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run by different local groups.’

      At this point Alex gets annoyed. ‘Well OK, but what about the local people? I mean, have you consulted them about this?’

      Fang makes a moue but continues, ‘Well, the project is being developed with local political partners, the whole government will be run by them. We have found a local politician without links to any of the militias and he has agreed to be our front man.’ He looks at Alex pointedly and then adds, ‘I mean, you have to be realistic here, Mr Devereux – there really is very little government in Kivu. That’s the problem. There is some control in the areas around the main towns but outside that it is anarchy. There are thousands of rapes there every year. For most people government just doesn’t exist. This operation will establish law and order and give them the hope of a bright economic future.’

      Alex sighs: he isn’t getting very far with puncturing the plan. He holds up his hands in acceptance of this.

      ‘All right, all right, I accept all that. But why does China want to be there in the first place? I mean, if it’s so awful?’

      ‘Ah, well. You see, you have a very Western view on Africa. Your media portrays it only as a basket case, a land of poverty and starvation or, even worse, a place full of smiley people who dance a lot.’

      Alex has to nod ruefully; the shallow and patronising nature of most Western media coverage of African issues is a bugbear for him.

      ‘But in China, we see Africa as a long-term investment opportunity. The main thing we want in Kivu are minerals. The trade in tin, gold and coltan is worth about two hundred million dollars a year at the moment because it is all artisanal mining, just guys with hammers and spades. But once we get in there and mechanise it, it will be worth billions.

      ‘The main mineral we want is coltan: columbite-tantalum. We need the tantalum for pinhead capacitors in things like mobile phones, laptops and game consoles.’

      Fang grins, thinking about the future. ‘When we get going, the profit margins will be immense! But apart from that, we have big plans to develop the agriculture export trade in Kivu. It’s very fertile and has a great climate. We want to use Goma airport as an export hub for cut flowers, fruit and veg to the Middle East and Europe. We’ll come to rival Kenya pretty quickly and the return on capital will be very attractive.

      ‘The other big draw for us is that we are building the Chinese corridor from Tanzania to Sudan, up through the middle of Africa to open the whole continent up to trade, and we can’t put the railway through Kivu at the moment because of the fighting so we need to pacify the province first.’ He grins and points at Alex. ‘That’s your job, Mr Devereux.’

      Joseph has just raped a woman.

      He has never had sex before and is not sure what he thinks about it. His confusion is not helped by the fact that he is drunk on home-brewed beer. He staggers back across the bumpy ground following Lieutenant Karuta towards the firelight. It is dark and the FDLR troops have made a big campfire in the centre of the village to accompany their ongoing celebrations. He can see figures around it silhouetted in the firelight and hear them singing and shouting.

      Everyone in the platoon is drunk, they have been eating and drinking all afternoon, stuffing themselves after months hiding out in the deep bush in western Kivu province.

      Joseph stumbles along, doing up his trousers. Lieutenant Karuta regards what has just happened as a rite of passage for an FDLR soldier and led the initiation on the woman that he had hamstrung in the maize field in the morning. She had only crawled a few hundred yards by the time they got to her in the evening and it was easy to follow the marks on the ground and the bloodstains smeared on the maize stems. More men are finishing their business behind them.

      They rejoin the main group and the men leer and wink at Joseph. He’s the youngest in the platoon and a new recruit. He’s a rather gormless-looking boy, heavily built and with shaggy hair from months in the bush. They giggle and pass him a gourd; he sits down on a log looking dazed, drinks deep and then stares into the bonfire.

      After a while, the initiation continues – they blindfold him and make him walk around the fire. The soldiers have fun shouting and pushing him about and he feels scared.

      ‘Now you do target practice, boy!’

      ‘What?’

      He feels Lieutenant Karuta’s hot, sweaty arm around his shoulder and his beery breath in his face. ‘Come on, you fought well today but you need to learn how to fight better.’

      He leads Joseph away from the fire and then a rifle is shoved into his hands. He fumbles around, gets hold of it properly and slips his finger onto the trigger.

      ‘Whoa, whoa! Careful!’

      Men around him laugh.

      ‘I can’t see.’

      ‘Doesn’t matter, just point the gun here.’

      Karuta’s rough hands guide his so that the rifle is pointing slightly downwards.

      ‘Now select automatic.’

      He clicks the small lever on the casing downward, proud that he can do it blindfold.

      ‘OK, now give it the magazine.’

      Joseph pulls the trigger and thirty bullets blast out.

      A howl of laughter goes up around him and Karuta claps him on the back.

      ‘Heh! Well done, Hutu boy!’

      Joseph grins, not sure what he has done, and tentatively pushes up the blindfold.

      Sitting on the ground in front of him with her back propped up against a log, her hands tied behind her and a rag stuffed in her mouth is the woman from the maize field. Her body is riddled with bullet holes, her face looks ridiculous with the mouth wedged open with rags but there is an expression of terror frozen in her eyes.

      Joseph stares at her aghast.

      Karuta carries on laughing. ‘You see how easy it is to kill someone! Come on!’ He throws his arm around him again and wheels him back to the fire where there is another huge cheer as he stumbles in.

      Joseph is numb.

      ‘Hey, come on!’ Karuta shakes him and starts singing a war song to get him over it. He jabs his rifle in the air and shouts at the men to get on their feet. They all jump up, grab their rifles and start jogging on the spot, shaking their rifles in time. Their black faces gleam silver with sweat in the firelight as they sing the words over and over again.

      Hutu boy, why are you sitting down?

      Kill your enemy!

      Kwa! Kwa! Kwa!

      They make machete gestures with their free hands.

      Hutu boy, why are you sitting down?

      Kill your enemy!

      Kwa! Kwa! Kwa!

      Chapter Six

      Sophie’s car pulls up to the barrier and the soldier steps towards her window. He is heavy-set with a fuzz of stubble and a sergeant’s stripes on his uniform.

      She winds down her window and he leans his rifle on the ledge.

      ‘Your papers! Where is your accreditation?’ he says in the aggressive, officious tones of Congolese officials. She smells beer on his breath. As he leans in to take the documents his wrist stretches from his sleeve and she sees he is wearing three gold watches.

      Six other soldiers stand around the car. Their faces are impassive but their eyes flick back and forth watching everything, rifles held across their chests, fingers on their triggers.

      Usually white NGO workers are regarded as neutral in the multi-sided conflict in the province and only get minor hassle for bribes rather than serious assaults. They float around in white Land Cruisers like some magic tribe with ‘No weapons’ stickers on the windshield (an AK-47 with

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