Ivory Ghosts (14 page)

As I waited in line at the ATM, my eyes were drawn to a scrappy handwritten sign posted on the wall next to the machine: “Coffins with wreaths. Special price at the hardware. Post office will deliver.”

I heard Jon's voice right behind me. “Enjoying the many perks of our bustling metropolis?”

I turned around to see Jon and Nigel approaching. “How did it go?” I asked Jon.

“Good.” He pushed air down from his waist with his hands, trying to calm himself down. He spoke with a hushed voice. “Judge says I can file the case next week.” He beamed. “I think we've actually got him by the bloody bollocks.”

“What happens after the case gets filed?” I asked, wondering how many questions would get asked about the origin of the photos, knowing that they were taken under illegal circumstances.

“They set a date for the trial and set bail.”

“That's great to hear.” I maintained a cool air, while inside, I was thrilled by the news. “Hello, Nigel. How's it going?”

“Right.” He nodded and tipped his cap. “Better now with the thought of leaving town tonight.”

“Oh?” I was surprised he hadn't mentioned that the day before.

“Heading to Vic Falls. Flying over just now. Back on Sunday.”

“Sounds nice.” I tried to think back to any possible mention of a trip that I might have missed.

Jon's eyes lit up. “It's that pigeon, isn't it?”

“Nope. Just needed some time away.”

Jon pointed to the sign next to the ATM and nudged me. “Booming new business, these coffins. Geldenhuis reckons three a day minimum, and the toll is rising. Some say HIV is witchcraft. Others say it's ‘white man's magic.' ”

I suddenly realized why the hardware store was making so many coffins.

“Some powers that be say a shower and a bar of soap would protect you from it. Or better yet, try beetroot and garlic. Wonderful! The witch doctors are raking it in while some still don't believe it's real.”

“They don't?”

“When the grim reaper could knock on your door tomorrow because of a failed crop, two years of illness seems like a lifetime. And the hospital will finish you. Katima Hospital is a place one is admitted to but never leaves.”

“Any news on Bernie?”

Jon shook his head. “One or two more days, tops.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that. Dr. Geldenhuis told me how bad the problem was. So did Father Sebuku.”

“This place will break your heart if you let it get to you,” Jon said.

“You mean if you're human?” I asked.

“One could look at it that way, I suppose.”

Nigel looked at his watch. “Hey, listen, Jon. I have another meeting with Induna Munali on Monday and meant to ask: Did you pick a date for the elephant count? I was hoping to get the game guards involved as spotters outside the protected areas.”

“Didn't you hear that we're out a plane? Bloody learner pilot forgot to put the landing gear down on Mpacha this morning. We're fresh out of wings. And Geldenhuis's plane is tied up. Pretty ironic, hey? The only airplane we can find to count elephants may be owned by the bloody elephant tooth fairy from hell.”

Nigel scratched his forehead. “Will you come right with another plane?”

I was next in line and stepped up to punch in my PIN. “When do you need the wings?”

I turned around to Jon's suspicious stare, then shrugged and went back to my transaction.

“Best before month's end,” said Jon.

I turned and put a roll of bills in my pocket. “I'm sure we could use the WIA 182 at a good rate. You have funding to cover fuel, right?”

He squinted. “If you've got the wings, I've got the fuel.”

I nodded. “It's at Mpacha.”

“Is it?” Jon's eyes were spinning with excitement. “Let's talk dates on Monday. Month's end is going to be crazy in town this weekend. Hope you plan to avoid coming in.”

I nodded. “Looking forward to the weekend at Susuwe.”

“Maybe I'll pop around,” Jon offered. “Have business up along the Singalamwe border. Always good to see what the lumbering sentient pachyderms have to offer on that side of the river.”

“You should.” I was surprised that I felt like I was almost blushing at the thought of Jon paying me a visit.

He leaned toward Nigel. “I should have some news when you return. Gidean, Natembo, and I have another bust planned just this side of the Zambian border. Up near your place, in fact.”

“Sorry to miss the action. Could have lent a hand.”

“Cheers, hey. We've got it sorted.”

As I watched Jon, I couldn't help wanting to have a role on this secret team. There was something about his energy that pulled these guys together and gave them purpose. They had something that I hadn't had for a very long time. I was getting tired of operating in isolation and having to hide what I knew, but I hoped it wouldn't last too much longer. I had just pulled off a major coup and I needed to feel good about that, even if I wasn't able to share my information yet.

Nigel smiled and tipped his cap as he said his good-byes.

Jon nodded. “See you Monday.”

I smiled, said my good-byes quickly, and left.

Standing in a depression at the shooting range, I faced a line of sandbags about twenty meters away. The place was littered with broken beer bottles. A large elephant skull sat off to the left on a rise, as if somehow presiding over the scene. I aimed at a row of Tafel Lager bottles that I had been saving for the occasion.

Bang.
The neck blew off one of the bottles, and it fell over.

I squinted, aimed, shot again, and missed. I wiped my hands on my jeans and repositioned.

I was feeling much better after reaching Craig on the phone this morning. He seemed to have forgiven me for my rogue behavior and was pleased with my progress. His team would have results on the DNA obtained from the ivory I sent soon. In the meantime, he was going to confer with his contact in the local MCD about the other man in the photos. He was still wary of telling too many too much at this stage. It was easy for this kind of information to quickly fall into the wrong hands. But since Jon had filed the photos of Geldenhuis with the courthouse, we felt safe asking questions more broadly. And he was okay with me showing Jon the picture of the witch doctor's accomplice.

Craig didn't want me to talk yet about what I had heard on the airstrip in Zambia, or about the poacher's camp in Angola. He needed to see how the MCD wanted to handle it first, and let them decide the level of involvement of the local ministry staff. Even though I knew he was right about the need for secrecy, I still hoped that he'd say differently.

After our call, I fought the urge to call my dad. Craig had asked me to keep personal contact to a minimum, so I texted from my satellite phone instead. I got an automated message stating that he and Kelly were hiking in Yosemite for a month. That knowledge was all I needed to know he was doing well.

I heard a vehicle approaching from some distance away. It finally pulled up, and when I saw it was Jon, my stomach tightened. He had mentioned that he might stop by Susuwe, and although I had hoped he would show up, I hadn't thought that he actually would. And I certainly hadn't thought that he'd catch me at the shooting range. After his mocking impersonation of me in his office, I didn't want him to see me with a pistol in my hands.

“Natembo told me I could find you here.” Jon got out. “Need any help?”

He looked tidier than usual, including a bad haircut that he combed his hand through self-consciously. If he had gone through the effort for me, it did make a difference. The guy was more handsome than I wanted to admit. But, interacting with him on my own, outside the office, made me feel all the more exposed. I was haunted by his implication that he knew something about my past—about what had happened to Sean. The last thing I needed was for this guy to hold something over me emotionally.

I turned, aimed, and shot again, this time breaking a bottle. I turned back casually. “Does it look like I need help?”

He laughed. “Just trying to be supportive of our new pilot.”

I spotted a bird book and binoculars on the seat of his vehicle. “Doing some bird-watching?”

“Heard the woodland kingfisher on my way in. Hell, it's nice out here.”

“Roberts number four thirty-three.”

“Excellent! A Roberts fan!”

“Hard not to be with the birdlife around here.”

Jon reached behind his seat and pulled out a padded rifle case. He unzipped it and removed a long-barreled bolt-action rifle with a deep reddish-brown polished stock. Then he grabbed a box of ammunition and pulled out six five-inch-long rounds.

Looking at the rifle, I smiled. “An elephant gun.”

Jon handed it to me. “Have you shot a .458?”

“A couple of times. It's similar to the 45-70 we kept in Yellowstone for grizzlies.” I put my revolver back in its holster and took the rifle. “But it's got more kick.” I was nervous. I never learned to get comfortable with a large-caliber rifle like this, but I was determined to impress him. I took two rounds out of Jon's hand. I moved the bolt, loaded the rounds, and closed the chamber. “This would be a lot more effective in this environment than my revolver.” I locked my knees and raised the rifle, trying to prepare myself for the cannon blast.

“It would indeed.”

“Always figured that if the plane goes down, I'd have a lot easier time carrying a revolver than a rifle.” I pressed the butt of the rifle hard against my shoulder.

“True, but with the density of elephant and buffalo around here, you're better off committing to the big stuff. The smaller caliber won't penetrate.”

The explosion as I squeezed the trigger was deafening. I took a step back to regain my balance. The bullet just missed a bottle way to the right.

“I hope you fly better than you can shoot.”

I gave him a dirty look as my ears rang. “The first shot's always hard for me.” I slid the bolt back and the second round popped up. I slammed the bolt forward, forcing the round into the chamber. “Mind if I have another go?”

Jon held out his hand. “Please.”

I repositioned, gluing my feet to the ground, and hesitated. I tensed every muscle in my body, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet hit a sandbag way to the right of my beer bottle target. “Damn it!”

“Hold yourself a little more square.” Jon handed me two more rounds, and I reloaded and aimed.

I moved the barrel up and down and left and right, shifting my focus between the two sights. I could see that the rear sight needed to be shifted to the right to align with the right barrel. Front-left-rear-right was the mantra. “The rear sight is off.”

“Good eye,” he conceded.

I let my eye compensate and aimed again. I took a breath and held it. I tensed up, and let my mind focus on a buffalo. I squeezed the trigger. A bottle exploded. I shot again and another exploded.

“Impressive.” Jon went to the vehicle and grabbed more rounds. He reloaded with another three rounds. He pointed the tip of the rifle toward the elephant skull. “Let's use a real target.”

I took the rifle back. “I prefer bottles, myself.” I aimed and shot again. The bullet hit just in front of a bottle.

“Pretty good.”

“Not good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”

I handed him the rifle, ignoring his question.

“Takes practice to handle such a big caliber. You're doing bloody well. How long were you in South Africa, anyway?” He lined up and aimed at the bottles.

“Past two years.”

He shot two bottles next to each other in rapid succession. “So, what is your biggest fear in the bush?”

I hardened. “What do you fear?”

“I asked first.”

I hesitated. Catching myself in a faraway look, I quickly returned. “Being unprepared in that crucial moment.”

Jon paused for a moment as he looked me in the eye and then smiled. “Brilliant! Keeps me up at night.” Jon aimed and shot a bottle, and a second, and then a third.

“Sounds like you have plenty to keep you up at night.”

“I'm used to it.” He reloaded and handed the rifle back to me. “Come.” He took my hand and lined me up in front of the elephant skull. He put one hand on my shoulder and the other on my opposite hip.

Suppressing the unexpected jolt of electricity from the sensation of his touch, I allowed him to align my body. “You're really going to make me do this?”

He pointed to the top of the skull. “You know you can't shoot up here in the honeycomb. Just goes right through and he'll keep on coming. That's how bad hunters make their mistakes. They aim too high, and then we've got to go out and clean up after them. Happened just last season, in fact. Gotta aim down.” He pointed to the middle of the skull, between where the eyes would be. “Down, right between the eyes.”

“I don't want to think about having to shoot an elephant.”

“It's the hardest thing out there to kill. Why not set your sights high?”

“I'm not good at killing things.”

He whispered into my ear, “That why you escaped Kruger?”

“A fair assessment.” I wasn't about to elaborate, as I was convinced he knew something about it. My face felt hot with the touch of his hands on me as I steadied myself and aimed. I squeezed the trigger, and the bullet hit the vegetation off to the right near the elephant skull.

“If you shoot like that, you may kill a friendly by mistake.”

I stepped away from him and aimed at the bottles again. “I'd prefer to go back to bottles.” I shot two more bottles.

Jon shook his head with admiration. “What brings you to God's country?”

“Peace of mind.”

“Caprivi's not a place to find peace.”

I touched his swollen arm. “I've heard it's a good place to get malaria.”

Jon looked at me uncertainly.

I looked down wide-eyed at his arm.

He followed my gaze to all the mosquito bites. “Ah, yes, a gift to my trackers. I attract them all away from them.”

“I bet they like me more.”

“I wouldn't doubt that your blood is sweet.”

“Excuse me?”

Sensing my tone of surprise, he quickly defended his comment. “You know, the mosquitoes—they can smell the sugar in blood.” He gently brushed against my mosquito bites. “You must have pretty sweet blood like I do.” He smiled innocently.

“Maybe.” I handed the rifle back. “I'm done. Stayed up too late reading last night.” I looked at the welts all down his legs. “Looks like your night didn't go so smoothly, either.”

He rubbed his arms. “They'll be gone by lunchtime.”

I bent down and inspected the welts more closely. “What
are
those?”

“Bloody tsetses.”

“Do they hurt?”

“They'll go away. It's not a problem.”

“You allergic?”

“Mildly. Bloody little bastards.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Up at the Singalamwe border again.” Jon returned to his truck, leaned the rifle against it, fished out a canteen of water, and held it up. “Would you like some?”

I shook my head. “Any sign of Ernest?”

“Not even a shred of clothing.” Jon leaned against the truck and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth and gasped. “Shame I will have to suspend a staff member over this.”

“You mean Eli?”

“I'm sure Ernest thought his chances of survival would be better with the crocs than with Eli.”

“My dad told me that when faced with it in Vietnam, his buddies felt like death was more inviting than torture.”

“I wouldn't be that hard on ol' Eli.”

“Then why suspend him?”

“I can't afford to, of course. Best interrogator I have. But I'll have to as a precautionary measure. The witch doctor has many friends this side of the border, and you never know what he might try to do to get back at us.” He took another swig and tossed his canteen back in the truck. “Bloody witch doctor's always one step ahead of us. Despite the photos from WIA, we've got to get something else. We've got to nail the supplier.”

I tensed up. Again, I wondered who Geldenhuis's new accomplice was. I hoped that Craig would get the permission soon so that I could show Jon the pictures of this man. I changed the subject. “Won't that come out in court?”

“If the case goes to trial, you mean.”

“Those photos aren't enough for a trial?” Jon's concern made me wonder about Craig's fear that there would be questions as to how my photos were obtained.

“You'd be surprised at what gets thrown out of court.” Jon listened as a branch cracked in the distance. The forest came alive with elephants around us. “Counted two hundred elephant as I came in. With a fresh crop of babies. You don't have big game like that outside Alaska, I expect.”

“We've got bison and grizzlies in Yellowstone,” I offered.

“I heard your California big five consists of bighorn sheep, Yogi the picnic-basket-stealing and Pringles-loving brown bear, the odd feral mountain lion, the endangered tired tule elk, and—what?—the pathetic lone bison owned by Chief Tiny Toes?”

“You are pretty good at entertaining yourself, aren't you?”

“We try our best out here in the bush. Only way to keep sane.”

“Yellowstone has some pretty decent big game, but it can't compare to this.”

“Elephant, lion, leopard, buffalo, and rhino—most dangerous game in Africa. The big five. All occur here, minus the last rhino that was helicoptered out by SADF for fear of its getting pinched. Bloody Garden of Eden otherwise. Ironic that this place has the highest density of game in the country, and it was almost turned into cornfields after the war with Angola. Fortunately, Bwabwata National Park was gazetted before they could get the tractors in.”

“How could that happen?”

“The South African Defense Force was based here during the war so the place couldn't be designated as a park. Bloody three-legged elephants, with all the land mines.”

“Don't tell me you've seen that?”

“You can't even think about it. Just got a report of another up near the border. Goin' up to put him out of his misery this afternoon.”

“That's terrible.”

“Indeed.”

“Any sign of poaching up over the border?”

“The politics are crippling.”

“What politics?”

“Of who's supposed to be monitoring the border.”

“Gidean mentioned something about that.”

“We'll be sitting ducks if they decide to come to the station.”

Jon was quick to change the subject. “Hey, you're coming in on Monday, right? Got a fine leg of lamb to roast. Was hoping you and Nigel could stop by for dinner. Talk census plans?”

“I'm trying to avoid driving that road at night. Hard to navigate the cattle.”

“Know what you mean. Listen.” He hesitated. “Nigel's had his bedroll on my living room floor all month. I've got a spare room. You're welcome as well. Gotta bring a net, though, the mosquitoes are killer in Katima. And I can't promise the dogs won't keep you up all night. Hell of a place for rapid-eye movement, but it beats driving back in the dark. What do you think?”