Slave Girl

By Darryl Matter

Christian fiction: When Angelica, a slave of Mabutoma's dictator, General Dawodu, is summoned to his office, she knows she'll be expected to "entertain" yet another foreign visitor. Will that visitor, Ken Davis, a geologist Dawodu hopes will find gold in his country, mistreat her--or prove to be the best friend she ever had? Can they escape the country when a coup by Dawodu's enemies threatens?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darryl Matter
• Release date: Apr 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463531686

Darryl Matter

Hello,I'm an ancient, long-retired college professor who likes to write stories. My educational background is somewhat varied. I first earned a B.S. Degree in Mechanical Engineering with a Management Option. The industrial management and psychology classes interested me in human behavior, and I eventually earned a Ph.D. in Human Development. In addition to writing stories, my interests include reading and stamp collecting.I grew up in a rural Kansas community, and I now live with my wife in a retirement community. I appreciate each of my readers, and I thank you for reading my stories. Furthermore, I encourage each of you to write something of interest to you and then publish it--to share with the world.Being the antique person that I am, the tech-side of publishing doesn't come easily to me and I appreciate the support staff at Smashwords.Again thank you for your interest in my stories.Sincerely,Darryl Matter

Book preview

Slave Girl

Christian Fiction

by Darryl Matter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 by Darryl Matter

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Slave Girl

This is a work of fiction The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

* * * * *

PROLOGUE

The heavy steel chain had again been padlocked around Angelica’s ankle for the night. That length of chain itself was securely anchored to an iron ring in the concrete wall of her prison cell in the sub-basement of General Dawodu’s Royal Palace. There was no escape from that dungeon.

She had not done anything wrong to deserve her harsh imprisonment. Her parents had been agricultural missionaries and she a teacher in a rural Mabutoma school when General Chike Dawodu’s military-backed rebels overthrew the national government a few months ago. Her parents and younger brother had been brutally slaughtered in the general’s maniacal drive to rid the country of foreigners and all Christians, but Angelica had been spared, only to be chained in that dungeon.

As the new President of Mabutoma, General Dawodu had a variety of uses for an attractive, well-educated young woman-slave. In fact, Angelica spoke several languages and would be especially useful to him as a translator when General Dawodu, for he had determined to keep the title of General even though he was officially to be known as President, entertained wealthy foreigners bringing money to invest in his impoverished country. They would come at his invitation, and General Dawodu knew that they would come back again and again once he made it attractive for them to visit and invest in his country.

Furthermore, Angelica was an attractive young woman, and would be offered to those same foreign visitors not only as a translator but as a companion-girl, for them to do with as they pleased. She would be theirs, compliments of the general whose first name, Chike, meant Power of God. For those reasons, she’d been taken captive when her family was murdered.

General Dawodu’s symbol for his new Mabutoma was a red, seven-pointed star. He’d had it boldly emblazoned on his military equipment, on all of the government office buildings, and on his official stationery. He’d even designed a new flag using the star. To show his assumed ownership of Angelica, he’d ordered the seven-pointed star to be tattooed in color on her shoulder. To Angelica, that seven-pointed star was a horrible symbol with evil connotations. Whether Dawodu viewed it that way or not, she did not know. Perhaps he worshiped the evil power behind that symbol. At any rate, she hated that symbol.

And then came the doctor, Dawodu’s personal physician, no less, with his promise of regular injections. So you won’t get pregnant, my dear, he’d snickered.

Yes, Angelica would serve the president well as a slave. But she would not be known any more by her given name. Instead, General Dawodu had decreed that she would henceforth be known as Dada. Ironically, Dada was a name typically used in Mabutoma to denote a girl with curly hair, and Angelica’s natural hair was straight and black. She would eventually get used to answering to her new name, but doing so was almost as painful as the chain that secured her night after night in her dungeon prison.

CHAPTER 1

Six months later:

Dada. Get up! Get up! One of the palace guards barked through the small window in the door to her cell. He then switched on the single bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling and illuminated the small room where she slept. There was no way she could estimate the time when he awakened her because they’d taken away her watch, and there were no windows in the sub-basement dungeon. It was always dark in her cell when the light was switched off, and the switch was located well beyond her reach outside the locked door.

Dada did as she was told, quickly swinging her feet over the side of her cot as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. They no longer attached the chain to her ankle at night. There was no possibility of her escape, and she knew it. To even attempt an escape and be caught would mean terrible torture and certain death for her. The guards knew that, too. They would show her absolutely no mercy. Yes, sir, she answered.

The guard unlocked and pushed open the heavy door, then entered her cell. You are to get showered and dressed immediately, he ordered, leering at her as she sat there. Wear a nice dress and pack an overnight bag. Better pack enough for several days. I will return for you in twenty minutes. Be ready.

Yes, sir.

Dada hurriedly showered in the tiny bathroom next to her cell, and then put on one of the few nice dresses she still possessed, an ankle-length red dress with embroidered flowers. Her overnight bag was already packed with a change of clothing, and she added enough to see her through several days away from her cell. Unless she missed her guess, there was an important foreign visitor arriving that day. She’d be expected to entertain him as well as serve as a translator for him. Although she hated what they forced her to do, she’d do what she had to do to stay alive.

And she’d pray. Dada often thought about the Bible stories she’d studied as a child. One of those stories about a young man named Joseph who’d been sold into slavery by his brothers often came to her mind. He’d been faithful to his God throughout his years of enslavement, and God had somehow honored his faith by granting him favor in the eyes of the rulers of Egypt. Dada saw little chance of her ever finding favor in the eyes of General Chike Dawodu or his henchmen, but she would continue to pray and believe that her God would remain with her throughout her trials.

* * * * *

Ken Davis was the only passenger on his flight to Mabutoma when his plane landed at the airport in the capital city of Gulo, the only currently useable airport in the country. He was there at the invitation of the president of the country, General Chike Dawodu, to evaluate the potential for mining gold in the small, impoverished nation, and would be met at the airport by Jabari Kabila, one of General Dawodu’s most trusted advisors, as Ken’s letter from Dawodu referred to him.

Even as the plane landed, Ken noticed evidence of the recent military takeover he’d read about. Heavily armed soldiers in khaki uniforms patrolled the airport terminal. Military vehicles, each emblazoned with a red, seven-pointed star, were parked everywhere. Three Russian MiG fighter planes were parked at the end of one runway, as was a small military helicopter. Clearly, a military government was now in charge of Mabutoma.

Most of the military equipment that Ken could see appeared to be of Russian or Chinese origin. Could it be that General Dawodu had the backing of either nation? Ken couldn’t identify any of the soldiers he saw as either Russian or Chinese, but they might be there in Mabutoma serving as advisors.

Parked beside the terminal building were what Ken assumed to be the president’s private fleet of aircraft, two single-engine Cessna airplanes. In contrast to the Russian MiGs, which looked to be rather weather-beaten, both Cessnas appeared to be clean, well-maintained, and in excellent condition.

The Cessnas interested Ken. He had learned to fly and had earned his pilot’s license while he was in college. The university flying club, of which he’d been a member, had a Cessna similar to the ones parked near the terminal, and he’d thoroughly enjoyed his time in that aircraft. One of these days, he promised himself, he’d have his own personal airplane.

He’d also spent a little time in the small helicopter owned by the flying club. It had been fun to fly, but Ken wanted an airplane rather than a helicopter for his own personal use.

* * * * *

Once introductions were made, Jabari Kabila assisted the visitor in loading his gear into the Jeep he was driving. Come with me, sir, he invited, in only slightly flawed English. We go see General Dawodu, and then I’ll take you to your hotel.

Do you work with President Dawodu? Ken asked, largely in an attempt to get a conversation started once they were in the Jeep and underway to see General Dawodu.

Oh, yes, Jabari replied, proudly, I am the Secretary for Economic Development of Mabutoma. He smiled broadly. Our new government is working quite well, he added, because our president is very powerful. There was much chaos within our country for a time, but he has brought order and the rule of law to all of our people.

Ken nodded and smiled, not quite certain as to how he wanted to respond to that statement because Jabari did not sound completely convinced of what he’d just said. Before Ken could respond, however, Jabari suddenly blurted out, You must know that your coming here was not General Dawodu’s wish.

Oh?

Jabari was visibly nervous. I must say that General Dawodu does not wish to receive advice from outsiders, from foreigners, he explained. Actually, he does not wish to receive advice from anyone, including me or his other advisors, because he wishes for everyone to see him as all-knowing and totally in command. In fact, he has banished many foreigners from the country, and has even arrested some who refused to leave. He did not mention those who had been murdered on Dawodu’s orders. It was best not to talk about those atrocities, especially if one wanted to remain on good terms with Dawodu. Furthermore, one never knew who might be listening.

I see, Ken responded, after a moment’s hesitation, but I assume that the president is aware that I am here.

Oh, yes. Jabari hesitated. Perhaps I should explain more fully. He knows you are here, all right, and he does not disapprove. You see, when I suggested to him that I bring in a geologist to explore for gold, he was torn between two ideals. He knows that our country needs any and all the financial help it can get, and locating a gold mine would be a most wonderful benefit to us. It’s just that, well, we have no one in our country who is qualified to evaluate the potential for mining gold, and . . . and . . . . Jabari’s voice trailed off. Something was bothering Jabari.

And? Ken asked.

Jabara looked around as if he wanted to be sure no one was listening. Many of my countrymen will have nothing to do with searching for gold in those mountains where we think it may be found because-- Before he could complete his thought, however, Jabari was braking the Jeep to an abrupt stop before the gates to the presidential palace. And here we are! he exclaimed. The guards opened the gates and saluted when Jabari drove them inside the security fence.

Does President Dawodu speak English? Ken asked as he climbed out of the Jeep and joined Jabari in front of the presidential palace.

Oh, please call him General Dawodu, Jabari whispered, then responded to Ken’s question. Yes, he speaks fairly good English, as do many of our government officials and our military officers, Jabari continued, with a glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. If necessary, I will translate for you.

At the presidential palace, a young man swung open the heavy wooden doors to the president’s office and announced, Your Honor, the Secretary for Economic Development and his guest! All the while, armed guards in the hallway eyed Ken suspiciously.

The president sat behind his huge mahogany desk under a colorful banner which proclaimed him as General Chike Dawodu and another banner that proclaimed him as President of Mabutoma. Oversized medals on his crisp military uniform, some of which he had designed himself, glittered in the light. A cigar was clamped firmly between his teeth.

A large painting of the general in full dress military uniform hung on the wall behind him. Hanging on both sides of the portrait were flags with large red, seven-pointed stars set against a white background.

Dawodu glowered at Jabari and Ken from behind his desk but did not rise to greet them. Come in, he finally growled, sounding as if he were annoyed at being interrupted, placing his cigar in an overflowing ashtray as he spoke.

Your Honor, Jabari announced, I present to you the geologist from the United States of America, Mr. Ken Davis.

Dawodu eyed the two men for several uncomfortable moments, his face portraying annoyance if not outright defiance. When he spoke, his voice was loud and intimidating. I welcome you to Mabutoma, he roared.

Thank you, sir, Ken replied.

Mr. Kabila assures me that you are most knowledgeable about locating and mining gold. Dawodu’s voice was challenging.

I’ve worked as a consulting geologist for gold mining companies for over ten years with reasonable success, Ken replied. He’d encountered bullies like Dawodu before, and he wasn’t about to be intimidated.

So, how long will it take for you to have a gold mine bringing riches to Mabutoma? Dawodu demanded.

I don’t know. I’ll set about that work tomorrow. Of course, I will need a vehicle and supplies--

Dawodu waved his hand. Mr. Kabila will take care of all that. He will supply whatever you need. The president retrieved his cigar, held it between his fingers, and then rose pompously from his chair. Jabari and Ken took a step back.

Instead of dismissing them, however, Dawodu pressed a button on his desk and shouted, Dada. Moments later, a young woman wearing a red dress and carrying an overnight bag was ushered into the room. She did not speak, but stood at the side of the president’s desk, her eyes downcast.

This is Dada, Dawodu grinned lasciviously as he motioned toward the young woman standing at the left side of his desk. She has been assigned as your assistant while you are our guest in Mabutoma, Mr. Davis, Dawodu informed Ken, gesturing toward the young woman with his cigar as he spoke. She speaks English and will translate for you when necessary, and she will assist you in your every need. Mr. Kabila will provide you with a Jeep and assist you with whatever else you need, but Dada will be your servant while you are our guest.

Ken nodded. He wasn’t much interested in having a servant, but he probably would need an interpreter at times. Thank you, sir.

As Mr. Kabila informed you, gold has been mined in Mabutoma in the distant past and will be again. I will expect a favorable report from you at least every two or three days, the president directed Ken.

Ken nodded. With Mr. Kabila’s aid, I’ll keep in touch with you.

With no further adieu, the president waved his arm, dismissing the group from his office.

Ken studied the slender young woman called Dada for a moment, then picked up her overnight bag and carried it for her as Jabari led them from the president’s office, past a number of heavily armed