Sam Harris Adventure Box Set

by P J Skinner

  She stepped outside, the last of the rain dripping off the zinc roof in warm droplets onto her tense back. The desire to hide in her room crept over her like a black cloud over a mountain. Then, she saw something glitter in the storm drain beside the office, like the flash of a kingfisher or a peacock’s tail, iridescent.

  She bent down to remove some leaves and gasped. Lying dead on its back was a beetle with shimmering blue wings, one of which had unfolded and was jammed open by a twig. She reached down and picked it up, straightening the wing and folding it back along the body.

  It had been washed into the drain with several Rhinoceros beetles which had also drowned in the torrent. They lay in a tangle of limbs and horns over the grid covering the drain, their matt black carapaces shiny with water.

  Gathering them together, she went back into her office and placed them to dry on the dado rail which ran around the office. The beetle book proved harder to find than she had imagined as it had wedged itself behind the drawer in her desk. She scanned the pages, looking for a photograph of the strange beetle she had found in the storm drain.

  There it was, Colophon beetle, a genus in the stag beetle family, but hers was iridescent blue. These were black or brown and supposed to be endemic to South Africa, confined to restricted ranges of particular mountain ranges. She picked up the beetle again and examined it with more care. Oh God, we have a rare sub-species of a beetle on our project.

  She put it back on the dado rail wrapped in tissue and groaned. As if she didn’t have enough problems. She kicked the chair which skidded into the desk almost knocking the computer screen on the floor. For fucks sake, what am I going to do?

  Alain put his head around the door and his face fell when he noticed her expression.

  ‘Oh, um, should I come back later?’

  Sam looked around the office at the mouldy pages strewn all over the floor and the beetles on the dado rail. She was conscious of her swollen eyes and blotchy face. She sighed.

  ‘No, that’s okay. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s not important, but I’m worried now. Did someone upset you?’

  ‘No, I’m just…’

  Despite herself, Sam started to cry. She had shoved the ambush in the boardroom to the recesses of her mind, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened, but now the memories surged back suffocating her. Forgetting that he was one of the people responsible for the inquisition in Johannesburg, she recounted the horror of what happened in the board room, blow by blow, sobbing as she remembered the awful shock.

  Alain listened without interrupting, which was just what she needed. Once the cork was out of the bottle, the anguish flooded out. Without intending to, she also told him about the discovery that someone had stolen a lot of money from the project, probably with collusion from head office. She gestured at the mouldy files, choking on her anger.

  ‘There’s nothing in here. It’s so frustrating. I can’t prove a thing even though it makes the schemes around here look like small beer. Someone doesn’t want me to succeed but I can’t fail, I refuse.’

  She had finished and was clearing her nose with the force of a leaf blower. Alain couldn’t look her in the eye. She felt embarrassed and flapped her hands at him.

  ‘Well, there’s also the business of the elephants and the hospital and so on. I let it get to me. I’m sorry you had to see this.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I understand.’

  But he pushed his chair back, and it fell on the floor where he groped for it while watching her face and then backed out of her office muttering that he was busy, his expression panicked.

  Sam felt even worse. Too late now. Better out than in and all that. Alain was trustworthy. He wouldn’t spill the beans, not after the room thing. She collected the files together and put them back into the cabinets.

  ***

  Jacques watched with curiosity as Sam foraged for dead beetles in the storm drains around the square. Engrossed in her task, she bit her bottom lip until it was crimson. She was bent double for several minutes and she rubbed her back muscles when she straightened up. He noticed the bags under her eyes and the slump of the shoulders as she walked across to the office building.

  ‘What’s up with Sam?’ he said.

  ‘She’s a woman,’ said Hans. ‘Nobody can tell.’

  ‘Something happened in Johannesburg. She hasn’t been the same since.’

  ‘Are you forgetting about the elephants?’ said Hans.

  ‘No, but she was down before then. And she’s got worse.’

  ‘You’re soft on her. Get over it. We are not allowed feelings for clients. I thought we had an agreement.’

  ‘What if I am? She’s special. Anyway, I haven’t gone near her.’

  ‘She must be suspicious by now then. You make it so obvious that you are avoiding her.’

  ‘Jesus, Hans, haven’t you got anything better to do?’

  ‘You asked.’

  ***

  Hot shame enveloped Alain as he walked towards his cabin. He stopped and looked at the sky where the stars had vanquished the clouds and jeered at him. Philippe. It was his fault. He was the source of all the gossip and malice in camp that the boss in Goro received. Alain had never met Charlie Okito and never wanted to. Everything he had heard about that man made him either cross or afraid.

  Alain swore out loud just as Bruno emerged from the canteen wiping his mouth on his sleeve and easing his belt over his plump stomach.

  ‘What’s up, brother?’ said Bruno. ‘You look troubled.’

  ‘Can I trust you to be discrete?’ said Alain

  ‘Is that a joke? Who listens to me?’

  ‘Do you want to drink a beer with me in the shack outside the main gates? It’s private there.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.’

  ***

  When Alain invited him for a beer, Bruno had presumed they would talk about Alain’s relationship with a woman his family disapproved of, something he had confided only to Bruno. But instead, Alain had told him of his shameful capitulation to Philippe, and the resulting witch hunt directed at Sam in head office. The domino effect of a small mistake appalled him.

  ‘I had no idea. Why didn’t they ask us if she is a racist?’ said Bruno. ‘We’d have set them right.’

  ‘What do you think of her?’ Alain asked him. ‘Generally, I mean.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, before she arrived, you lot treated me like a laughingstock. Mama Sam treats me like a professional. She respects my qualifications. I’m happy she’s here,’ said Bruno.

  Alain flushed and swirled his beer around the bottle avoiding Bruno’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. I got involved with that bullying too. I let myself be carried along by the crowd. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘That’s okay. I shouldn’t have allowed it. Sometimes it’s easier to be a door mat than fight back,’ said Bruno.

  ‘I’d like to help her, but I have no power here and no contacts in Goro. The information she needs must be in the files kept in Charlie Okito’s office, but how do we get it without alerting him?’ said Alain.

  Bruno had not answered but guilt crept into his pores and permeated his being. He held the key. Was he brave enough to use it?

  Chapter XXVI

  Jean Delacroix was as good as his word. He turned up in Sam’s office the afternoon of the stakeholder meeting in great humour.

  ‘Ah, there you are. I’ve got the posters. And some stands to hang them on,’ he said.

  ‘Already? I can’t believe it. You’re a genius.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ He grinned. ‘Hey, you’ve got a great collection of beetles there. What’s the one wrapped in tissue?’

  ‘Oh, the same, I was trying to dry it out,’ said Sam, pushing it out of sight.

  ‘You know they’ll smell terrible after a couple of days? You need to hang them outside on a thread so they’ll dry without being eaten by ants.’

&n
bsp; ‘But won’t ants eat the insides and leave the carapaces?’

  ‘They’ll also eat connecting tissue and the legs will fall off.’

  ‘Ah, okay. I’ll hang them under the eaves so the rain doesn’t get them. Do you want a coffee before we go?’

  ***

  Hans swung the car into a space beside the meeting hall and helped Sam and Jean to unload the posters and stands from the back. They set them up inside the hall at the centre of the horseshoe-shaped table used by the stakeholders. Sam tried not to look at the gruesome images. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her as the odour of blood came back, suffocating her.

  She smoked one of Jean’s Gitanes outside the hall, blowing the smoke into the cool evening air.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Hans. ‘Only, Jacques worries about you.’

  Sam laughed. A short barking sound which sounded fake, even to her.

  ‘And you aren’t? Come on Mr Tough Guy, admit it.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed, until he pointed it out,’ said Hans, squirming, ‘but your demeanour has been subdued.’

  ‘Just busy,’ said Sam. ‘Masaibu by name, Masaibu by nature.’

  It was Hans’ turn to laugh, but he didn’t.

  By the time they entered the hall, most people had taken their seats. Animated conversations filled the air. Some people’s faces wore expressions of disgust as they gesticulated at the posters. The mayor left his seat to shake Jean’s hand and shepherded Sam to hers. He had an air of doom about him and couldn’t meet Sam’s eye. It occurred to her that Victor might have taken money from the perpetrators for turning a blind eye to the carnage. She shuddered and pushed the idea out of her mind.

  With the usual formalities over, Sam stood up to address the meeting and caught sight of Joseph Kaba, who flicked at the flies congregating over his bag of biltong with some kind of whisk. She screwed up her eyes to focus on it and gasped. She grabbed the edge of the table afraid she might faint. Hans was at her side, in one swift movement, naked power on show as his muscles rippled with anticipation.

  ‘Sam. Are you okay?’ he said, spinning her around and grabbing her by the shoulders.

  ‘Kaba,’ she whispered. ‘Look at his fly whisk.’

  Hans glanced at Kaba who had not noticed Sam’s distress and was flicking flies off his food with the air of a schoolboy trying out his new catapult. Hans turned back to Sam, his eyes narrowed like the slits on a pillbox.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘The bastard is using an elephant tail. I can take him down if you want.’

  The knuckles on the hands clutching her shoulders had gone white. She breathed deeply and put her own right hand up onto his.

  ‘You’re forgetting something,’ she said. ‘Watch soft power in action.’

  For a split-second, Hans looked as if he would ignore her plea, then a smile passed across his eyes like a cat slipping through a fence. He sat down again.

  Sam turned to face the now curious audience.

  ‘I’m sure you noticed the posters on display in the hall this evening. They are shocking, but I intended them to shock. I took these photographs myself, in the forest reserve outside Masaibu ten days ago,’ she said.

  A spontaneous exclamation escaped from the attendees. Joseph Kaba, who had been feigning disinterest and slumped in his chair with half-closed eyes, sat bolt upright in his chair as if transfixed. She continued.

  ‘Poachers have entered the reserve and killed half of the herd for their tusks and, unless we do something, they’ll be back for the rest.’

  ‘But who would do such a thing?’ said the representative of the shopkeepers.

  ‘Someone with manpower and weapons,’ said Hans, glaring at Joseph Kaba, who had recovered somewhat and glared back.

  ‘But where are the tusks?’ said Victor, ‘did you find them too?’

  Sam let the question sink in with her audience before she answered.

  ‘We not only found them, mayor, we burned them,’ said Sam.

  There was a crash as Joseph Kaba stood up and threw his part of the table across the floor, his glass shattering on impact.

  ‘You had no right,’ he roared, the veins on his neck standing out in fury. ‘You’ll regret this, you bitch.’

  Before anyone could react, he stormed out of the building, slamming the door so hard that spiders fell from the rafters.

  Sam flushed scarlet with triumph as all eyes turned back to her. This was her chance to convince them. She needed to get money for the rangers or it was all in vain.

  ‘Now, more than ever, we need to fund extra rangers for the park. I’m begging you,’ she said.

  ‘We need all the money available to repair the road after the rains. There is no way we can pay for rangers right now.’

  The mayor was apologetic but his relief was palpable. Kaba must have got to him. There was a murmur of agreement. No one defended her or the elephants. Sam was staring defeat in the face.

  Then, Ota Benga, the pygmy, jumped onto the table and thumped his puny chest with his hand. He declaimed in Swahili. One of the shopkeepers translated what he said.

  ‘The Pygmies can help. We are hunters and trackers, and we already live in the forest and know every inch. We can protect the elephants for you,’

  ‘How will you protect them? With spears? They will mow you down with machine guns,’ said Hans.

  ‘They will not see us. We are the invisible people. If you give us radios, we can call the Rangers if we see poachers. That way, you will not need any extra rangers, as we can be their eyes on the ground.’

  ‘And what will you get out of this?’ said Victor.

  ‘We want to hunt in the forest as before, gather nuts and berries and take honey from the bees. It will not cost you any money. We need little. Oh, and milk for the elephant.’

  ‘The elephant?’

  ‘We saved a baby from the slaughter. It drinks a lot of milk,’ said Ota.

  There was silence. Ota Benga got off the table and nodded at Sam and Hans.

  ‘You know where to find me,’ he said.

  He left the hall. There was the sound of the door shutting, and then a cacophony of comments, everyone talking over each over. The mayor held up his hands for silence.

  ‘We will leave the matter with Consaf then,’ he said.

  ‘Please let me know if you spot any suspicious behaviour in town,’ said Sam. ‘I understand the priority for funding the road, but we must try to protect the elephants. Do you want to tell your children that they are extinct because you would not act to save them?’

  The shell-shocked attendees filed out of the meeting, murmuring, most avoiding the posters with their eyes.

  They left Sam and Jean in the empty hall while Hans left to smoke a cigarette.

  ‘Why don’t you hire the pygmies officially?’ she said.

  ‘Hire them? What do you mean?’

  ‘If WCO hired them to help the rangers, they could take prey instead of payment without fear of reprisals.’

  He raised his head from his coffee and commented.

  ‘They’d still need radios.’

  ‘I’m sure Consaf could cough up the cash for a new transmitter and aerials and so on,’ said Sam, who had no idea if this was true.

  ‘I must speak to head office, and to Ota. It won’t be an immediate decision. Let me get back to you,’ said Jean

  ‘What will the rangers think?’ said Sam.

  ‘Um, it could be a little tricky,’ said Jean, wrinkling his nose.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, some rangers are ex-rebels and they used to hunt the pygmies for fun.’

  ‘They ate them, according to Hans,’ said Sam.

  ‘I didn’t want to say so, but I have it on good authority.’

  ‘Can we get them together for a negotiation?’ said Sam.

  ‘I think it would be more profitable to read them all the riot act. Negotiation will not work. We should just
tell the rangers that the pygmies will work with them and lay down the ground rules for both groups. We can give them a week to think about it and to raise objections before a second meeting.’

  ‘Perfect. Have you considered writing down working rules?’

  ‘I have drafted some just now.’

  Jean reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of paper with hurried squiggles on it.

  ‘Why don’t you have a read, add your own, and get back to me with any suggestions before our next meeting?’

  ***

  The next morning Sam found Bruno waiting in her office with his habitual hangdog expression and an air of gloom that would have done justice to Eeyore. Sam refused to be drawn.

  ‘What can I do for you today? How’s progress on the refurbishments?’ she said with a cheery grin.

  Bruno fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs, avoiding her eyes.

  ‘Work is good,’ he muttered, but he didn’t look up.

  ‘Okay, I give up. What’s wrong?’

  Bruno glanced up as if gauging the likelihood of an angry reaction. Sam tried to keep her expression sympathetic, even though she was desperate for him to leave.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I was talking to Alain. He told me you need help.’

  Sam froze. What on earth had possessed Alain to spill the beans to Bruno? She fixed him with a stare.

  ‘Did he? Help with what?’

  ‘Um, the orders,’ said Bruno, squirming.

  ‘What orders?’

  ‘He told me you are looking for proof that someone logged large orders from Masaibu as filled in the head office accounts, but the items never got here. Machinery parts and such like.’ He cringed as if waiting for a blow.

  ‘Oh, well, I can’t be sure. It seemed odd finding all the heavy machinery broken down when I got here, so I checked the orders at head office. I discovered that they had approved spare parts and sent the money to Goro. That’s where it seems to have stayed.’