“Show me the organs,” he said. Once those had been inspected, he’d seen enough. “You have a problem,” he said. “This wolf is all wrong. The coat, the musculature, everything. First, this wolf, and I’m not even sure that’s what you have, is too big for an African wolf.”
“It reminded me of a leopard.”
“That’s a good comparison,” Reed said. “You said they were fast?”
“Like lightning.”
“To run that fast, you need serious muscle, which they have. Wolves normally aren’t built that way.”
“Have you ever heard of two wolves attacking humans when there is easier prey around?”
“Not unless they’re sick, which I’m sure you thought of.” She had, and told him so. “Of course, elephants frighten wolves. They’re big and loud, and can crush a wolf if it gets too close.” He ran a hand through his stubble and stared into space, thinking aloud. “No way a normal wolf attacks your team like those did, and even then, it wouldn’t claw people to death. Wolves use their teeth.”
“There’s also the question of how they got in the zoo,” Sarah said. “Where did they come from?”
Reed shrugged. “I’ve never heard of predators like those around a big city. Wolves are too smart to go after people in an urban setting. There’s one other thing that bugs me. Both of them are male. Wolf packs have one alpha male, but from what you told me these two worked together, one driving people toward the other. That’s not how wolves behave, and certainly not two males.”
“Maybe they’d grown used to an urban environment and did it to stay alive,” she said.
“If that were true, you’d have heard about them. Wolves running loose in any city would attract attention.” He swiped a hand across his eyes and yawned. “Excuse me, it’s been a long night. Some uninvited guests came to my compound last night.”
“Is anything wrong?” Here she was, going on and on about her issues, and she’d never once considered he might be busy.
He was silent, offering nothing but a grim stare. Sarah bit back a dozen questions. “I’m sorry to bother you with this,” she said, biting her lip. “To be honest, I didn’t know where to go and you came to mind.”
“I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear from you.” He smiled when he said this. “Send me anything else you have on those wolves. I’ll dig around, see what I can find. You have a couple of interesting animals there.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “There are tissue samples I still have to analyze, so if I learn anything new I’ll send that as well.”
“Sounds good.” He covered his mouth to stifle another yawn. “Great to hear from you, Dr. Hall. Call if you need anything.”
“It’s Sarah,” she chided him. “I will, and you do the same.”
No sooner had she ended the call than the laboratory door opened and Geoff Milner walked in. “Dr. Hall?”
“Over here,” she said.
“The authorities are here.” Four uniformed policemen followed Geoff through the door, trailed by a city veterinarian.
Sarah stood and offered her hand to the vet. “Thank you for allowing me to examine the carcasses,” she said, handing him a folder. “This is information you may find interesting.”
A strong grip met her own, and he looked her in the eye when responding. “Thank you, Dr. Hall.” She could barely detect an accent at all in his English. Humbling, considering she couldn’t manage more than a few basic phrases in German. “Should you wish to review the bodies further, please contact our office.” The dead wolves went into body bags and [the four officers carried them] out the door.
Geoff Milner saw the authorities out. “How are you, Dr. Hall?” he asked once they had left. “I understand if you would rather not talk right now.”
“Avoiding hard topics doesn’t solve anything. I’ll be fine. Figuring out where those wolves came from and why they attacked us is my concern.”
Geoff nodded. “I understand.” He nodded toward the computer monitor behind her. “An updated itinerary has been sent to the team. We have decided to carry on with our planned group meal this evening. Of course, anyone who wishes to return to their home nation is welcome to leave, but so far each of your fellow researchers believes continuing with our agenda is the correct choice. How do you feel?”
“I agree,” Sarah said. “We’re here to do good work; we shouldn’t stop now.”
“Well said. In that case, I will leave you to your research.”
“Thank you,” she said. When Geoff turned to take his leave, she followed him to the door. “I need to refill my coffee,” she said. “You Swiss know how to brew it.”
There was the sound of shoes squeaking on the hallway’s polished floor, and a stranger, clad from head to toe in dark green fatigues with a red beret tilted jauntily over one eye, walked into view. He stopped in front of them and stared at Sarah, though he offered no greeting.
“I will see you this evening,” Geoff said, politely dismissing her. He made no move to introduce them, and both men watched her go. Only once she was well away did they speak, and then in tones so low Sarah didn’t pick up the words. Strange to see a military man in the laboratory. She’d never seen a uniform like that. The Swiss outfits ran toward reds and whites, same as their flag. Far different than the green and blue design on that man’s shoulder.
Sarah poured fresh java and headed back to the lab, trying to shake off her uneasiness. The soldier gave her the creeps, but then again, she didn’t know much about the military. Likely part of a security force, she told herself, which was fine with her. After last night, the more protection they had around here, the better. She had work to do, and no intention of stopping. She had taken a detour to figure out what these wolves were all about, but for now it was back to genome editing and unlocking the secrets she’d glimpsed in New York.
Chapter 10
Outside Mwanza, Tanzania
May 22nd
The vultures gave it away, a lazy swirl of black bodies and white heads circling in the sky. In a natural world where everything served a purpose, these consumers of the deceased played a vital role in the life cycle, where dead animals did not go to waste and rotted carcasses did not spread disease. These winged recyclers consumed them. Animals died every day on the savanna, from old age, injury, or disease. Vultures caught scent of death and came to feed.
Reed’s knuckles grew white on the steering wheel as they approached the area. “Maybe it’s a giraffe,” he said, not believing his own words. “Only three vultures.”
Paul fidgeted beside him. “I hope you are right.” When Reed looked over, the pistol on Paul’s hip had made its way out of the holster and onto his lap.
Reed eased off the gas as they approached a sloped hill, aiming for a spot to one side of the floating birds. A tight hand wrapped around Reed’s stomach when they crested the hill and he brought the Land Rover to a halt. The closest carcass was now barely ten feet away.
“Five dead,” Paul said. “Only three vultures are here now but more will come.”
Reed had seen horrible things in his time, the kind you didn’t believe man or beast capable of until you’d witnessed the depths to which each could sink. Animals massacred other species endlessly; it was expected, even necessary. Whether for food, protection, or territory, the reasons always made sense. With man, though, this didn’t have to be the case. Like what had happened here, where the dirt was red with blood under the merciless sun.
“Someone slaughtered these lions.” Reed stepped out of the car, eyes narrowing as he spoke. “Look at these bullet holes. They used automatic weapons.”
“Why would they leave everything behind?” Paul scratched his head. “There is no money in dead lions if you do not take them. These would be valuable.”
Paul was right. Lion pelts, bones and body parts commanded a premium on the black market. Pelts for decoration or display, the rest for souvenirs or use in bogus Far East medicine. Poachers were businessmen of a sort, not wanton k
illers.
“No poacher would leave these behind,” Reed said. “And anyone hunting legally pays a fortune to come here for lions.” He knew, having collected many of those fees himself over the years. Lion hunts were big business for hunting safaris, commanding five-figure price tags. “Unless the poachers were interrupted or caught, there’s no way they would leave five full-grown lions like this.”
Paul had continued walking as they spoke, but now he stopped mid-stride. “It is not five, boss. There are seven dead here.” The cold hand on Reed’s gut tightened when Paul pointed to the grass in front of him.
“They killed the cubs?” Reed asked. Paul just shook his head slowly. “There’s no money in dead cubs,” Reed said. “Only live ones.” He hated thinking like this, how his first thoughts turned to profits, but it was a necessary evil. Put yourself in the enemy’s shoes. Understand them first. Then you can beat them. For poachers it all came down to money. Reed knelt by one of the dead cubs. He reached for the animal, no larger than a shoebox. When his fingers brushed the soft, blood-stained fur, he blinked and the memories came rushing back.
Back to a moment not a year past, a night when he had stood under a dark sky with millions of white holes poking through. The crescent moon had spilled enough light onto the Serengeti to see for miles, endless bristling grass stretching across the plain.
As the premier big five guide on the continent, much had been expected of him every day. Hunters from around the world had spent upwards of fifty thousand dollars for the privilege of taking an elephant, lion or rhino under his guidance, and Reed had rarely failed to deliver. With a six-month waiting list for his services, he had offered only the biggest and best. If you wanted a trophy to put all others to shame, you called Reed Kimble.
Until that night. Everything had changed when those shots rang out. Gunshots had ripped the still night air. Reed, getting ready to bed down for the night, had stood frozen at the campsite. Four Americans were in camp then, hotshot executives with big mouths and even bigger wallets. “Nothing but the best,” they insisted, and Reed had made sure those guys went home with everything they paid for. An elephant apiece, rhinos for two of them, and all four had wanted a lion. A tall order, but if these guys went home happy and spread the word to their friends, many more would make their way to Kimble Safaris, exorbitant fees be damned.
Reed had employed a half-dozen camp minders, one for each guest and two for cooking and camp maintenance. All well-trained locals, they sprang into action even before the shots faded in the night.
“Check the tents,” Reed had shouted. Guest safety was paramount. He posted guards at night to keep hungry or adventurous animals from wandering into camp, and he put each visitor through a safety training session so they didn’t do anything stupid to get themselves killed.
“Missing one over here,” an employee had shouted back, holding a tent flap open.
“Same here,” another said.
Each tent had proved vacant. Where there should have been four men sleeping, they found nothing but empty blankets. Reed had slung a rifle over his shoulder and belted a 9mm onto his hip.
“Into the trucks,” he said. “Follow me, and don’t get out until I do. If someone shoots at us, shoot back.”
Kimble Safaris hired only native Tanzanians who knew their way around the plains, and better yet, knew how to fight. The animals didn’t fire back, but most poachers they encountered had a habit of shooting first and thinking later.
Reed’s headlights danced as he careened over the undulating plains, headed toward the gunfire. The rule was all guests remained in camp unless accompanied by a guide, never venturing out alone. Not because Reed didn’t want them to have a good time, but because naïve tourists on the savanna were a recipe for disaster.
Suddenly he’d been able to see spotlights dancing in the night ahead. Whoever was out there wasn’t making any attempt to conceal themselves.
Something was very wrong.
He’d slammed on the brakes, sending dust flying around the missing hunters, who waved to him, safe and accounted for. Each one had carried a rifle.
“Boss. Hey, boss.” Paul’s sing-song voice broke through Reed’s thoughts and pulled him back to the present moment. The sun’s hot rays felt strange; a moment ago he’d been bathed in moonlight. “You okay, boss?”
“I’m fine.” Now wasn’t the time for reliving that night. A new menace was here: those who slaughtered lions, not for trophies and glory, but for something else. What the hell was going on here? Fighting to keep the fear out of his voice, he said, “I need to tell Chief Ereng about this.” Reed grabbed his phone.
“Wait.” Paul raised a hand, cocking his ear to the sky. “Do you hear that?”
Reed went still. At first he didn’t hear anything but the wind. Only after Paul pointed toward a spot on the horizon and pantomimed driving a vehicle did he catch it. Engines, scarcely audible as they growled in the distance. “Perhaps it is the poachers,” Paul said.
I hope so. “Into the car,” Reed shouted over one shoulder as he ran for the Land Rover. “Get the rifles ready.”
They leapt into their seats, and Paul’s door had barely slammed shut as Reed stomped on the accelerator. The Land Rover shot forward, tossing Paul across the center console and into the rear seats as he clambered back to grab their bigger guns. Whoever had killed those lions had used automatic weapons, which meant the poachers had more than enough firepower to take out Reed and Paul, given they were only armed with rifles. However, both of them had the marksmanship skills with those rifles to pick off the poachers with ease from a long way off.
The targets were in range now, distorted by heat waves radiating from the ground. Reed slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt. He reached for a loaded rifle, set it on his lap and peered through a pair of binoculars.
“Those aren’t poachers,” he told Paul. “They’re surveyors. Look at the trucks.”
Paul looked through his binoculars. “Those men are with Soter Corporation. Why have they come this far?”
Soter Corporation maintained a research facility near Tanzania’s borders with Uganda and Rwanda. The company publicized little about their work, though Reed had heard that they donated regularly to local charities. This was the first time he had seen Soter vehicles so far from their home base.
“Beats me,” Reed said. “Let’s find out.” He motored toward the group of trucks, returning his rifle to the rear seat before touching the pistol on his hip. “No need to make them nervous,” he told Paul. “Looks like they have guards with them.”
Four identically clad men walked toward Reed’s vehicle as he approached, each wearing cargo pants with khaki safari shirts visible beneath bulletproof vests. The short-barreled automatic weapons they all held didn’t make them easy to tell apart. No weapons pointed in Reed’s direction at the moment, but the stone-faced glares on every face didn’t inspire confidence.
“Hello,” Reed called, bringing the vehicle to a stop. He kept his hands in sight as he introduced himself and Paul. “I have a safari operation outside of Mwanza. We ran into some trouble and are trying to figure out what happened.”
One of the security team walked closer. Shorter than the others with more gray than black in his hair, the other men moved aside to let him pass. “What kind of trouble?” he asked.
His expression didn’t change as Reed gave an edited version of the armed intruders at his compound and the dead lions. “You think they are related?” the man asked.
Reed shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m more worried about the lions they killed. It makes no sense for a poacher to leave the corpses behind. Have you seen anything in the past few days, maybe heard gunfire?”
“No.”
Reed waited, but the man didn’t offer more. “If you see anyone suspicious out here, I assume you’d report them to authorities in Mwanza.”
“We would,” the security man said.
“I’m part of a government anti-poaching team based
in Mwanza.” Reed reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “We have people from different areas of government working together to combat poaching. If you see anything suspicious, would you call me?” The man didn’t move, and Reed put on his best smile. “I’m sure Soter Corporation is supportive of our efforts. We would appreciate your help.”
The man finally walked over and took the card. “I’ll do that,” he said, then turned and headed back to his team.
“Appreciate that,” Reed said. “Oh, one more thing.” The security man stopped, turning slowly back to him. “Have you run across any indigenous tribes? Maybe the Maasai?”
“Why? Do you think they’re poaching?”
Nice try, tough guy. “Is that a no?” Reed asked.
“I didn’t see any.”
“Have any of your men?”
The blank look on the security man’s face turned dark. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
One of his minions took a quick step forward.
Paul stepped back and touched his pistol. “Easy.” Reed raised his hands, palms out. “I do my best to watch out for them. I heard the Maasai encountered white men with mechanical equipment recently.” He turned to Paul and shook his head quickly. No need to rile them up. Paul had a problem with strangers throwing around authority or attitude on his turf.
“You must have heard wrong.”
“No. The Maasai told me.” Reed pointed to the surveying tools. “The chief described equipment like what you have. He said the men were driving Soter Corporation trucks.”
Security Man’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know of any interactions firsthand, but I assure you, if what you say is true, our teams treat the native people with respect.”
“Good to know.” That had the man rattled, but only a bit. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m interested in stopping poaching, and if your men are guarding the surveyors, you might see things my team should know about. All I’m asking is you call me if you do.”
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