Ivory Ghosts (17 page)

“Next time, I'll let you drive.” Jon swerved to avoid a large fallen tree in the road.

I looked both ways and saw a large cow charging from behind a tree to the left. She stampeded into the road. “Go right! Go right, now!” I cringed as a tusk approached the passenger side.

Jon dodged the matriarch, bounced off the track and over a stump, and then back onto the track again. A large herd ran across the road in front of us, another matriarch stopping to loom over us. She cracked her ears as she shook her head at us and ran on.

The wailing of elephants subsided as we got safely out of the tree island and back onto the open floodplain. We had about a half an hour of light left and no more tree islands before the main road.

We crossed the bridge to Kongola and turned south down the road that led to Liadura Lodge. It was the same dusty track I had been on with Nigel on the way to visit with the induna.

The place had a different feel at dusk, the reed and thatch villages taking on a softer pinkish tone, much less harsh than it had seemed in the morning. Smoky fires twisted next to cornfields as old women roasted mealies under small thatched roofs. There was the ubiquitous beating of drums in the distance and the air was thick with smoke—all to keep the elephants at bay now that the corn was ripe.

After about ten minutes of silence, Jon turned in at the sign for Liadura Lodge. A long, winding track lay ahead. The sun had just set and the horizon was blazing red through the black mopane trees, looking like a forest fire as we wound through an open woodland. Tall golden grass fields were dotted with silvery-leaved Terminalia trees covered with papery red pods. A steenbok leapt from the side of the road and a small bachelor herd of kudu ran for cover, a large male in the lead, his white stripes and fluffy tail gleaming in the sunset—a rack of two and a half twists rocking overhead.

Both Jon and I looked up at the sudden noise of an airplane flying low overhead—a Cessna 182 rapidly gaining altitude. “Who the hell is that at this hour?”

“Did you see the Red Cross symbol?”

“Something tells me this isn't a humanitarian operation.”

As we approached the airstrip, we spotted a beat-up old sedan heading off down a track that went deeper into the park through thick bush. Jon stuck his head out and called to the German passengers in the back, “Hold on, folks.”

Jon raced after the car as the bush darkened and the road got narrower and windier. He gained on them, but they kept disappearing around the sandy bends, skidding and bouncing as they went.

We were entering a mopane forest, and the hard clay soil was full of deep ruts from the wet season. Fortunately we had more clearance than the sedan did and we were gaining on them.

As we rounded a sharp corner, we saw the car pulled over. Their front right tire was wrapped around a mopane stump, and three men were running into the dark woodland.

“Damn it!” Jon grabbed the radio from his cab. “Susuwe twenty-five. Susuwe twenty-five. Come in!”

I listened to the static with blips of voice in the distance but no answer.

Jon checked his watch. “Jesus. No one will answer at this hour. They're all bloody stirring their
mieliepap
and searching for relish to put on it. A nightly quest.”

We got out and inspected the car. Jon took his tire iron to the trunk and popped it, revealing a stash of freshly hacked-out tusks.

“Oh, no!” I eyed the thin tusks, counting about twenty. “They're so small!” My mind returned to the stash that Dr. Geldenhuis had loaded the other night on the airstrip in Zambia. I felt like I had come full circle. And having seen the poachers' camp in Angola from the air and the aftermath of poaching on the ground just south of the border, I was more determined than ever to do something to stop the killing.

Jon returned to his truck, reached for the medical kit, and put on rubber gloves. “Probably gunned down an entire herd. That plane most probably came in from Zambia. Or Angola. It's a bloody free-for-all up there.”

The tourists shook their heads. One of them leaned over to make a closer inspection. “Explains why they are so angry.”

Jon walked back over and looked at the tusks. “Shame. Guy on the ground gets five bloody rand per tusk probably.” He started loading the tusks into the back and looked up at me. “You okay getting back to Susuwe late?”

I nodded, wanting nothing more than a relaxing drink with him next to the river to try to forget the day's events. But the contents of the trunk made that impossible.

“I'll get the Liadura rangers to track these bastards,” said Jon, seeming to read my mind. “We could have a drink at Liadura while I wait to see if we can find out anything useful.” He finished loading, got in, turned the vehicle around, and headed toward the lodge.

After driving in silence for some time, Jon banged his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it! It didn't used to be like this.”

“Someone should be monitoring the international airports and shipping routes.”

“We can barely keep up with our own jurisdiction, much less be thinking about another continent.”

“But what about here, before it leaves the continent?”

“The guys at MCD are busy setting something up in Windhoek. Let's hope the court date gets set for next month. That will move things along here.”

“Next month only?”

“That's bloody expedient, trust me. But nailing him will be another matter.”

“What more can we do while we wait?”

“It's complicated to pursue the witch doctor right now. Eli is being blamed for Ernest's death.”

I changed the subject. “But you had to have known that Geldenhuis was up to something?”

“We were building a case and it's not smart to go at these things directly.”

“I can't say I've noticed the indirect method being all that successful.”

Jon snapped, “You're just a transient player here. Here on what? A permit to fly our broken airplane? We're the ones that have to see this through. It takes time to build a case that will stick.”

I knew I had blown it. “I'm sorry. It must be annoying to have outsiders suggesting things that are so off base.”

“They're not off base.” He softened. “Just not possible here.”

I didn't push the issue further. I was starting to see how important it was to follow protocol, but it didn't make it any less frustrating when things didn't seem to be moving fast enough. I was relieved when we arrived at the lodge, thinking a drink would clear the air.

The staff was just finishing lighting the path with oil lamps as we pulled up. The lush vegetation lining the warmly lit wooden path leading to the silvery river's edge gave the lodge the feel of an oasis. The manager arrived to greet the tourists, and listened to their tale with suitable horror. They were promised they'd have a warm shower and dinner in about an hour. I said my good-byes to the very grateful Germans and turned back to Jon, who had just gotten off the radio again.

“Catherine, I'll see you just now.”

I nodded as Jon rushed off to contend with his unexpected haul.

I was quickly ushered into a charming thatched rondavel along the river and was really looking forward to a hot shower and a flush toilet. I was glad I had packed a change of clothes and a sweater.

After a long, hot shower, I toweled off my hair at the bathroom mirror illuminated by an oil lamp. I hated to admit it, but despite the events of the day, I still found myself looking forward to spending time with Jon in a completely different context. But just when I thought that things were going smoothly, he got all prickly again.

There was a knock at the door and I assumed it was Jon.

“Catherine, you there?”

“Hold on a second.” I threw on my jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Come in.”

I finished toweling off my hair as Jon walked in. “Sorry. I was just getting dressed.”

Jon gave me a quick look and then looked away, as if my wet hair needed a moment of discretion. “I've got to follow up on these tusks. Looks like we'll be setting up at the Piggery again tonight. The underbelly craves a slaughterhouse.”

My heart sank.

“Nigel is here. You okay staying the night? I've asked if he'd take you back to Susuwe in the morning.”

I turned shyly and nodded. “That's fine.” I tried not to sound as disappointed as I was at not spending the evening together.

Jon put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry. I was really looking forward to a drink with you.” He then pulled back, perhaps afraid of being too forward.

“So was I.” I blushed, embarrassed that I wanted more than anything to take his hand and put it back where it was. To have his arms surround me, to hold me tight and tell me that everything was going to be okay. I couldn't help wondering what Sean would have thought if he were a fly on the wall at this very moment. I knew he'd have wished for me to have found a way to move on sooner.

We stood staring at each other for a moment, both trying to think of something to say, but neither succeeding. “You'll come round Monday night, right?” With a glint in his eye, he couldn't resist a giggle. “It'll be quite the gastronomic experience, I must be honest.”

I smiled and nodded, flustered like a schoolgirl.

He looked at me admiringly. “If Sean was worth his salt, he'd have told you a thousand times just how stunning your eyes are.” He touched my face with the back of his hand. “He did tell you that, didn't he?”

I tried not to seem surprised at this advance and smiled. “He did.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Cheers.”

I watched as he turned and left.

I had lost my appetite for being social and decided to tell the staff that I wouldn't be coming to dinner. I had packed a can of chili sardines for just such an occasion. And I hated to admit it, but I also wanted to bask in the glow of Jon's touch for a little longer.

I headed over to the main lodge to find someone to tell that I wouldn't be joining them for dinner. I followed the oil lamps that lit the walkway and ducked low under the open-walled thatched
lapa
and into the dimly lit bar.

“Catherine, how's it?” A freshly showered Nigel was sitting at the attractive polished mahogany bar with a cold Tafel in hand. His navy shirt and newly trimmed beard made his blue eyes all the more striking. “Heard what happened.” He held out the beer. “Looks like you could use a cold one.”

Adjusting to my failed plan, I nodded.

He got up and went behind the bar. “Tafel?”

“Sure.” I looked around. “You tend bar as well?”

Nigel laughed. “No, the manager keeps a running tab for us conservation types. Lets me serve my own.”

He opened the large top-loading gas fridge and pulled out a frosty Tafel. He opened it with an opener mounted on an antelope horn, poured it into a glass, and handed it to me. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, thanks.” I took a drink and immediately felt more relaxed.

“So, what went on out there?”

“Well, we crossed paths with some pretty traumatized tourists.”

“The manager just told me about that.” Nigel laughed. “You wouldn't catch me in that river.”

I smiled. “How was Vic Falls?”

“Stunning.” Nigel held up his beer and took a sip. “Cheers.” He lit his pipe and shook out the match. “I'm sure Jon mentioned the news of the witch doctor's murder.”

Since Jon hadn't mentioned that to me, I didn't know what to say. “The witch doctor was murdered?”

Nigel nodded. “Mate of mine in Vic Falls told me this morning.”

Why
hadn't
Jon mentioned anything about the witch doctor? I was hoping not to have to talk to anyone about him at the moment because I wasn't sure I could remain expressionless, having watched him get shot in the face at point-blank range. But, I was more concerned that Jon hadn't mentioned it than the fact that Nigel had just brought it up.

He looked at me as if he knew where my thoughts had gone. “Jon's got a lot on his mind. Christ, you shake a stick at a tree during the wet season and you'll get a crook for every black mamba that falls out.”

I looked up, startled, not expecting him to read my thoughts. I brushed it off and happily latched onto this diversion. “Seems to me as if he pushes off help rather than inviting it.”

“That's just his way. Particularly since I think he's falling for you.”

This was not where I had expected the conversation to go. “You're mad.”

“Am I?”

“Let's stick to the point.” I pretended as best as I could. “Let's talk about ivory smugglers.”

“Come on, Catherine, as a friend, I promise you, I've never seen him like this.”

“Either you're a poor judge of character or the man is certifiable.”

“Both might be the case. But every time he complains about you, I see him fighting with an inner demon. If that's a bad thing, I can help steer him away.”

“Can we change the subject?” I took another long drink, thinking that was everything and the last thing that I wanted. “I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate you talking like this.”

“Oh, I don't know. He might think I was doing him a favor. He hasn't been in love in ten years.”

“Really?” I was surprised that I was reticent to want to think about Jon being in love with someone. “What happened?”

“He couldn't stop drinking and she left.” He took a swig. “It was a bloody mess. She was the one, and he blew it.”

This caught me off guard. I sat for a moment to piece things together.

“I think you remind him of her,” he said as he took another drink. “He's an odd chap, as I'm sure you've already discovered.”

“He's always so theatrical—like he's purposely trying to be mysterious.” I didn't know where I was going with this, and maybe part of me was trying to counteract the feelings I had just had for him in my room.

Nigel shook his head. “He's just trying to take the piss out of you.”

I took a swig. “So, how are you able to see so clearly through all the chaos of this place?”

“I only do that for my friends. I don't have the same gift for myself. On that subject, I'm a complete balls-up.”

“That's hard to believe.”

“Let's just say that if you hear any rumors about the terrible mistakes I've made with some very nice women, they're all true. I've sworn off women as penance.”

“That's quite a stiff penance.”

“At least for a year. It's the bloody least I could do.”

“That bad?”

Nigel shook his head. “Bloody well worse than that bad.”

“What about the Peace Corps ‘pigeon,' as Jon called her?”

“He's dreaming.”

I smiled. “Wow. I pity the girl of your dreams that comes along too soon.”

Nigel held up his beer and drank the last of it. “Cheers to that.” He put his empty beer down and went behind the bar for another. He lifted my half-empty bottle. “Another?”

“No, thanks.” I was drinking slowly on purpose. I wasn't really ready to be on my own now that I had company, despite my original intentions when I walked in. Yet I didn't want to have more than one drink with this guy. His company was a little too easy. I didn't need to further complicate things. Something told me I needed to hold back.

Nigel grabbed another beer for himself. “Cheers.” He took a sip. “You're in for a rare treat. This place puts out a bloody fine buffet, you know.”

I took another sip. “Oh, listen, can you tell the staff that I won't be joining them for dinner?”

“Not hungry?”

“I have some pilchards back in the room.”

“Bloody hell, at least let me bring you something more civilized to eat.”

“No, thanks, I'll be fine. I actually like pilchards.”

“Can't beat a chili-chard sandwich in a pinch, but not when there's a buffet at stake.”

I held up a hand. “I'll be fine.”

“But I was counting on you to entertain the Germans.”

“I'm sure you have plenty of stories for them. I'm just not up to it.” I finished my beer. “I'm going to turn in, thanks.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Been a long day.”

“Any day in the Caprivi is long enough without having to start out by shooting a wounded elephant calf and end up with a trunk full of ivory. Hope you can sleep it off.”

“Me, too.” I got off my barstool, we said good night, and I left.