by Rula Sinara
Tessa nodded.
“That South Africa case was part of a bigger operation,” Ben added. “And there was another one a few months ago to intercept wildlife trafficking through customs. We’re talking about a problem up there in scope with narcotics. And just like there are undercover narcotics agents out there, there are undercover agents posing as collectors and poachers. It doesn’t matter how long it takes—if I can pass tips on, someone can eventually work their way in to places like your art gallery to make a behind-the-scenes purchase. And if it’s real ivory or rhino horn or anything else, they’ll get caught.”
“And if I’m wrong?” Tessa asked.
“What if you’re right?” Ben said.
Mac sat back down next to her. What were the chances that Brice had had contact with the investors in that South Africa case Anna mentioned? Tessa’s chest rose and sank. She set the photos down and looked up. Her eyes were red and hollow and he wanted to wrap his arms around her like he had when her sister died.
“Okay.” She rattled off the names of individuals in the group, the curator and the gallery address, while Ben made notes. “I never wanted to be a part of anything like this,” she whispered. “I had no idea what Brice’s businesses were about when I married him. I’m here because I can’t stand by and do nothing.”
She glanced at the pictures on the table and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to accept that the person you loved and thought loved you...the one you slept beside at night...is a complete stranger capable of being involved in something so cruel? That the person you admired and trusted might turn on you? Can you not understand why a small part of me might doubt my own suspicions?” Her voice cracked, but she went on. “I may not be as confident or accomplished as he is, but I do have moral boundaries. I’m trying to do what’s right. That’s why, before coming here, I tried submitting an article that raised some red flags about local companies turning a blind eye to their product sourcing. Things like blood diamonds included.”
“You’re saying you actually submitted an article to the paper you write for, but it was declined?” Ben asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you give me the name of the person who turned it down?”
“She’s innocent. I know it. She’s a friend and...”
“Her name.”
“Katia. Katia Pollier.”
“I find it interesting that she refused it. Sounds to me like someone in power is dictating what you write and what gets published.”
“No one tells me what to write.”
Ben raised a brow at her.
“Okay, not as long as I stay restricted to this fashion column I’m assigned to.” She looked at the ceiling again and scratched her neck. “Katia told me to be careful. Right before I left. That’s what she said when she got back to me about the article. I forgot.”
That was the first Mac had heard of that. He exchanged glances with Ben, Anna and Jack.
“We all agree there are too many connections to ignore, but even that isn’t enough to pin anyone down. Yet,” Mac said.
“There are a lot of powerful people involved at various stages of the ivory trade,” Anna said. “If Brice doesn’t want to create a trail that leads to him, he won’t fund poachers or limit himself to suppliers in South Africa. Past seizures and arrests have shown that buyers don’t necessarily use suppliers in their country. These people have an intricate web system in place, making it very hard to trace illegal activity beyond the poachers themselves—that is, if they’re caught red-handed. Unfortunately, Busara isn’t the only sanctuary that has seen a rise in poaching fatalities and orphans in the past six months and the increased activity hasn’t only been in Kenya. It’s everywhere. Tanzania, South Africa...the entire region.”
“I agree,” Ben said. “We’re dealing with an ivory mafia. That’s how these people work. There’s a hierarchy. The untouchables and the expendables. Loyalty and betrayals. We may never have enough for a takedown. Even if one group is caught, others will still be out there. But if these drives have contact lists or anything like that, they would be invaluable. All it takes is a little insider information. A broken link in the chain.”
“Wait a minute. You’re implying that she go back to him and act as intelligence? No way,” Mac said. “Don’t do it, Tessa. I draw the line there. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m referring to the drives, Mac. Not sending her into the lion’s den.”
Tessa sat wide-eyed with her hands on the table. Her lips parted, but the door swung open before she could say anything. Kamau stood there with bloodstains across his shirt.
“Sorry I missed the meeting. We’ve had another killing. Anna, I need you at the clinic. We have a little guy being unloaded now.”
Anna shot up and ran out behind Kamau. A little guy. Another baby elephant orphan. Another child who’d be mourning.
Just like Ben’s children. And Nick.
The room was silent.
The photographs on the table said it all.
* * *
THE RIDE BACK to Camp Jamba was quiet. Neither of them was prepared to discuss anything in front of Nick. Tessa didn’t even want to talk to Mac. He’d just stood there and let Ben take her apart. Tessa wiped the corner of her eye and pretended her hair, windblown from the open-air ride, had irritated it. She reset her ponytail and took a drink from the thermos tucked between them.
Ben had shown a softer side after Anna, Kamau and Jack had left the room to check on the baby elephant. Mac had looked unsure, telling her he’d be back and then running off to help them. And she was left at the table with Ben. Talk about awkward. He’d given her a quick apology for being rough...and for her sister’s death...and then Niara had walked into the room with baby Noah. Thank goodness. She’d been surprised by the way Ben took Noah from her and started playing with him like a big old teddy bear. Then he’d given Tessa a lopsided grin and pointed out that he was pretty sure his wife and kids liked him. Of all things incomprehensibly male...
But even after the tension had let up in the room, it hadn’t let up inside of her. Tessa hated how unsettled she still felt.
If Brice was involved with poachers, she’d walk away and never look back. She’d never set foot in her house again. The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. To have shared a life with a man who’d sanction and profit from such horrific acts...her throat tightened and her chest ached. But what if he turned out to be innocent? Would he forgive her? Or was all of this a red flag telling her something was fundamentally wrong in their marriage?
And the mention of Allan and Maria had her head spinning. That wasn’t possible, was it? Had she been the family’s weak link all this time? A family of brave individuals who were willing to live on the edge if it meant making a difference...and she was their Achilles’ heel. The point of entry for anyone who wanted to use them.
Her head hurt and throat burned. She wanted to curl up on her cot, close her eyes and dream that none of this was happening.
Mac had said that they needed to make it back before nightfall, but he kept an even pace. No thrill rides this time, despite Nick’s begging. According to Sue, around Pippa, Nick had acted like he’d worked with animals all his life and wasn’t apprehensive at all. Tessa was sure it was all bravado. Still, it was good to see him more confident. A flash of red caught her eye and her mind pinged images of the bloody carcasses she’d been looking at.
“Wow, look! What’s that?” Nick propped himself up on his knee in the backseat for a better view. Off to their left, hundreds of men decorated in white paint, red cloths and dyed hair and beaded necklaces streamed down a distant hill and around rocks and shrubs like the meandering flow of molten lava. Tessa could hear chanting even from their remote vantage point. Mac pulled to a stop and twisted in his seat.
“Those are Masai.
They’re taking part in one of the later stages of their coming-of-age rituals. The end goal or reward is to become a Masai warrior.”
“Cool. Like prove you’re a man by hunting or surviving in the wild on your own?” Nick asked.
“Oh, it’s a lot more involved than that. They do need to prove themselves worthy warriors, but it’s a long process that involves kids around your age undergoing an emuratare ritual—getting circumcised without anesthesia—living at an emanyatta or warriors’ camp for ten years away from your family and eventually moving to a ceremonial house where they’ll drink a mixture of ox blood, beer and milk before officially becoming warriors.”
Nick winced.
“Glad you’re not a Masai teenager?” Mac said with a laugh.
“Uh, yeah.”
“It may sound bad to you, but it’s their way, their culture, and it means something to them. We have to respect that. And by the way, you don’t need to hunt to prove you’re a man. Honor and compassion make a man. I’m betting your dad taught you that,” Mac said.
“Yeah, he did.”
Tessa remembered watching the news with Nick last month, dumbfounded over the greedy, recreational killing of Boni—a beloved cheetah mother who researchers were tracking—while she was out teaching her cubs how to hunt. She knew from Nick’s outrage then that he sincerely understood what Mac was saying now.
But the mention of Nick’s dad deepened Tessa’s depressed state. What would Maria have done in her shoes? Would she have spoken up sooner? Marched straight to the authorities the second she got suspicious? Or would she have walked on eggshells like Tessa, wanting to act but worried about disrupting life as she knew it—especially if she was wrong. Was it about innocent until proven guilty or protect the innocent first and figure out the guilty later?
Mac restarted the engine and resumed their course for Camp Jamba.
The sun was low on the horizon, its final rays glistening against the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro on the horizon. A quiet thirty minutes later, a flicker of light reassured her that they were approaching camp. She turned to let Nick know, but he was lying on his side in the back of the jeep sound asleep, despite the bumps and ruts in the road.
What would Nick think of all this if he knew what was really going on? He was at such a fragile time in his life because of both the loss of his parents and the normal growing pains that came with surviving the teenage years. The mood swings. Self-discovery. One thing was for sure: he was a lot stronger than she’d been at his age. Maybe even than she was now.
* * *
MUGI AND KESI had dinner waiting, but Nick was so groggy he simply stumbled toward the tent he was sharing with Mac and collapsed on his bed. Mac made sure their mosquito netting was in place and returned to the house, only to be told that Tessa had excused herself without eating a bite, saying she was going to bed early.
Their drive to Busara had been nice. He’d felt like they were a family on an outing...or at least relatives on an outing. The ride back wasn’t the same at all and now this? She had to eat something. He wasn’t worried about Nick after the way he’d stuffed his face at Busara before they left, but Tessa had barely eaten. Even after Ben had put a hand on her shoulder and explained that he was only doing his job and he’d contact them when the contents of the drives were uncovered.
“What happened? She seemed upset,” Kesi said as she filled a plate with food. “Trust me, when a woman loses her appetite and her eyes look dim, she’s either sick or upset—and she wasn’t sick.”
“Did things not go well with the meeting?” Mugi asked as he sat down and filled his own plate.
Mac stared at his untouched food. As usual, it looked delicious. His flagging appetite took him by surprise.
“The meeting was rough,” he said. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “My contacts with KWS will probably be pissed off at me for handing over the drives to someone else. We’re on the same page, but you just never know. I trust them, but I trust my friends more, and with something like this, I trust Ben implicitly. He was tough on her, though. He said that once they secure evidence, they’ll share it with the right people and work to bring the ring down. So at this point, it’s out of our hands. Ben did ask us to give him a few more days of lying low. He’d prefer it if we—or at least Tessa and Nick—didn’t return to Hodari Lodge until he did some basic checks on her husband. Just to make sure they’re safe. I think the meeting was a bit much on her and the idea of drawing things out didn’t help.”
He picked up his fork, then set it back down.
“You do know you can stay here anytime, for as long as you like, don’t you?” Mugi said.
“Mac, he’s right. I realize you men don’t like to pour your hearts out, so take it from me. You’re our only family. That’s what you mean to us. A friend, yes, but family, too. Stay as long as you want.”
“We understand the logistics of being at Hodari. Having a safer place for your helicopter, saving gas and all that, but consider this your home. If you’re ever able to swing living here while maintaining your office there, you don’t have to ask. Nick is welcome to live here, too. He reminds me so much of you. It would bring back memories,” Mugi said.
“Thanks,” Mac said, clenching his jaw so the well of emotions would settle down. He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come out. Living here with Nick? Sure, it’d solve the space issue, but not the fact that the kid was thirteen and in school. He needed his teachers and a social life. And where would that leave Tessa? He was fairly certain the only reason Kesi and Mugi hadn’t extended the offer to her was because, so far, she was still married. She could end up staying that way, too.
Not that Mac assumed they’d all live together if she left Brice. Why had he let his mind go there?
“I know you care about her. Have faith that things will turn out however they should,” Kesi said. Mac frowned, picked up his fork and stuck it in a potato on his plate.
“You’re wrong, Kesi. I only care because she’s my sister-in-law and co-guardian.”
“She cares, too. She’s just confused and hurting.”
“She’s married. Off-limits. I have rules about things like that.”
Kesi pressed her lips together, then set the plate she’d filled next to him.
“And you should. I respect that about both of you. So eat your dinner and then take this plate to her tent for me.”
He glanced at the plate and hesitated, the unbitten potato still on his fork.
“Or,” Kesi said, “take her the plate first, then come and eat. We can wait.”
Mac set his fork down and scooted his chair back.
“I’ll, uh, take it to her now...you know...so she gets it before falling asleep.” He picked up the plate and utensils and started for the door. “Um, go ahead and eat. No need to wait for me,” he said, motioning at the table. The napkin he carried dropped to the floor when he fumbled with the screen door handle. He hung it on a hook meant for rain ponchos. “I’ll wait for her to finish and bring the plate back. Wouldn’t want to attract animals or flies,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm.” Kesi waved him off.
Mugi chuckled and dug in.
* * *
TESSA LAY ON her bed staring at the black, burnt-orange and red patterns woven into the area rug that covered the tent floor. These really weren’t ordinary tents. The bed, likely a cot underneath it all, was soft and cool with natural cotton linens. Mosquito netting was gathered overhead, hanging from the canvas ceiling so that it could be gathered aside or drawn around the bed like curtains. Her notebook sat on a small, carved wooden table, short enough to be used as a desk. She’d tried writing something, thinking it would either distract her or give her an outlet, but nothing came. She couldn’t even bring herself to journal what had happened in the past few days. Her brain was fried. Crisp and dry like Ambos
eli during a drought. Even her soul felt drained. Completely parched.
She shifted onto her back, bunched her pillow under her neck and hugged one of the small decorative pillows embroidered with a traditional tribal pattern. If she waited long enough, surely the soft night sounds would soothe her to sleep. She was so ready for a new day. A new life.
Let go, Tessa. If you want a new life, have courage. The sound of Maria’s voice in her head and the simultaneous crunch of footsteps approaching her tent had her jerking herself up onto her elbows. Had she in fact dozed off? It’s nothing wild. It’s probably Nick, awake and hungry again. He didn’t need to be wandering alone in the dark. Maybe he thought she was over at the cottage. She sat up and slipped her feet into her sneakers.
“Tessa? Tess, are you awake?”
Not Nick. Her lungs deflated.
She knew sooner or later she’d have to sit and talk things out with Mac; she’d simply hoped it wouldn’t be tonight. She was too tired and needed time to take in all that had happened. She got up and pushed open one of the tent flaps. Mac stood in the light of the full moon that sparkled in the treetops behind him. His expression was awkward and uncertain. He held out the plate.
“I brought you dinner.”
“I told Kesi I wasn’t...”
“You said you weren’t hungry, but I know you are, Tessa.” There was a silent pause. “Please,” he whispered.
The look in his eyes was intense and overwhelming, and his voice pleading.
“You didn’t believe me,” she whispered back, not wanting their voices to carry. “You let Ben make it sound like I was an accomplice. You didn’t even try to defend me. You just stood there. If you knew me at all, you know I’d never participate in animal cruelty. Being rich doesn’t make me heartless or materialistic.”