect when we get there."
" 'We get there'?" Lorimer parroted.
"Yes, sir," Castillo replied, not taking his point. "Me and my team."
The ambassador remained silent and glanced at the others as he considered his reply.
Then he looked at Castillo and said: "First of all, my dear friend, if you were found anywhere near Stanleyville--and found you would be, with that rosy complexion--you would be killed and possibly cannibalized. The liver of a white man is considered good juju against bullets.
"As to what anyone else might find, if they were foolish enough to go to that area, it would be the sad remnants of a European attempt to superimpose their culture on the Congo. The Europeans, if I have to say this, are long gone. The airport--which used to have daily flights of Boeing 707 aircraft to and from Brussels--has been closed for years. There is rampant disease. And little or no electricity because little or no oil makes it up the Congo to power generators small or large. They would find stacks of decomposing bodies in the bush not unlike what the Khmer Rouge scattered around Cambodia. Need I go on?"
Castillo didn't reply.
"The only way you could destroy that factory would be by air," Lorimer said.
"We don't even know where it is, within a hundred miles," Castillo said.
"Oh, we can find it," DeWitt said.
" 'We,' DeWitt?" Castillo asked sarcastically.
"I thought this was an employment interview," DeWitt said straight-faced. "You mean it wasn't?"
"Charley," Leverette said, "we could HALO a team, maybe just four, five shooters. Find the sonofabitch, paint it, and call in the Air Force."
"You'd have to--" Castillo began. He stopped when a bell rang loudly, and then a telephone buzzed.
Lorimer picked up the telephone, listened, said, "Thank you," and hung up.
"Someone else just happened to be in the neighborhood and is dropping in. Chief Inspector Ordonez."
"Oh, shit!" Castillo said.
"May I suggest that Dmitri and Svetlana might be more comfortable if DeWitt took them for a ride around the estancia?"
"How about just putting them in another room?" Castillo asked. "This could just be a coincidence."
Or . . . he could be waving that Interpol warrant.
"If you'd like to come with me, Svetlana, Dmitri?" Ambassador Lorimer asked politely.
"No rush. It'll take him five, six minutes to get here from the highway," DeWitt said professionally.
XIV
[ONE]
Estancia Shangri-La
Tacuarembo Province
