The Greystoke Legacy Read online

  Esmée pulled up a wooden stool and sat opposite Jane. Sliding her glasses onto her head she gently took both Jane’s hands in her huge hands, and looked her squarely in the eye.

  “You ain’t lookin’ properly. Out there is a land of beauty.”

  Jane glanced outside again. Black dust, litter, hastily constructed drainage ditches filled with dirty water and a pair of fat cats bathing in the afternoon sun.

  “It’s a crap shack, Esmée.”

  Robbie nodded. “She has a point. It’s hardly a luxury hotel.”

  Jane managed a smile, thankful for the support.

  Esmée gave them both a measured look.

  “You gotta look beyond that. The land out there is more wonderful than anythin’ you imagine.” Esmée had tried to educate them about the vast range of wildlife around them.

  “You mean the land my dad’s chopping down?”

  A pained look crossed Esmée’s face. She was born in Zaire, a country that no longer existed by that name. Now it was known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The scars on Esmée’s arms and right cheek were testament to the bloody wars and genocide that had ravaged the country. She had survived that only to become a teacher for a bunch of illegal loggers who were now tearing apart her country in a different way. Jane had built a picture of Esmée’s life over the last four months only through clues and occasional history lessons. She had no idea how her mentor felt about her father’s actions.

  Esmée gripped Jane’s hands a little tighter. “Mr. Porter, your papa . . .” she faltered, searching for the right words. “He doin’ what he’s doin’ cuz he has ta, not cuz he wants ta.”

  Jane smiled and slipped her hands away. “That’s the kind of trash he’s been telling me ever since we got here. It doesn’t make sense when he says it either.”

  Jane was frustrated. She wanted to shout, but knew it was unfair to burden Esmée with her troubles and she no longer trusted Robbie. Out here, she had nobody to confide to; nobody to laugh with. Nobody.

  Jane stood up, snatching the iPhone from the table. She stormed from the classroom. Esmée got up so sharply the stool topped over.

  “Miss Porter! Where you think you’re goin’? Come right back here until I say you can go!”

  Jane drowned Esmée out with the music’s angst-ridden wailing. She didn’t look back; Esmée never followed her and always behaved the next day as though nothing had happened.

  Robbie leaned over and took the book Jane had left.

  “Shakespeare? OK, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  Esmée watched Jane disappear amongst the shacks before she turned her attention to her remaining pupil.

  •••

  Jane ignored the workmen returning from the front line. They were a mix of nationalities—Congolese, a few Rwandans, some Zimbabweans who had fled here for a better life, and a couple of Indians. They knew well enough to leave Jane alone, even if her lithe figure and cascading blonde hair made her stand out wherever she went. She headed to the outskirts of Karibu Mji, away from the stench of the communal toilets, stale beer, and sweat.

  It was the only form of escape she had.

  At the edge of the camp she screamed as loud as she could, knowing the rattle of the generators would drown it out. She cursed her life, her father and mother, and the annoying Robbie Canler who had butted into her business.

  Jane vented her anger until tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she collapsed on a tree stump with her head in her hands.

  After she had calmed down, she pulled her phone out and her fingers danced across the phone’s keyboard as she composed an email to the friends she had been forced to abandon in Baltimore. Her emails were all the same, filled with sorrow and expletives describing the hostile sweat box where she had been dumped. Everything in the jungle—trees, insects, and animals—seemed deadly. It was here she had seen her first dead bodies, loggers who were killed in accidents. It was a place where life seemed cheap.

  She hit send and the message filed itself in her outbox, next to the other 142 pleas for help she had written since arriving in the jungle. None of them had been sent. A phone signal was unknown out here.

  The jungle was isolation. A wall-less prison.

  Jane resisted hurling the phone away. It was the final link she had to her past life and the only thing that was keeping her sane. She stared at the jungle that began yards away from the camp’s buildings. Around the perimeter towering trees had been stripped of their lower branches by the workers, as the leaves made the best available substitute for toilet paper. The trunks had since turned gray and lifeless. Darkness lay beyond.

  Goosebumps suddenly prickled her arm. She tried to rub them away but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She found herself drawn to the gloomy trees and could almost sense the malice emanating from them.

  •••

  After a very short lesson, Robbie ambled back to the logging operation in time to watch Clark sink his chainsaw into the heartwood of a broad trunk. Clark stopped the moment he felt, and heard, a mighty crack ripple through the mahogany tree. He quickly withdrew the saw and backed away.

  “She’s going!” he bellowed.

  Two other loggers hastily moved away. Clark’s incision was perfect and there was little doubt in what direction the tree would fall, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  The trunk of the tree was almost wider than he was. With a wrenching crunch the 120-foot giant keeled over, smashing its way through other trees and crushing the foliage beneath. Robbie felt the ground tremble as ancient roots were ripped to the surface.

  Clark whooped victoriously and clapped Archie Porter on the back. Both men were sweating, their shirts black from exertion.

  “A few more bucks in the bank, eh?” said Clark.

  Archie Porter grinned, more out of habit than humor. “Deserves a beer or three, but we’ve still got to get her out of here. Light’s fading. Trim her off tomorrow, Phil.” Archie occasionally teased him with “Phil” from his surname, Philander—a name that got him into many bar fights.

  “Light’s good for another half-hour, mate,” grinned Clark, then he noticed that Robbie had joined them. “What happened to our deal?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Esmée didn’t feel like it.” He glanced knowingly at Archie. “Jane was being a pain again and stormed off.” He saw Archie tense at the mention of his daughter.

  “Is that a fact? Well, come an’ help with this big sucker. We’ll get her ready for floatin’ tomorrow.”

  Clark headed toward the tree, yelling orders to the other two loggers in Swahili.

  “Rob, hold up a moment,” said Archie as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. He unclipped the drinking canteen from his belt and took a long hard drink. He still wasn’t used to the chlorine taste of the water. Nor was he really used to his new lifestyle. “You said something about Jane?”

  Robbie knew this line of questioning would just land him in trouble with Jane.

  “She was . . . y’know, same as usual,” he replied diplomatically.

  Archie’s face creased with concern, and Robbie felt a pang of jealousy—it must be nice to have somebody worry about you. A father who cares for you and would never hurt you. The kind of family he’d never had . . .

  The buzz of Clark’s chainsaw shattered the tranquility as he climbed onto the fallen tree and trimmed away the branches. Only one man was helping him, the other was staring up in the trees surrounding the clearing. Not wanting to pursue their conversation any further, Archie and Robbie followed the man’s gaze but could see nothing of interest in the thick canopy around them. They slowly approached the man, who went by the name of Mister David. He was a local who Archie trusted enough to be the foreman. His focus on the canopy was intense, suspicious. Archie knew enough to trust local knowledge. Eastern Congo was a dangerous place to be. Drawing level with Mister David, Archie still could see nothing.

  “What is it?” he whispered. “Anoth
er leopard?”

  A leopard had hounded the loggers a few weeks ago. One of the workers had even been attacked so badly he’d lost an arm. Despite Archie’s pleas not to kill the creature, he still remembered the day it had been carried into the camp with a bullet hole in the head. He also recalled the horrified expression on his daughter’s face. She hadn’t spoken to him for a week after that.

  “No leopard,” whispered Mister David. No other explanation was forthcoming, but the apprehensive look on his face worried Archie.

  “What is it then?” asked Robbie as he joined them.

  “Not sure. Feels like . . . like we’re being watched.”

  The moment he said the words, Robbie felt his hackles rise. He couldn’t see movement, but the sudden fear of being watched . . . of being stalked . . . overcame him.

  There was something . . . or somebody there. Archie felt it too. A primal instinct warned of nearby danger.

  Seconds passed; perhaps even a minute. Then a terrified wail echoed through the clearing. It took a second for Robbie to realize it was coming from behind. He whirled around to see Clark throw his chainsaw aside and leap off the tree. The other man was lying on the ground; even from this distance, Robbie could see he was covered in blood.

  “Help me!” roared Clark.

  Robbie sprinted over the uneven ground then suddenly halted at the grisly sight. The worker’s shirt was ripped in a diagonal slash from left shoulder to his stomach and blood pumped from the wound. Clark’s hands were already slick as he tried to apply pressure to keep the wound together. The man shook violently, shrieking with agony, and Robbie felt his stomach churn.

  Archie and Mister David ran past him.

  “How . . . ?” spluttered Archie as he knelt down.

  “The chain snapped an’ walloped him.”

  Robbie shuddered—that could have been me!

  “Keep the pressure on; keep that wound closed. It’s not deep. I don’t think any arteries are severed.” Archie barked at Mister David: “Get me rope and leaves. The biggest leaves you can find.”

  Archie moved fast. It had been a while since he’d practiced any of his medical skills. That had been another life; but the knowledge flooded back nevertheless.

  So busy were the men saving a life, they didn’t notice the subtle movement in the canopy high above. Robbie caught it though, just on the edge of his peripheral vision. It was too fleeting for him to believe it was anything more than his imagination.

  He was wrong. They had been watched from the moment they had left Karibu Mji.

  They had been watched . . . and they had been judged.

  3

  “Almost a day drivin’ through that?” Clark growled, stabbing a finger toward the dirt trail that was rapidly disappearing into darkness as the sun set behind brooding charcoal clouds. “He’ll be dead from fever before we hit the town!”

  Archie and Clark had been locked in a fierce argument since they arrived back at Karibu Mji with the injured man. Archie had done all he could to dress the wound with a few vines and leaves, and a little more with the camp’s medical kit, but it was far from enough. Robbie tried to force water between the man’s lips and mumbled assurances to distract him from the argument. It reminded him too much of the violent arguments back home. Arguments that had led to bloodshed.

  “It’s worth the chance,” snapped Archie. “We’re talking about a man’s life!”

  “Then what, eh? Another day with some charity doc before an air ambulance reaches him. Then we’re talking about answerin’ some tricky questions, aren’t we, mate?”

  Archie glowered as he watched Mister David tend to their patient, who had now passed out through blood loss. The silence only lasted a minute before Archie and Clark started again. Robbie knew that if their logging operation was discovered it would land them all a life sentence in some squalid, cramped Third-World cell. That’s if they were lucky. He had heard reports of overzealous government teams who had shot first and asked questions later in a bid to stem illegal activities. And if they did manage to avoid the authorities they would still have to avoid the wrath of the guerrillas lurking in the jungle. The rebel soldiers of the FDLR were located close by and seldom hesitated in taking hostages or killing foreigners. One night, while tipsy, Clark had confided in Robbie that he and Archie had made a pact with the rebel leader, Tafari, offering kickbacks that allowed them to pillage the jungle while the rebels didn’t interfere and kept any competition away. Robbie was in no doubt that the FDLR would come down on them hard if they did anything to threaten the guerrillas’ security.

  Mister David interrupted their bickering with a blunt message: The worker had died.

  Nobody spoke. Robbie couldn’t think of anything to say. He noticed Archie refused to meet Clark’s eyes, and occupied himself by organizing a team of men to dig a grave away from Karibu Mji. Robbie had volunteered, but Clark had firmly told him to stand aside. Robbie was thankful; he had no real desire to perform the unpleasant task.

  Archie said a few words as the man was lowered into the dirt. He didn’t know much about the deceased; he even had to ask around for his name. The pseudonym “Frank” was offered by the closest person the dead man had to a friend. Most of the workers kept away as they thought attending funerals was a bad omen, so Archie filled in the grave alone. He stabbed the shovel repeatedly into the mound of earth with such fury that blisters formed on his hands as if the pain was his penance for not doing more to help the man.

  By the time he’d finished the heavens had opened, turning the ground into mud and overflowing the camp’s rudimentary drainage system. Water flowed between the huts, washing away any junk that wasn’t tied down.

  Archie walked to the bar to find Jane standing outside, soaking wet despite sheltering under the porch.

  “What’re you doing out in this?” he asked.

  “I saw what you did, Archie,” was Jane’s simple answer. She always called him Archie when she was annoyed, which was often.

  Archie slicked back his wet hair and smiled at his daughter, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I did what I had to.”

  “Really? If you hadn’t started logging and dragged us all to the middle of this dump, he wouldn’t have died!”

  The comment stung Archie, and he had no easy reply.

  “Why don’t we go home, Dad?” It was almost a plea.

  “Sweetheart, we’ve been through this . . .”

  “No. You’ve been through this in your own head. You never listen to me! What if I got ill out here? Would you just let me die too?”

  The sly blow hurt Archie, but he tried to hide it.

  Jane was still fuming. “I hate it out here. I want to go back to the States! Don’t you see how crazy this all is?”

  “Go back to what?”

  “We could find Mom,” Jane said in a hoarse whisper.

  Archie watched the rain. There had been many iterations of this conversation. Sometimes shouting, sometimes whispered, none of them pleasant.

  “She doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Maybe—”

  “She left us both, Jane. All she left behind was pain and debt. You have no idea what I went through when we lost everything. Everything I had built for us. All gone because of her selfishness.”

  “She left you!” spat Jane, tears in her eyes. “And then you forced me to leave everything! My friends, my life, for what? This?”

  “Us. She left us. And ‘this’ was an opportunity we needed. A last chance to leave our problems behind and create a new nest egg. To start all over.”

  “By breaking the law?”

  “Better I do it here than at home,” Archie replied quietly. It wasn’t much of an argument, but it was the only one he had. “We desperately need the cash. You know that. Back home, I can’t be a doctor again and I couldn’t make a quarter of what I get here unless I started knocking over banks or dealing drugs—but I’ve got some morals, believe it or not. And I’ve got a duty to look after you.”
>
  He saw Jane’s fists bunch as she fought her emotions. Archie had always considered himself a good father, but that was before he was expected to raise a teenage daughter with a will stronger than his own. He was out of his depth. In the past he would have hugged her, but these days that usually triggered a tantrum. Instead he just stood and waited for Jane to respond.

  She bit her lip and shivered. Her face was pale, her eyes luminous with tears she couldn’t shed.

  “You must be cold. Let’s go inside,” she said quietly.

  Archie hid his surprise. For once she was being reasonable. He hoped it was a sign of things to come.

  The bar was swelteringly warm and unusually quiet, save for the continuous drumroll of rain on the iron roof. The entire workforce was here, staring thoughtfully into their beers. Robbie played pool with an Indian logger, Anil. The table was so old that patches of felt had torn away leaving black tarry streaks. Mister David sat solemnly in the corner with Serge, a logger who had joined the operation at the same time as him. Clark sat at the bar, already on his third beer. Jane sat next to him, her father on the other side.

  “A beer for me and something for Jane,” said Archie. Esmée served behind the bar when she wasn’t teaching and Jane judiciously avoided her gaze. Esmée popped the cap off a Tusker beer for Archie and gave Jane a bottle of cola, slamming it a little harder than usual on the bar.

  Nobody said a word. Deaths in the jungle were frighteningly regular, and every couple of months somebody new would turn up as a replacement, lured by the cash the wood brought in.

  Jane caught Robbie glancing over with the look of concern he wore every time she argued with Archie. He smiled, although the death had clearly shaken him. Jane smiled back and felt the sudden need to talk to a friend. A loud belch from Clark interrupted her reverie.

  “Why do you do this?” Jane suddenly asked him.

  Clark finished the dregs of his beer before answering. “Why do I drink or why am I out here rather than with a family back home?”