“Great tourist stuff,” said Mckib. “They love the story.”
“The Mau Mau burned it down,” said Kash, “but it’s been rebuilt.”
They made camp before sundown. They were just north of the equator by the western slopes of Mount Kenya, and a white cloud had formed over its peak.
****
By afternoon of the second day they had reached Nanyuki, its street thronging with people. Browning accelerated his truck around the Land Rover, bumping over potholes that were only half filled with gravel. He slammed on the brakes and came to a halt, dust flying in front of a small building with faded lettering: “The Settler’s Store.”
Sable looked at Kash and saw his restrained irritation as he had to brake the Land Rover while glancing into the rearview mirror to see if the next truck would stop before plowing into their back end.
“What got into him?”
Browning swung down from the cab, patting his bare belly while his shirt draped open.
Kash’s eyes narrowed as the dust blew against them, and Sable covered her face with a handkerchief.
“What are you doing?” Kash gritted. “I didn’t plan on stopping here.”
“Ah, c’mon, Hallet! Loosen up! I gotta ‘ave ma’ beer. We’re dyin’ of thirst, me and Mateo both!”
Mateo was Maasai and had graduated from Nairobi University. Mckib had told her at the camp the night before that Mateo had once belonged to the Kenya Rifles military. Sable had mentioned seeing Kash talking to him alone several times on the safari. “Are they friends?” she had asked.
“Not in public,” said Mckib, giving her a wink. She understood this to mean that Mateo was not one of Browning’s men. There were several others who didn’t look to be so either, men of quiet and rugged demeanor whom she’d noticed stayed to themselves, were alert, and seemed to look to Kash for instructions.
Outside the store, she saw Mateo look over at Kash before following Browning and several others of the crew into the store.
Kash wore a bored expression as he got out from behind the wheel. “Wait here,” he told her. “Browning needs his bottle.”
Kash followed them inside the market, and Sable turned to Mckibber. “He doesn’t like Browning, and Browning seems to know it, so why do they work together?”
Mckib got out to stretch. “Browning owes him money. He’s got no choice but to put up with Kash. You’re right, the feeling is mutual.”
A while later she glanced into the store and saw that it was still busy inside. This was probably the most business they’d had in weeks. She asked hurriedly, “Did Kash buy into the outfit to keep tabs on Browning?”
Mckibber turned his head, his eyes keen beneath his silver brows. “Always did know you’d see the truth ‘bout Kash eventually. It’s Adler and Browning who are the unlikely teammates. Adler needs his foul hunters to poach ivory.”
Sable was careful to not show her emotions in case some of the crew noticed them talking. “It was Dr. Adler who warned me about Browning and his crew,” she said. “He seems to think Kash and Browning want to hunt elephants in Marsabit.”
“Bah. The devil was a liar from the beginning. That’s what Adler’s doing. It’s him that’s paying Browning to try for the elephants. But we’ll stop ‘em. Your father’s involved with us, too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I ain’t supposed to tell you at all. Kash told me to keep me mouth buttoned.”
“Kash bought in with Browning to keep an eye on him?”
“Yep. When Seth died, the outfit was in debt at Tanga. Kash used the opportunity to buy in. Browning didn’t know who he was till it was too late. He knows now…Vince told him, to be sure. So he’s as restless as a tiger walkin’ on coals.”
Sable had long ago begun to suspect as much after Kash told her he was working for the government, but she had refused to believe that Vince could be involved. She still had her misgivings, but they were growing weaker by the hour.
The dusty white van came up beside them, and the driver left the motor running as Vince wound down the window and spoke, his eyes flickering with impatience. “Why did Browning stop? What’s he doing now?”
If Vince was working with the outfit, it wasn’t because he liked Browning either, she thought.
“He’s thirsty,” said Sable with a wry smile.
Vince said something under his breath and climbed out, going inside the store.
Sable walked up to the side of the van, where Kate sat fanning herself with her hat. “I’m not getting out unless they have ice for sale—or a bathroom with running water.”
“Don’t waste your time,” said Sable.
Kate groaned. “That’s all Browning needs is something to fuzzy his brains. He can’t drive straight as it is. And this driver isn’t much better. He’s got a cassette player with hard rock music, and Vince is about to have a nervous breakdown.” She climbed over the baggage. “I’m riding the rest of the way in the back of the Land Rover with Mckib.”
The store had once belonged to an East Indian merchant, Mckibber told them. “Safaris used to load up here with tinned foods and fresh vegetables before entering the NFD. This is the last spot before Samburu, and the desert is next.”
The store had been Kenyanized long ago, and the shelves were mostly empty except for local vegetables and some sacks of maize flour called “posho.” Sable checked the fresh fruit but decided against the melons, since they were overripe from sitting out in the heat. Flies were everywhere, crawling over the fruit and root vegetables. She looked off toward the open country near the northern slopes of the mountain and saw huts and patches of abandoned cultivation.
“After the settlers left, the land was given to the Meru and Samburu,” said Mckib.
Sable, however, saw little sign of people, cattle, or prosperity.
A minute later Browning and some of his crew came out of the store with warm beer and a bag of cigarettes.
Kash settled his hat and reached in back for the water, watching Vince walk up and speak to Browning. Sable noticed, too, but said nothing as they got back into the Land Rover. Kash backed up and drove in front of the truck and headed for Mount Kenya, where the track would bring them to over six thousand feet.
They were now snaking down the switchback path on the shoulder of Mount Kenya toward the brink of the Northern Frontier District, a burned-out plain reaching into an infinity of desert in which towering buttes of pale red rock stood like castles shattered by wind and sand. Dust devils whirled. Sable squinted, seeing no horizon. The deadness of the country lost itself in a haze; the land and sky were the same opaque sun-blistered white, and away to the left the blurred shape of mountains arose like ghosts on the edge of visibility. She found it appalling, yet breathtaking.
“Can elephants cross this vast desert to reach the mountains of Marsabit?” she asked Kash.
“Yes. Take a closer look. You’ll see this isn’t like the great Chalbi Desert. There are trees and scrub, and the elephants know where the water is.”
Sable felt a little better and settled back, trying not to think about the heat and hot wind. Both she and Kate had worn long-sleeved blouses and wide-brimmed hats and slathered on mounds of sunscreen before they left camp that morning, knowing they would face the blistering desert.
They coasted down into the oven heat of the desert and drove late into the afternoon, until the terrain began to change—more trees, shrubs, and doum palms.
“Kash likes to camp at Lolokwe,” said Mckib of the great bare-topped sugarloaf mountain that stood out on the plain north toward Maralal.
Sable looked off, shading her eyes, and saw the sides of the mountain looking crimson in the sunset.
That night when they made camp, Sable and Kate washed in the small stream. Kate had finished first, and the twilight was turning purple as Sable hung her laundered blouse on a thornbush to dry during the night. She retrieved her bar of soap from the stream and was hastening her way back the short distance
to the camp. A fire was already burning, and the refreshing smell of supper clung to the air. As she started for her tent, she saw Kash and Mateo talking in low tones. Another man joined them, a soft-spoken European whom Kate had pointed out as a curiosity the day before.
“That man can’t be one of Browning’s. Look at him—he even poured my coffee this morning and said, ‘Did you sleep all right, ma’am?’”
Sable had remained thoughtful. Kate had been right. At least a half dozen hunters with the outfit were too polite and polished to be poachers for Smith and Browning. Then who were they? And what were they doing?
Seeing Kash and Mateo talking with a man who’d quietly joined them, she grew more curious. Kash must have felt her stare, for he looked toward her. She expected to see his surprise or concern at being found in a huddle and wondered why he showed no response. He said something to the other two, who glanced her way, and then she walked on as if going farther downstream to wash.
Kash walked toward her carrying a towel and a clean khaki shirt, his revolver stuffed in his belt.
“You shouldn’t be away from camp alone. It’s getting dark. This is lion country.”
She wanted information about him. “Those two men—they’re different from the others.”
He acted casual and lifted a brow. “Different?”
Her half-smile suggested she saw through his evasive behavior. “Some in your outfit are loyal to you, others to Browning.”
He smiled, disarming her. “Are they? Hunters are loyal to whoever pays them the most.”
“Those two men—Mateo and…?” She waited for the name of the second man.
“Jim.”
“Yes, they’re different from most of the others. They even eat differently. Jim used a knife and fork. And Mateo did an unusual thing: when Browning handed him a mug of coffee and walked away, Mateo smelled it first before drinking it.”
He rubbed his chin as though seriously considering. “Let’s hope Vince and Browning aren’t so observant.”
She took him in briefly, trying to ignore her feelings. “Then I was right. They’re working for you; they’re handpicked.”
He threw the towel over his shoulder and glanced toward camp as if to see where Vince and Browning were. She followed his gaze and saw them standing by the campfire.
“They’re loyal to me, yes. They’re working for the government to crack the international poaching ring.”
The news was exhilarating because it also meant Kash had told her the truth about himself and what he was doing with zoo hunters. She wanted to smile, but under his steady gaze she opted to look away, not wishing to alert him to her feelings.
“I wonder if you noticed anything else,” he asked quietly, and when she looked at him curiously, he commented, “Vince and Browning had a late powwow in one of the trucks last night. They thought we were all asleep.”
She was bothered by this. “I fell asleep early and heard nothing until this morning.”
The cobalt depths of his eyes showed impatience over Vince.
“Considering what I’ve already told you about Adler, you should know he’s raising money for the work at Lake Rudolf by selling ivory.”
The evidence continued to stack against Vince, and she could not continue to avoid the obvious. He was involved in something unpleasant.
“Browning’s been working for Adler for over a year,” he said.
“So that’s why you bought into this outfit?” And when he frowned a little, she explained, “Mckib told me you loaned them money.”
“I think I’ve said before that he talks too freely.”
“Don’t be mad at him,” she soothed. “I have to know sometime about what you’re up to, don’t I?”
“Seth was killed while he worked for Browning, as I told you at Amboseli. Now I know why.”
She waited tensely, hoping he would explain. He seemed to consider. “Seth was on to Adler and Browning. He guessed that a photographic safari wasn’t on the up and up. He was to lead them into Norongoro, but he knew it wasn’t to film the rhino but to kill two that they knew were feeding in the area. Seth led the safari and sacrificed those two rhinos to obtain footage of the kills—and those involved. He felt he could do more to stop the cartel in the future by going along with it. He got what he wanted—the kills on film—and on that film he got footage of Vince, Browning, and another man named Macklin in the background with the Africans.”
Sable stared at him. “You…you mean they knew Seth had them on film, and they killed him for it?”
Kash was thoughtful as he watched Vince set up his canvas chair beside the van and sit down with his supper. Browning sauntered up, leaning against the van, talking to him.
“I’m now sure it’s the reason Seth is dead.”
She glanced behind her toward camp, feeling afraid for the first time. Poaching she despised; murdering men was something else! And Kash actually believed the cartel—with Vince and Browning’s cooperation—had arranged Seth’s death to silence him and—
She turned quickly, her eyes searching his hopefully. “Do you have the film Seth took?”
Kash looked moody. “No. Seth’s camera is missing. Either Browning took it, or Vince. I looked through Browning’s things back at the trailer camp at the Tanzanian camp. It wasn’t there. If he was smart he would have destroyed it, but Browning isn’t smart. And that’s what I’m counting on.”
She struggled to speak the words. “Would Vince have taken it?”
His eyes came to hers and searched, and she looked away. They both understood that this was the first time she had admitted he was probably involved.
“Vince doesn’t have it. I’ve already checked his room at Kenyatta, and before that in Nairobi. He might have buried it somewhere, but I’m thinking he never had it. There’s a chance Browning still has it somewhere—or the hunter named Macklin.”
She had never heard of Macklin, but the way Kash spoke his name told her the man was clever and dangerous.
Sable remembered the camera equipment she’d seen in the truck that Browning drove. She looked at Kash, but he was watching the camp. She noted the determination of his handsome jaw and suddenly feared for his life. If the hunting cartel knew he was on to them, they wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate Kash in the way they had Seth.
She feared to tell him of the camera equipment and debated her silence during supper that night. She must tell him, she thought, as soon as they arrive at Samburu.
****
As the Africans got busy gathering wood in a panga for the fire, the tents were set up beneath Lolokwe. Colonies of weaver birds darted noisily in and out of the wait-a-bit thorn trees, their nests looking like clusters of coconuts hanging in the bare branches. Kash had once told her about an experiment that had shown that the knowledge to weave their spherical basket nests was programmed into their genes by the great Creator; it was not a trial-and-error sort of adaptation that was learned and taught to their offspring as the evolutionists believed. He had helped a scientist raise five generations of weaver birds without any nesting material in order to prove that any learned skill would become entirely lost. It was found, however, that as soon as nesting material was reintroduced, later generations of birds began skillfully weaving. The scientist had also stated that since the genetic makeup of each parent bird is fixed at conception, any skill that it learns cannot be genetically passed on to its offspring. The scientist was entirely without an explanation as to the origin of the weaver bird’s abilities. Kash had said the scientist had disallowed the best explanation of the experiment’s result—“that it was an awesome testament to the designer, creator, encoder, and programmer of the DNA molecule.”
Silver-breasted blackbirds watched curiously but showed no alarm at the presence of humans. The campfire was blazing, and Mckib oversaw the making of supper with the help of the old African Kumba, who went about his business preparing a grill with chopped pieces of wood.
The dusk was brief, the night solitary and
inky black. Above, the stars were distant and brilliant. Everything was suddenly silent with the birds quiet and the night animals not yet on the prowl.
Kate’s voice was nearly a whisper as she sat close beside Sable. “Are you nervous, camping out like this in the heart of wild Africa?”
“No,” she said, but as their eyes met they suddenly laughed quietly, for they were both aware of the dangers that lurked.
A faint breeze was coming off the mountain and Mckib sniffed the air. “Rain,” he said.
Vince looked taut and weary as he came up and sat beside Sable, drinking his black coffee. “Tomorrow we’ll be at Skyler’s camp,” he said. “Once Kate is situated there and the supplies unloaded, we can arrange a flight to Lake Rudolf to meet Dr. Katherine Walsh and Dr. Willard. Kash has offered to bring us there.”
Sable was rather surprised that Kash would have mentioned it to Vince, since he wouldn’t want Vince present when he brought her there.
Kash came up and stooped on his haunches, facing them, the fire behind him. “Don’t leave your tents once we get you inside for the night.”
“No warning necessary,” said Kate good-naturedly, but Sable was curious.
“Do you expect lions?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“It’s snakes and scorpions he’s concerned about,” said Vince. “Is that right, Kash?”
One could hardly tell the two men were enemies, she thought.
Vince looked at her. “They’re likely to be crawling about in the cooler night.”
Kash moved a few feet away and, using a twig, turned over the sandy dirt. Sable’s skin prickled when a scorpion with front pinchers extended crawled out, irritated at being disturbed.
“They burrow just beneath the surface,” said Kash lightly. “There are hundreds of them in this area. Just be careful where you walk.”
Sable needed no further warnings.
After exceptionally tender roasted strips of beef and a potato that the cook had baked on the grill, they ate fresh fruit, then enjoyed coffee and tea. Sable, aware that Vince appeared to be watching her, tried not to look at Kash. She was expecting him to tell her news about her father, but as yet they hadn’t been left alone for even a few minutes. When supper was over and the dishes and cooking utensils cleared away into one of the smaller trucks, Kate yawned and stood, said good-night, and headed for her sleeping bag. Sable sat by the fire hoping Vince, too, would retire and leave her and Kash alone.
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