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CHAPTER1
He’d never felt sun hotter than this.
This place, compared to the rest of Luanda, was like facing the red, craggy surface of Mars right after turning away from an outline of Earth’s swirling, blue water-covered exterior.
Gone were the high rises, highways, and lights that obscured the stars no matter how dark the hazy sky. Last night, they’d slept in a five-star hotel overlooking the Gulf of Guinea in the South Atlantic Ocean. Today, as the jeep’s tires smashed stones and kicked up dust through rural Angola, Joel felt like shit.
Not even twenty-four hours ago, he’d half-wittedly marveled at the ocean and the vibrancy of the city while lounging poolside. Then, he’d gone up to his room to order room service using a luxury charge card. But here, trash littered the streets. Sheets of cloth acted as makeshift roofing for houses no more stable than a stack of cards in a gust of wind. Everything seemed to be made of cinderblock, blanketing the city in an infinite shade of beige.
After a civil war that had spanned nearly three decades, Angola was slowly rebuilding, which meant the majority of its economy relied on imported goods. In addition, oil, aka liquid gold, attracted many foreigners, driving up the cost of living and putting a decent life far out of reach for the people whose roots were buried deep in the land. People whose lineages could be traced back to the trees, the dirt, and the stones without a single genealogical deviation.
Joel looked around, soaking up the city, and smiled whenever he spotted a child exhibiting the smallest amount of joy. Kids were true gems, always finding ways to squeeze happiness from the driest cloth.
When Julien told them their next assignment was in Luanda, he’d initially been confused. Luanda was one of the most expensive cities in the world, so he’d been hard-pressed to believe child soldier recruitment could happen in and around such a developed area. After all, the civil war had been over for nearly twenty years, and there’d been no significant uprisings since.
However, the United States was one of the wealthiest countries in the world, but children died every day of starvation inside its borders. It wasn’t what the world saw; arguing for a nation’s strength and riches would be difficult if it couldn’t care for its most vulnerable citizens. That was the same case here, and, ironically, much of the poverty in Angola and the poverty back home had similar origins.
Denis Neto, their driver, raised his voice above the jeep’s noisy engine as he explained how the civil war had destroyed the country’s infrastructure. Along with the oil boom, the diamond trade was another catalyst that drove income inequality, making rebuilding efforts difficult. Most Angolans survived on less than two dollars per day and lived without running water. Yet, regardless of how much profit the country saw, corruption sustained the poverty, allowing its wealth to remain predominantly in the hands of its more “elite” citizens.
Denis brought the jeep to a stop in front of a tall white building. Air conditioning units protruded from the walls, and for a structure that looked on the newer side, it was obvious no one lived there. In the distance, a community of houses made from grass, straw, and linens all faced the building as if hoping to one day grow up to be painted, solid, and multi-storied.
“Today, we’re meeting with John Mbatha and Benarld António,” Denis explained, wiping his forehead with a cloth as they headed for the structure’s front door. “Benarld is the head of Angolan Special Forces, and John came up from Recces, Special Forces in South Africa. You have already spoken with Interpol and the UN, correct?”
Gage nodded. “Yes. It’s who called us in.”
A command post had been set up inside the building. Despite being indoors, tents were draped all over the bottom level’s dust-covered black-and-white checkered floor. Uniformed soldiers moved from tent to tent, some on phones while others were perched in front of computer screens wearing headsets. Fans of various sizes filled the space with white noise, more so tossing the warm air around than cooling it.
“This used to be an ex-pat compound,” Denis said, leading them toward the back of the room. “However, issues with razing in the nearby villages drove many of the foreigners out.”
Dez looked around, a pair of decorated Ray-Bans nestled between the thick strands of hair on top of his head—a gift from Thandie, which she gave them all just before they left.
“So this just sits here?” he asked. “Not even ten kilos from here, people are living in substandard housing.”
Denis shrugged. “The landlords see holding onto an empty building as more lucrative than giving it to someone in need. Now, come. I’ll introduce you to John and Benarld.”
A few soldiers looked up as they passed, and Joel prayed they didn’t look like the stereotypical “white knight” coming in to “save the day.” All except for Mike, though it was possible they had a completely different view of him. China paid Angola for its oil and provided aid, which gave the economy a critical boost to assist with restoration efforts.
John and Benarld greeted them with handshakes, John wearing a camo military uniform and a garnet-colored beret while Benarld wore a plain white T-shirt and cargo pants. Gage did the introductions, and with the exception of Giorgio, they nodded in greeting. Giorgio’s “murder for hire” appearance and “murder for free” expression spoke louder than anyhiorhello.
Benarld waved them over to where a map lay, spread out on top of a plastic table that looked like it would have otherwise been found in a banquet hall.
“Have you been briefed already?” he asked.
“Barely,” Gage said. “From what we understand, there’s been a rise in forced recruitment in the areas surrounding Luanda. As a result, children were taken from their homes, which has resulted in a hostage situation, and negotiation efforts have been futile.”
Benarld nodded. “Yes. You see, back in the late nineties, during the Angolan Civil War, there was a security council known as MONUA—Mission d’Observation des Nations Unies à l’Angola, translated as the United Nations Observer Mission in Angola. It was a peacekeeping initiative that included soldiers, observers, and law enforcement from seventeen countries. MONUA reported several instances of forced recruitment in Angola, many of which were known but could not officially be confirmed.”
“Recruitment solely for the civil war efforts?” Julien asked.
Benarld nodded again. “Yes. And although the MONUA initiative was disbanded in 1999, three years before the war ended, several special councils were created that are still active today. Their purpose is to track information on the enlistment of child soldiers in regions around the globe, from Afghanistan to Yemen.”
“What started the Angolan Civil War?” Joel asked.
“It started as a guerilla movement between two political parties, the MPLA and UNITA, both vying to govern the new republic. Angola was once under Portuguese colonial rule, but the Portuguese withdrew from the country in 1975, which led to destabilization. That destabilization gave the civil war its legs.”
Benarld positioned himself at the head of the table and stood overlooking the map. Gage took the side nearest him, scanning the spread-out image of the surrounding terrain, arms folded over his chest. The rest of the team positioned themselves based on what tactical responsibility Gage had assigned them from that point on throughout the end of the mission.
Benarld continued. “The MPLA, the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola, and UNITA, the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola, were the two major forces involved in the conflict. Both parties believed they knew what was best for the country, the MPLA with significant support from the Soviets and Cuba, while UNITA received support from the Chinese. The Chinese also supported UNITA during the Angolan War for Independence from the Portuguese. Lesser reported is the support UNITA received from the United States, the U.S. aid more than likely on account of the tension between the Soviets and the Americans at the time. Still, I have always found it ironic that these two parties, with their opposing ideologies, claimed to be fighting for Angola’s total independence from colonial rule. Yet, they ended up devastating the country and killing nearly a million of its people. To this day, our land bleeds between the dried cracks of a ravaged earth.”
