The Kenyan Expedition

by Steve Stevenson

  “Now you’re opening those famous memory drawers!” Dash teased.

  Just then, Chandler announced that the barbecued spareribs were ready, and both kids sat down at the table. Watson, Agatha’s white Siberian cat, strolled into the room, lured by the enticing smell of smoked meat. He rubbed against Agatha’s legs until Chandler served him his own mini-ribs on a silver platter.

  The butler removed his checkered apron and sat at the head of the table, wishing everyone “Bon appétit!”

  Agatha’s parents were always going away on globe-trotting business trips and entrusted Chandler with running the Victorian mansion on the outskirts of London. This meant that he was the one who accompanied his young mistress on her exciting adventures.

  “I downloaded the mission file,” said Dash, gnawing a rib. “But before we discuss the details, I’d like to watch the video clips on your dad’s flat-screen.”

  Agatha sensed a hint of anxiety in his voice. She took a bite of her baked potato, then asked, “Is there something bothering you?”

  “Yeah, there is,” Dash said, nodding. He put down his bone. “Delaying our departure might have been a good thing, because this is a really challenging case.”

  Curious, Agatha nodded, inviting Dash to continue.

  “The reason we’ve been contacted is pretty bizarre,” he said, sounding mysterious.

  “What is it, Master Dash?” Chandler asked politely.

  Dash wiped his chin with a napkin. “A white giraffe has gone missing, and we have to track it down in the middle of thousands of acres of wild savanna!” he explained with a half grin. “Don’t you think that’s a crazy request?”

  Agatha tapped the tip of her nose with one finger. “A white giraffe?” she said, thinking aloud. “I remember reading that they’re very rare. They’re not true albinos, but an unusual coloring known as leucistic. Because they’re so rare, many African tribes revere them as sacred . . .”

  “You are too much,” declared Dash, slightly envious. “You never miss a thing!”

  His attention was grabbed by the giant platter of caramel flan that Chandler had brought to the table. After Dash greedily devoured his dessert, they headed to Arthur Mistery’s study.

  Even though Agatha’s father never spent much time at home, his study, like all the other rooms in Mistery House, was in perfect order: spotless and recently dusted. The walls were covered with photos and memorabilia from all over the world, and the shelves groaned under piles of official documents in many languages.

  Dash turned on the computer to play his first video clip on the oversize monitor. After the Eye International logo, a man with a bushy mustache and a bowler hat on his bald head appeared. It was the professor of Investigation Techniques, better known as UM60.

  “This mission is perfect for you, Agent DM14,” said the little man energetically. “Go immediately to the Masai Mara National Reserve, south of Nairobi, near the Tanzanian border. We’ve been contacted by two anthropologists, Patrick Lemonde and Annette Vaudeville, who have spent years following a Masai tribe to study their traditional customs. As you’ll see in the attached document, peace in the tribe has been marred by a terrible event. Resolve the situation at once, and enjoy a relaxing vacation, DM14.”

  The screen suddenly went black. The communication seemed to be over when the professor abruptly popped back onscreen. “Just kidding, Agent,” he thundered. “No vacation! You have exactly one week to find out what happened, or fail!”

  Agatha had already jumped up from her chair, deep in thought. She quickly returned to the leather sofa and started to organize their plan of action.

  “What do we know about these anthropologists?” she asked.

  Stretched out on the rug, Dash flipped through the case file and rattled off all the information he had. They were originally from Belgium, and a photo showed them in safari clothes, patting an African rhinoceros. Patrick Lemonde was forty-five years old, with a sun-weathered face and squint lines. Annette Vaudeville, three years younger, was a vigorous-looking woman with hard features.

  The scientific community considered them to be among the top anthropologists in their field of cultural studies. Apparently, they had managed to contact and establish relations with a reclusive Masai tribe that still maintained a completely traditional lifestyle.

  “This won’t be an easy one,” Agatha said.

  Chandler frowned. “What do you mean, Miss?”

  Dash looked even more anxious.

  Agatha began to pace back and forth, holding one finger up in the air. “Well, the Masai are a proud warrior culture that was never subdued by colonial empires. You may have seen documentaries about their colorful red clothing, intricate beaded collars, and tribal dances. Traditionally, they were nomadic herdsmen, but in modern times many of them have established permanent villages.” She paused for a moment to bring up some images from the case files on the computer screen, then went on with her lecture. “The reason this case is particularly delicate is the white giraffe. The Masai believe in Enkai, a deity of a thousand colors, but the anthropologists claim the particular tribe they’re studying worships this white giraffe, which was born near their village, on the advice of their village elder and oloibon, or spiritual guide.”

  Noting her companions’ bewildered expressions, Agatha tried to explain better. “The giraffe’s disappearance could seriously upset the balance in this Masai village,” she summarized. “A tribe would feel lost without its deity, whatever form it may take.”

  Dash and Chandler exchanged looks, reassured now that they had a grasp of the basics.

  “So how should we proceed?” asked Dash.

  Agatha already had a clear plan. “First step? We all get some sleep!” She smiled. “But before we go to bed, we each have a job to do.”

  “What’s that, Miss Agatha?” Chandler asked eagerly.

  Within minutes, Agatha had decided that Dash would read more about Masai traditions, Chandler would get busy packing their clothes and booking their five a.m. flight, and Agatha would contact a relative who could help them with their mission. They all took off in different directions, leaving Watson on the arm of the sofa, wondering what in the world was so urgent.

  Left alone, the cat followed his mistress immediately. He found Agatha consulting an enormous globe covered with the contact details of all the Misterys around the world. “Oh dear,” she said, running a finger over the names. “We have so many relatives in Kenya . . . Who will be the most suitable?”

  It did not take her long to decide, and she was soon lifting the phone to call Haida Mistery, a fourth cousin who was a licensed safari guide. A guide of very special safaris, in fact.

  Like all of the Misterys scattered all over the world, Haida had an unusual job. Her small company in Nairobi was called the Outer Limits Safari Agency and offered extreme adventure trips: scaling the peak of Kilimanjaro, or exploring the marshy shores of Lake Victoria and the dense equatorial jungles. They offered a far more hands-on experience than the usual tourist safaris.

  Even though Kenya was three time zones ahead of England, Haida answered the phone in her office and enthusiastically agreed to help them.

  Her job accomplished, Agatha pulled Watson onto her lap and curled up to sleep under the soft blanket in her room. They’d be traveling toward the equator as soon as the sun rose!

  Chandler had booked them a flight with KLM, a Dutch airline that made a stopover in Amsterdam. During the two-hour wait in Schiphol Airport before they continued their trip, Dash finally started to show the first signs of life.

  “Wh-where are we?” he asked, blinking sleep-heavy eyelids. “Is this Africa?” His feet dragged as he stumbled along, holding on to the butler’s mighty arm. It certainly wasn’t the first time his companions had seen him stumble around like a sleep-deprived zombie, but this time his tiredness was well earned. He’d stayed up all night
poring over the case file documents, and then read an in-depth book about Kenya from Agatha’s library.

  Agatha, who was jotting down notes in the new notebook she’d bought on Portobello Road, guided him into a chair in the waiting room. “Go back to sleep. It won’t be long now.”

  Chandler struggled to hold back a chuckle at Agatha’s lie. In truth, they were less than halfway through their voyage, which would be eleven hours in total.

  Their flight resumed without a hitch. Soon they were soaring over the blue Mediterranean Sea, then following the river Nile south, past the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, the site of their first adventure together. Agatha passed the time playing with Watson, watching the magnificent landscapes from the window, and reviewing her notes with Chandler. Eventually, she dozed off on her cousin’s shoulder.

  As they were landing at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, Dash woke with a scream. “Ahhh! A hyena! It’s on top of me!”

  Agatha straightened her back and rubbed her eyes. “Someday I’d really like to find out what goes on in your head when you’re sleeping,” she said, feigning offense. She winked at Chandler. “Do I look like a hyena to you?”

  “No, of course not, Miss,” the butler replied promptly.

  The three companions had prepared for the cool Kenyan nights, and pulled fleece jackets on over their sweaters and cargo shorts.

  The humidity enveloped them as soon as they stepped off the plane. It was already well into the evening, and the giant red sun was dipping below the horizon.

  As they retrieved their luggage, they were besieged by children offering to take them on safari. Dash, still sleep-dazed from the trip, kept waving “no” with his hand. Suddenly they were approached by a woman in her early thirties. She had short hair, an athletic build, and wore a camouflage-print uniform. She stared at him with intense dark eyes.

  “What do you want?” asked the young detective. “We’re in a bit of a hurry . . .”

  “And where are you in such a hurry to go without me, Dashiell Mistery?” she demanded.

  Dash was thrown off guard.

  “You’re . . . are you Haida?” he asked, stunned. He had never seen a photo of his muscular, beautiful African cousin.

  Looking at Agatha, she announced solemnly, “Haida Mistery, at your service, Agent DM14!” Then she burst out laughing and hugged the new arrivals enthusiastically. “Hey, cousin!”

  “I thought you were a soldier,” explained Dash, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I guess your camouflage gear prevents animals from noticing you in the jungle . . .”

  “The savanna!” Haida corrected him. “Grasslands, not vines. Agatha told me that we’re heading south to the Masai Mara Reserve.”

  “Our dear Dash stayed up all night reading a huge illustrated guidebook about Kenya,” Agatha chimed in with a friendly smile. “But clearly it hasn’t done him much good!” Then she got more serious. “How about we get some dinner, find someplace to sleep tonight, and leave for Masai Mara first thing in the morning?”

  Haida nodded, escorting the group toward the exit. “We can sleep at my office, though we’ll have to rough it a bit. It’s not very big, but I don’t spend much time in the city. I prefer to sleep under the stars!”

  They soon found out that she was telling the truth. After a meal of delicious chicken stew, rice, and yams, they went to the Outer Limits Safari Agency office. The agency was on a side street in central Nairobi and looked like a converted garage, with a small glass-walled room full of brochures, itineraries, and framed nature photos of exotic landscapes and animals.

  “My customers are usually extreme-sports fanatics and thrill-seekers, but I’ll take all possible safety precautions with you,” said Haida, pointing at an ancient four-by-four truck. The Land Rover was splattered with mud, its interior covered with dust and dry twigs. Haida invited Chandler to add their luggage to the pile of camping equipment, canned food, and tanks of water and gas that she’d loaded before their arrival. Dash took a closer look at the vehicle. It had a sunroof and six seats, all torn and covered with sand. Judging from its shabby appearance, it looked like it had already crossed half of Africa!

  They slept inside a small pop-up tent that Haida had set up in the back of the garage. A few minutes after wriggling into his sleeping bag, Dash asked shyly, “Could we open the screens a little? It’s superhot in here!”

  “At your own risk,” said Haida, grinning.

  Agatha pulled some insect repellent out of her bag, spritzed her skin, and silently passed it to Chandler and Haida, while Dash stuck his head outside the tent flap.

  “I recommend getting a bit of fresh air, guys!” exclaimed Dash. “It’s nice and cool out here!”

  At that moment, a swarm of mosquitoes and gnats took aim and started to bite him all over.

  “It’s an invasion!” he yelled, waving his arms like an octopus. “Zip up the tent or they’ll eat us alive!”

  Chandler zipped up the tent as everyone else had a laugh. Even Watson seemed amused.

  “Consider that a lesson in the first rule of survival, Agent DM14,” said Haida when the laughter died down. “Never underestimate the hidden dangers of African wildlife!”

  Agatha took this as a chance to gather more information about the risks they might face on their mission. Haida was not a hunting guide, but she’d had close encounters with lions, leopards, elephants, black rhinos, and Cape buffalo during her extreme-sport adventures.

  “The famous Big Five,” Agatha commented, captivated by Haida’s hair-raising stories. “The most dangerous animals on the African continent!”

  “That’s right,” said Haida. “But don’t underestimate herd animals like wildebeest, zebras, and antelopes, and not just because you could end up under their hooves . . .”

  “. . . but also because they attract predators,” Agatha finished her sentence.

  Haida nodded agreement. “There are also vultures, snakes, crocodiles, hippos, and all kinds of venomous insects,” she continued cheerfully, rolling onto her side. “To be honest, it’s best if you don’t leave the Land Rover without me tomorrow. I have a rifle for emergencies.”

  Dash gave a sigh. “Well, that’s not going to help with those killer mosquitoes,” he said. “But I swear I’ll stick close by at all times and follow your advice to the letter!”

  With this promise, the conversation ended and they all fell into a deep sleep.

  They rose at dawn, splashed their faces with water, and hit the streets of Nairobi in the Land Rover. The city was a mixture of modern high-rises, bright pastel buildings, and gritty open-air markets dotting the street like dark bruises. Heavy smoke from industrial chimneys rose over the palm trees, and the air was thick and dusty. They began making their way up a wide road with cracks in the asphalt and potholes that made them bounce out of their seats. Along the roadside, they saw skeletal cars left to rust, tin-roofed shacks, and an endless procession of women and children carrying wares.

  This bleak urban panorama pulled at the heartstrings of the wealthy Londoners, who looked out in silence until the landscape became wilder and full of color.

  “This is where the parks and reserves begin,” Haida warned. “It will take us another four or five hours to get to Masai Mara, barring any setbacks.”

  This was not an encouraging statement. Half an hour later, Watson began to meow in his cat carrier, sniffing the air and looking around. Chandler smelled something strange as well and asked, “Do you smell something burning?”

  The Land Rover screeched to a sudden halt. Haida threw open the door and jumped out, quickly followed by the others. Noxious fumes rose from the engine.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just the oil,” Haida reassured them. “Second rule of survival: Never travel without backup supplies.”

  While Haida changed the oil, Dash and Agatha took off their jackets. The temperature
was rising with every minute and the sun baked down on their heads. Dash wanted to check the forecast on his EyeNet, and also make sure there was satellite reception this far from Nairobi. He took it out, fiddling with the keypad as Agatha stretched her legs. “Is it working all right?” she asked Dash.

  “Perfect reception,” he said with a grin. Then he leaned in and whispered, “But I could sure do without this unplanned pit stop . . .”

  “Don’t worry, we’re in good hands with Haida,” Agatha said with a smile. “I trust any woman who knows how to change her own oil.”

  Dash looked out at the unbroken horizon, already shimmering with the heat. “Did you tell her about our secret mission?”

  “Not the details,” replied his cousin. “If you like, we can make up a cover story.”

  The student detective thought for a moment. “No, let’s tell her everything. We’ll need her expertise!” he decided. So for the rest of the journey they talked about the Masai, the Belgian anthropologists, and the strange case of the missing white giraffe.

  By noon, the Masai Mara National Reserve appeared in all its splendor. Haida stopped the Land Rover on an outcrop to allow the children to take in the majestic landscape.

  The world seemed to be split in two; the turquoise sky arching above, and a vast valley of grass and umbrella-shaped acacia trees below.

  Herds of wildebeest and zebras grazed in silence, ready to move at the slightest hint of danger. Flamingos crossed the sky.

  Agatha took out her binoculars. “It feels like we’ve stepped a million years back in time,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion.

  While she and Dash gawked at the wildlife, Haida showed Chandler a few of her tricks for maintaining the Land Rover. He listened intently, petting Watson’s fur. Watson was twitching, scratching, and yowling as he struggled to free himself. He was probably feeling the call of the wild and yearning to stalk some unseen African rodent. By the time they reassembled, everyone was smiling serenely and could not wait to get on with their mission. But first, they sat in the shade of the Land Rover, eating some canned meat and beans before they continued their trip.