The Reserve

By Stephen Barbieri

Luke Merritt is the tenacious director of an ambitious conservation effort located in the jungled heart of the Congo River Basin. In the newly formed Kigogo Wildlife Reserve, where the scythe of death takes the form of microscopic flesh-eating organisms as easily as it does enormous crocodile, the inhospitable dark and swampy forest has kept it isolated from the bullets and blades of warlords that have taken so many lives in the region.

One month before the Reserve dedication ceremony, a guide is shot and killed. Most dismiss it as a random encounter with bushmeat hunters and another example of the daily violence that has gripped the country for centuries. But Merritt isn’t as willing to let the death go unexplained and unpunished. Has the violence finally arrived in Kigogo, or is there an entirely new presence in Central Africa?

With aid from an unlikely source, Merritt embarks on a dangerous journey into the Reserve and uncovers a crime that could have grave impact around the globe. A frantic chase through the interior of the Democratic Republic of Congo will decide Merritt’s fate, and for millions of people, life lies in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Barbieri
• Release date: Jun 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311390332

Book preview

Chapter 1

With metronomic cadence, Luke Merritt lifted a ski off the snow, shuffled it forward, and allowed his weight to come down, the skins on the skis gaining purchase before following with another step. Just behind, his brother matched the pace. The clear blue sky contrasted with white snow-covered alpine mountains. Sun glared upon the steep slopes.

They trudged in an upward traverse beneath the massive bowl that was void of trees or rocks, the moonscape of fresh snow extending as far as they could see. Merritt’s heart thumped rapidly in his chest. He stopped, drew a deep calming breath, and took in the vista. He slowly exhaled, emitting a cloud into the frigid morning air.

The crisp silence gave way to a sound. Whumph!

Did you hear that? Merritt asked, his tone urgent but hushed.

Before his companion could reply, it came again. Whumph!

This time the snow beneath his feet sank six inches. He instinctively swiveled his head, scanning the massive mountain. High above a fracture propagated across the slope, and an echo rumbled across the expansive bowl.

Then the whole mountainside seemed to give way with a thunderous boom.

A wall of snow surged toward the two men. A wave of dread coursed through Merritt. His feet were swept out from under him at the same instant a blunt force struck him in chest. The blue sky disappeared, replaced by relentless white.

He lost every sense of which way was up or down. Thousands of tons of snow, ice, dirt and boulders tumbled with and against him. His companion, his brother, was certainly gone too. Merritt’s body was slammed, twisted, and whipped around. He erupted in pain. Something, maybe his knee, crashed into his chin. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. He paddled his arms furiously to stabilize himself, but the force of the avalanche tossed him like a rag doll.

It felt like a lifetime. A lifetime whose end may be near. When it finally stopped moving, he was buried. Whether he was two feet down or twenty, upside down, or right side up, there was no way of knowing. He writhed his pain-wracked body back and forth and fought with his hands to create an air pocket in front of his face.

Miles from the nearest road, and his brother just as likely buried, the pristine morning had viciously turned upon them. The snow set like concrete around his body and appendages.

He lurched with every ounce of energy and screamed only to have snow invade his mouth. The icy grave had him firmly in its grasp. With one last panicked effort Merritt slammed his head forward and violently jolted upright from the cramped twin bed, startling out of the dream. Perspiration covered his body. Merritt calmed his breathing as he had practiced in the past. He wiped sweat from his brow and shuffled across the rough-hewn floor to the small bathroom.

Well, it’s been a while since that happened, he said to his image in the mirror.

It had been a while. Maybe a year. In the meantime, the free-spirited optimism that defined Merritt for most of his life crept back in. He was smiling again. It had taken him time to remember how, but the faint lines around his mouth were proof that he’d spent much of his life doing it.

Luke Merritt stood just over six feet tall. He had thick dark hair that became curly when it wasn’t trimmed. Out here, that was more often than not. Cloudless blue eyes and a ruggedly handsome face did little good for him in the forest, but served him well back home where he had not been in some time. Gray hair had yet to show in his three-day growth of stubble, but thin lines forming around his eyes hinted at a life battling the elements. He was athletic and lean. Most would not guess that under his clothes muscles rippled as though he spent hours in the gym each day. The nearest gym was more than a thousand miles away. His life just happened to mimic the physical nature of a workout fanatic.

Merritt yawned, drank the last sip of coffee and hurried out the door into the already-warm morning. Outside his small living quarters, Kate Keegan tapped her foot and looked at him in mock anger. Sleeping late, are we? she asked.

Her auburn hair was in her typical short ponytail. A grin formed on her light Irish skinned face. Her green eyes twinkled with delight at one-upping her host, who was known for his early to bed, very early to rise lifestyle. He smiled back, immediately uplifted at the sight of her. She was just five feet two inches tall, but packed more energy than almost anyone he’d met. Her short stay here had been a pleasant one. For him at least.

Not sleeping much at all, actually.

The two fell in step and made their way towards the wall of foliage at the edge of the small town. It was not yet six in the morning, but the trees were already bursting with activity. The deep, pungent aroma of jungle, a simmering stew of heat and humidity hit him like a rogue wave.

They made their way down the path as sun filtered through the dense canopy illuminating patches of flooded forest that seemed to endlessly unfold in the gathering light. Kate scanned the muddy water and waded toward the first section of net. Her mood was light. Merritt could tell she enjoyed her daily inspection. The morning ritual took her along the series of nets she laboriously placed two months previous in the maze of watery veins and shallow stagnant ponds of the lowland swamp.

Merritt waded in behind her carrying a backpack laden with equipment for the outing. With each movement, ripples traveled away from their bodies in ever-expanding circles across the still water. Between them, each small wave met, rose up, then passed each other and continued toward the waiting forest.

Merritt picked out the top of the net. It formed a thin, uniform line protruding a foot above the surface. During their first hike together to scout locations, Kate had emphasized the importance of maintaining them in such a manner. Merritt allowed himself a congratulatory smile as he saw the perfectly laid net that he had helped install under the watchful, and sometimes critical, eye of the young but experienced researcher.

Kate had explained the reasoning to him. He listened without interruption, and without letting on that he already knew what he was being told. She lectured that snakes in this part of the world are not specialized for life in the water, other than their voracious appetites for fish. However, numerous species of semi-aquatic snakes lived in the swampy forest. It was their lateral undulations, which they used to move on land that rather efficiently propelled them though the water. This motion generally lent itself to swimming along the surface. Thus, if the net dipped below the water in any one section, the snake could work its way along and slip over the submerged section. This net contained no such flaws. Merritt appreciated his own handiwork.

Kate’s trained eye was first to notice a movement toward the middle of the net. With a nod she indicated to Merritt that this morning luck appeared to be on their side. Visible above the waterline, a nine-inch length of body and head struggled against its entanglement. The large solid-bodied gray snake was easily identifiable to the trained eye as a harmless grayia. She looked at Merritt with a grin.

Hey cowboy, why don’t you show me how it’s done in Montana and lasso us a snake? Kate baited him.

Merritt’s aptitude for snake identification wasn’t the same as the Harvard-educated herpetologist. He took a long look at the thick reptile and imagined just how many feet of scaled body was submerged below the surface. He had handled more than a few snakes in his years in the rainforest, but never looked forward to the next time, which appeared to be now.

Kate was obviously toying with him. She would never allow anyone other than her to approach one of the numerous types of venomous snakes who called this area home. Besides, Luke Merritt loved being challenged, and the Montanan in him wasn’t about to back down.

That little thing? Merritt gestured towards the snake. Stand back and let me show you how it’s done.

Merritt moved smoothly and powerfully through the thigh-deep water. He pulled a 12-inch hemostat out of his backpack, looked over at the snake, thought better of it, and switched it for the 24-inch instrument, which would give him more distance from its head and be large enough to grab around its thick body. The grayia writhed in the net, hissing and striking as Merritt approached. It was only his second time accompanying Kate to check the nets. He was far from comfortable with the process.

Kate normally conducted her morning inspection with her two local guides, Kito and Simeon, whom she’d trained, with considerable difficulty, to work with her during the three-month study. But Merritt knew from his prior outing that the process was to have one person control the head of the snake with the hemostat first, then grab just below its head with a hand to ensure control. The other person would then disentangle the body from the netting and slide the specimen into a canvas snake bag.

It would then be taken back to camp for proper identification, measurement, and photographs, for the purpose of documenting species diversity in the newly formed Kigogo Wildlife Reserve. Common snakes such as the grayia were then set loose in a different area of the forest, so they wouldn’t be trapped once again in the labyrinth of netting. If it was a species not easily identified, as can often be the case in the field, especially in such a region that had never been studied and included undocumented species, it was euthanized and preserved for Kate to take back to the Cambridge Museum of Comparative Zoology, the institution supplying the grant for her study.

While euthanizing the animal would seem contrary to the purpose of a wildlife reserve, the more that could be learned about species diversity in the unexplored area, the stronger the case they could make to protect it from the many outside interests whose invasive mineral extraction and logging practices would irreparably harm the fragile ecosystem.

With a swift and confident motion that belied his inexperience, Merritt clasped the hemostat around the grayia just behind its head. Seconds later, he closed his fingers around the snake. He peered into the creature’s eyes. Gotcha! He turned toward Kate wearing an expression more apropos of a child seeking approval from his mother for finishing all his vegetables at dinner, but she wasn’t watching. Her eyes were fixed on the water behind him.

Maintaining a firm grip around the thrashing snake, Merritt turned to see what had caught her attention. Swimming slowly towards them through the vines hanging from the forest canopy was a six-foot long water cobra, its head well above the water. Being able to see the head—this species was also easily identifiable at a glance—Merritt tensed. Their good luck was making a turn for the worse.

Moving backward, Kate stepped into a hole in the forest floor and almost submerged completely. Merritt stood his ground, unwilling to let go of the grayia, whose body was still entangled in the net. If he did so it would strike him. He had already survived another realistic avalanche this morning and, harmless or not, he had no intention of being bitten by any snake.

Let go of the damn grayia and get away. Kate struggled to regain her footing.

Merritt held his grip on the grayia with one hand while he eased a machete from his belt with the other. The cobra continued its approach until it was just feet away. In a motion he’d used countless times while hacking his way through the thick Central African jungle, he slashed the sharp blade into the murky water and the lengthy snake disappeared. He readied the machete for another slash. The head of the cobra returned to the surface directly in front of him. Just before he swung the blade in a downward arc, Merritt saw that a body was no longer attached to the lifeless head whose eyes seemed to stare at him in surprise.

Merritt broke the silence as they made their way along the path to Kate’s camp. Next time you invite me on one of your early morning nature hikes, I think I’ll stay home instead.

I’ve never seen a snake advance like that. Kate’s khaki jungle pants and shirt were soaked. Her auburn hair, no longer in a ponytail, was a wet tangled mess. Her cheeks were red. They’re dangerous when cornered or surprised, but this was very odd behavior.

She was tough. He’d give her that. She practically marched back to camp, her hands in tightly balled fists. The determined look on her face was one he had seen before.

He continued along the path, angry at himself for allowing lighthearted banter in the forest that too often seemed to hide its true intentions until it was too late. Why do I choose to live life in such conditions? The number of years he had spent in Africa were piling up. Staying focused while in the field was a practice that had served him well. And kept him alive. It was a habit he acquired during his childhood exploring the rugged and sometimes unforgiving wilderness of Montana.

Merritt’s philosophy was built around self-reliance. On Mount Everest, people were now getting rescued by helicopter above the 20,000 foot death zone. But here, there were no helicopters. If there were, there would be no place to go. The best alternative was to take care of himself.

The closest true medical facilities were in the capitol city of Kinshasa and neighboring Brazzaville. The hospitals there, when they could be reached through the violence that plagued much of the region, particularly in Kinshasa, still offered only rudimentary medical services. He had once been there to visit a patient, and vowed never to come back as one.

The Congo and the Democratic Republic of Congo did produce some fine doctors, but in this part of the world an education was a ticket out. Skilled workers in any field used their education as a springboard to take them away from the chaos that strangled Central Africa since the first day European explorers discovered the mouth of the mighty Congo River.

Merritt escorted Kate to her camp, located in a small clearing near the village. It was her second time in Kigogo. Upon arriving she had insisted to Merritt that it would be more productive to camp than to live in the village itself, which she had done on her first visit. It wasn’t that she disliked the people. She adored the curious children. She visited the village often, primarily to compare notes with Merritt and his staff of rangers working in the Reserve, and to resupply her camp with various necessities and her few indulgences, such as sugar for her morning pot of coffee. What it came down to was the village had too many prying eyes and too many visitors who seemed to appear at her makeshift lab at all hours for no apparent reason, only to sit and talk the day away. Maybe Merritt had been here too long. No, he was certain he had been here too long. He didn’t even notice. Omnipresent villagers were as much as part of the natural surroundings as the trees or animals.

Entering the clearing, wafting smoke filled Merritt’s nostrils, taking him back to his childhood and roaring campfires with his family. He took in the warm, rich scent and surveyed the camp. It consisted of one sleeping structure that Kate shared with her guides and her cook, Zola. Two other structures sheltered the lab and various equipment and supplies. Each was arranged around the central fire. The huts were made with walls of shingled tree leaves bound together by strong vines and covered with latticework roofs.

Much of the underbrush was cleared around the spartan camp, but the forest canopy above remained intact, keeping it in a state of semi-darkness even during the day. To Merritt, every structure in the camp suggested impermanence. Soon after she left, the jungle would reclaim the clearing, and no one would be able to tell it ever existed.

Merritt was accommodating to many scientific exploratory visits to Kigogo. They provided a conduit to funding for the Reserve. He was adept at using the conduit. But for the most part, he believed in what they were doing, and he wanted to make the area as accessible as possible. This camp may have stretched the limit of his hospitality. He smiled, remembering his friend Mani, who recently teased him about the subject. He thought Merritt may have been a bit extra accommodating to the pretty herpetologist from Boston. Helping her build her camp in the forest was the final straw, Mani teased. Merritt had to admit, Kate had certain features that he found appealing. Living in Africa, his love life had been all but dormant. One could tease, but not blame—him for his interest in Kate.

Kate removed her backpack with a groan. She rubbed her shoulders before returning her attention to Merritt. Thanks for coming this morning. Her voice was quiet, like a child who had been reprimanded. Merritt always looked after her wellbeing, often sending rangers to check up on her after a heavy rain, or sometimes for no reason at all. He knew she didn’t want him to lose his enthusiasm for her work. It would take more than a run-in with a snake to squelch his interest in her.

All in a day’s work, he replied.

I know you deal with these surroundings every day. I wonder how long you can take it here.

He looked at her for a moment before replying. I can’t imagine what could take me away from here.

Life is unpredictable, Luke. You never know what tomorrow may bring.

He brushed it off. I’m going to Laongi later to speak with Mundugu about the upcoming ceremony. Do you need anything from town?

No, but say hello to his wife for me, she said with renewed vigor. Tell her I’ll visit when I can. They have such a wonderful place.

They do have a lot of liquor. Merritt grinned. He gave her a wink as he turned and began his walk back to the village.

Chapter 2

Kigogo Reserve Headquarters sat at the edge of a small village containing almost four hundred inhabitants. Homes in town were arranged in lines facing each other. Higher ranking tribal members and families whose ancestors had lived there for many generations occupied the few brick structures while other families lived in mud huts. Some of the more ambitious families connected units together while others added features such as wooden doors. No two were the same. They were meticulously maintained by the women of the village. When it was dry, women swept the dirt walkways leading to their homes while their children ran and played. A few cattle wandered in and out of the village, eating what they pleased.

During the day, most of the men fished. They sold their take at markets in towns such as Zongo, Ikele, Aketi, and Butta. Others in the village planted crops on deforested land. They continued to slash and burn further into the forest to develop new land for crops and new means of subsistence. It was a simple but hard life. Despite being ruled by cruelty generation after generation, they retained their dignity. They held their heads high, and found good in each day.

On the edge of the village sat two wooden structures, paid for and constructed by the DRC government, whose president had managed to bring relative calm to the country, though with less success in some eastern lying areas. These structures acted as the Kigogo Reserve headquarters, and the base for the three rangers who worked under Merritt. It was a meager staff, but Merritt intended to increase the workforce once the Reserve received its official designation, due in a month’s time.

Equipment and tools littered both buildings. Cots with mosquito nets lined the walls of the larger one. Reserve staff did not inhabit the dwellings, but the cots were often filled with visiting researchers who used the village as an entry point and staging area for expeditions into the jungle forest.

Beyond the headquarter building was a small residence that belonged to Merritt. He’d helped build it when he was first given permission to explore the region to determine its suitability as a reserve.

The house contained three rooms. The kitchen was a hundred feet square, and contained a small table with rickety chairs that threatened to buckle each time someone sat down. Mismatched dishes and bowls were stacked on open shelving. A large cooking pot and skillet sat on the wood fired stove.

His bedroom was spartan, with a twin-size mattress raised above the floor by concrete blocks and supported by a piece of plywood. A freestanding wood case served as a closet of sorts. No pictures or other decor covered the rough-hewn wood walls.

The third room was his gear room. While he welcomed visitors often into his home, he allowed very few into the space that had become his sanctuary. Topographical maps covered its walls. Technical clothing and equipment from sponsoring companies were found meticulously organized and stored. It was here that Merritt prepared each day for the tasks that he laid out for him and his team.

The reserve covered an