‘Why not approach the problem from the other end?’ Jean-Claude suggested. ‘Cut off demand for ivory. If no one could sell ivory in China, there would be no market for it. The Chinese Government must ban the sale of ivory.’
Willy Wolf agreed. ‘If there was no market for ivory, there would be no need to kill elephants. The poaching would stop.’
‘Exactly,’ said Lyon. ‘Is this not a simple solution to the problem?’
Springer shook his head. ‘There would have to be massive and sustained international pressure on the Chinese Government for that to happen. Unfortunately, most governments around the world are more interested in things other than saving the elephant.’
‘Elephants don’t get to vote,’ Duke Hazard said cynically, ‘so politicians ignore them.’
‘Then perhaps ordinary folk around the world should be putting a wee bit of pressure on the Chinese Government to ban the sale of ivory products,’ said Sergeant Bruce. ‘An international petition signed by millions of ordinary people to save the elephants.’
‘Who’s going to get that petition up, Bruce?’ Hazard queried, sounding sceptical.
‘Someone should,’ Angus replied.
Hazard chuckled. ‘Like who? You? Good luck with that, buddy.’
Conversation erupted among the GRRR members around the classroom.
‘Hang on,’ called Ben. ‘Our chief concern right now is saving Lucky and the other hostages.’
‘You got that right, Ben,’ Tim McHenry agreed.
‘Too right!’ Baz echoed. ‘And Major Jinko said the shrinks reckoned that Zuba could lose his cool and turn on Lucky and the other hostages within forty-eight hours.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Chief Ranger Springer. ‘Zuba has been a thorn in my side for two years now. I’ve got to know how he operates. He doesn’t lose his cool or kill on a whim. Yes, Zuba has a big ego, but he is a clever, calculating operator and he likes the power that he thinks holding hostages gives him. Lucky is his ace card. I think Zuba’s prepared to hang onto Lucky for months, or even years!’
‘We could be here for a while, then, people,’ said Duke Hazard, stuffing a piece of gum into his mouth and commencing to chew vigorously.
Half-a-dozen new conversations began in the room as views were put forward on everything from Zuba’s character to the best way to end the ivory trade.
Charlie had been taking in the conversation. Only now did he put up a hand and raise his voice to be heard above all the talk in the room. ‘Let’s focus on the mission at hand, you blokes!’ The room fell silent as Charlie turned to face the other members of the team. ‘The big problem is, we don’t know where Zuba and the hostages are. Until we do, we can’t do a thing.’
‘No, not a thing, man!’ Chris Banner concurred.
‘What if we made Zuba come to us, Charlie?’ said Ben, and all eyes turned to him.
‘How do we do that, mate?’ Charlie asked.
‘What if one of us posed as an ivory merchant who was prepared to pay Zuba fifteen hundred dollars a kilogram for his next batch of tusks? We could lure him to a meet and capture him! From all we’ve learned about Zuba, I think his so-called army would fall apart once we had Zuba in custody. His “soldiers” are only kids. After that, the release of Lucky and the other hostages should be easy to accomplish.’
A smile creased Charlie’s face. ‘Not a bad plan, Ben. Not a bad plan at all. Who did you have in mind for the job of ivory merchant?’
Ben turned his eyes to the one member of the team who had not spoken a word the entire time they’d been in the classroom. ‘Toushi,’ he said.
‘Aha!’ Charlie exclaimed, as everyone looked at Toushi Harada. ‘Good thinking, mate.’
‘But I am a computer expert, not an expert in ivory,’ Toushi protested.
‘Zuba wouldn’t know that until he met you,’ said Charlie, his mind racing with ways and means to make Ben’s idea work. ‘And by that time he’d be in our net.’
‘What makes you think that Zuba would come to a meeting with a new ivory merchant, and so soon?’ Wally said sceptically.
‘Would the tusks from that recent kill you showed us have left the country yet?’ Ben asked.
‘I doubt it. I estimate it’d take about a month for those tusks to get to the port. They’re probably sitting in a shipping container on the dock at Dar es Salaam as we speak, labelled as agricultural produce and waiting to be shipped off to Asia.’
‘You’re sure it would be going out of Dar es Salaam?’ Charlie queried.
Springer nodded. ‘Ninety-five per cent of Tanzania’s exports leave from Dar es Salaam.’
‘Wouldn’t the ivory smugglers use a small out-of-the-way port to evade attention?’ Angus Bruce asked.
‘No. The larger and busier the port, the easier it is to blend into the background,’ said Springer. ‘Besides, half the port of Dar es Salaam is controlled by TICTS, a Chinese-owned syndicate based in Hong Kong. The Tanzanian Government allows TICTS to check and clear its own cargo without any involvement from Tanzania’s customs inspectors. I wouldn’t be surprised if those companies, or some of their Chinese employees, are involved in the illegal export of ivory. You can bet your last dollar the ivory smugglers will have this latest ivory haul there, hidden among genuine exports, waiting for a ship from China to take it away.’
‘Could we organise a search of the dock?’ asked Ben.
‘The Tanzanian Customs Service doesn’t have the manpower to conduct one,’ Springer replied.
Ben smiled. ‘But we have the manpower. Or, should I say, we have the dog power.’ He reached forward and gave Caesar a pat.
Caesar turned his head toward him and began wagging his tail on the dusty floor. The look on his face seemed to say, Are you talking about me, boss?
Springer frowned. ‘I don’t quite understand, Sergeant. Is your dog trained to find ivory? Because if it isn’t –’
‘No, Caesar isn’t trained to locate ivory,’ Ben replied, ‘but he can track down minute amounts of explosives residue.’
‘How does that help?’
‘You said the poachers used a shotgun to help remove the tusks this last time?’
‘Yes,’ replied Springer, still unconvinced.
‘Then there will be gunshot residue on the end of each of those tusks,’ said Ben. ‘Enough for Caesar to sniff it out.’
Springer’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘You’re joking?’
‘No, he’s not joking,’ said Charlie. ‘Caesar is a super-sniffer.’ He turned to Ben, a grin widening on his face. ‘Good thinking, mate. If we can locate and seize that latest ivory shipment and make a big noise about it so that Zuba hears of it, he’ll be desperate for cash. And we might just be able to lure him into a meet with Toushi.’
‘Especially if Toushi offers to give him money up-front at the meeting,’ Ben suggested.
Charlie nodded. ‘Roger to that. But one step at a time. First, we have to locate the ivory at the port.’
‘We have to get Ben and Caesar to Dar es Salaam, fast,’ said Baz urgently. ‘Ask Mama to send one of the Sallys to give them a ride.’
‘Hold your horses,’ said Duke Hazard. ‘You better check with Papa first, Grover. He might not like the idea of branching out into the customs business.’
‘Right on it.’ Charlie beckoned Brian Cisco to follow him outside to radio Major Jinko aboard Canberra. Before long, Charlie had spoken with the major and the pair returned. ‘Papa has authorised us to proceed with the Dar es Salaam mission,’ he informed the team. ‘SOCOM will alert the Tanzanian authorities to what we’re doing and get their cooperation. Ben, Papa says that Baz and Chris Banner are to go with you and Caesar as backup. A heelo is on its way from Mama to fly the four of you down to the port. Take only essential gear.’
‘Roger that,’ Ben acknowledged, beginning to strip his heavy pack from his back.
‘You’d better take one of Lieutenant Roy’s men with you,’ Springer suggested, ‘to help deal with the l
ocal authorities down there.’
‘A very good idea,’ said Lieutenant Roy. ‘I will detach Sergeant Simma to accompany the men with the dog.’
‘Thanks, Lieutenant.’ Charlie turned back to Ben. ‘Papa has given you a maximum of six hours on the ground to find the ivory shipment. Do you reckon you can do it in that timeframe?’
‘Caesar won’t let us down,’ Ben assured the team, easing his pack to the floor.
Caesar, sensing imminent activity, came to his feet with his tail wagging. He looked up at Ben expectantly, as if to say, Are we going to play now, boss? Ready when you are!
Josh Fulton looked down at Kelvin Corbett lying at his feet.
‘It’s not fair!’ Kelvin whined. He glared in the direction of Iron Fist Kasula, who stood watching them from the edge of the mat. ‘You taught Josh how to put me on the floor every time.’
Kasula nodded. ‘It’s true.’
‘I can’t win!’ Almost in tears, Kelvin slowly sat up.
‘But I have taught both of you exactly the same techniques, Kelvin,’ the sergeant responded. ‘You thought that, being the bigger boy, you would always defeat smaller boys like Josh. But, now, you see that’s not the case.’
Josh offered Kelvin his hand, but the larger boy peevishly knocked it away and came to his feet under his own steam. ‘You’ve been favouring Josh because his dad’s a soldier like you!’ he declared, before stalking off to the change rooms.
‘Come back,’ Kasula ordered. ‘We are not finished yet.’
‘I am!’ Kelvin called back over his shoulder. ‘I’ve had enough of all this garbage! I quit!’
‘You can’t quit, Kelvin!’ Josh protested. ‘We both agreed to do this course. So did our parents.’
‘I don’t care!’ Kelvin shot back as he kept on walking.
In the darkness, two guards led Lucky to a camp site. They arrived to find RAT soldiers and the new recruits sitting cross-legged around a cooking fire, eating with their fingers from several large shared bowls. Colonel Zuba sat in their midst, raised above them all by a small folding stool. Even though it was night-time, Zuba still wore his sunglasses. He watched on as Captain Chawinga leaned over a large saucepan on the fire and stirred it with a wooden ladle.
When Zuba saw Lucky, he broke into a smile. ‘So, Ranger Lucky,’ he said, ‘come, sit beside me.’ He pointed to his left side, and two soldiers sitting there quickly moved to make a place for the newcomer.
The guards pressed the ranger down to sit beside their leader. Lucky cast his gaze around the new recruits, taking in the boys’ haggard faces and fearful eyes in the firelight. ‘Look at these kids,’ he said. ‘They’re just as much your prisoners as I am, Zuba. Why don’t you let them go? A good friend of mine has a son, back in Australia, around the same age as these boys, and he is much too young to be a soldier. Let them be children for a few more years. Only men should have to fight wars.’
‘I will make men of them!’ Zuba said fiercely. ‘For the moment, it is true that these little ones are missing their mummies. They will get over it. They have a fine meal of goat meat. Not since the last wedding in their village would these boys have eaten meat. In my army, they will eat much meat and grow strong, and these boys will live to thank me for it.’
‘Stolen meat,’ Lucky corrected.
Zuba shrugged. ‘A man’s stomach does not care where meat comes from, only where it goes.’
‘Stealing the livestock of the people you claim to be fighting for is not a good way to win their loyalty, I would have thought.’
Zuba shook his head in disagreement. ‘The people of Leboo should be pleased to donate a goat or two to our patriotic cause. But enough of goats. Drink chai with us.’ He nodded to his deputy, who was pouring the contents of the saucepan into a large metal teapot. ‘Chawinga, a mug also for our guest.’
‘Yes, Colonel,’ Chawinga replied. He filled several mugs with the steaming contents of the teapot. First, he handed one mug to Zuba, then he held out another to Lucky. ‘Drink,’ he said. ‘It is chai – water, milk, black tea, cardamom, ginger and sugar.’
Lucky accepted the mug but waited until he saw Zuba drink from his.
Seeing this, Chawinga chuckled. ‘This is not poisoned, Ranger Lucky. Drink. This is good. This is the national drink of Tanzania.’
Smiling, Zuba took a sip from his mug. ‘As Chawinga says, it is neither drugged nor poisoned. Enjoy.’
Now Lucky tasted Chawinga’s brew, and he had to agree that the chai was delicious. Taking another sip, he watched Chawinga wander over to sit on the periphery of the group. Chawinga was clearly a solitary sort of man, with no friends among the soldiers he helped to command.
‘So, now we will talk of important matters,’ said Zuba, regaining Lucky’s attention.
‘What sort of important matters?’ Lucky asked warily.
‘What nationality are you, Ranger Lucky? You sound to me like Chief Ranger Springer – an Australian.’
‘I was born in New Zealand,’ Lucky answered, ‘but when I joined the Australian Army I took dual Australian–New Zealand citizenship.’
This pleased the rebel leader. ‘Good, very good. That is two governments that will pay to have you returned.’
‘Is that all you think about?’ Lucky boldly asked. ‘Money?’
‘The leader of a revolutionary army must think about money,’ Zuba replied. ‘Without money, how would I pay and equip my soldiers?’
This surprised Lucky. ‘You pay these boys?’
‘Of course. I pay them five dollars a month. If they stay with me for many years they will all be rich men, able to buy their own farms.’
‘Not at five dollars a month, they won’t,’ Lucky scoffed.
Zuba chose to ignore this comment. ‘The Tanzanian Government would not pay such money for you. They would not pay one dollar for the return of their own people. But for you, the governments of Australia and New Zealand will, I think, pay a lot of money. And for this, I want you to write them a letter.’ Reaching inside his jacket, Zuba produced a notepad and ballpoint pen, which he thrust at Lucky. ‘You will write what I tell you,’ he instructed.
Lucky ignored the pad and pen. ‘Don’t waste your time, Zuba. The governments of Australia and New Zealand don’t bargain with terrorists.’
Zuba’s face dropped. ‘I am not a terrorist! I am a freedom fighter!’
‘Not in the eyes of the world. Prove that you’re not a terrorist – let me go. Let my rangers go. Let these boys go. Lay down your arms.’
Zuba smiled slyly. ‘I am not a terrorist and I am not a fool. Do you know what I think, Ranger Lucky? I think you expect the authorities to rescue you. Well, let me tell you, they have not been able to find me for two years and they will not find me now. And it will not be any use sending more mzungu such as yourself to try to find you. Foreigners cannot know this part of the world the way my soldiers and I do.’
‘Well, for one thing, you don’t have the technology that governments do,’ Lucky countered.
‘Technology?’ Chuckling to himself, Zuba reached into a pocket of his tunic, withdrawing a rectangular object and holding it up for Lucky to see. ‘Here is my technology, my friend. The only technology that I need out here in the bush.’
Lucky frowned as he tried to make out the object in the dark. ‘What’s that?’
‘This is a transistor radio that I have had for many years. Every night I listen to the Tanzanian Government radio service and to the BBC World Service from London. You may have thought to yourself that Abraham Zuba speaks very good English for a man who never went to school. Well, as a boy, I taught myself English, listening to the BBC World Service on this very transistor radio.’ Zuba smiled wide. ‘Do you not find me to be articulate?’
‘Yes, very articulate,’ Lucky conceded.
‘And do you know what my little transistor radio is telling me now, Ranger Lucky? It is silent about you. Neither the BBC World Service nor the Tanzanian Government radio any longer speak of your ca
pture by myself, or the fact that you are missing. Another rebel army leader would be unhappy that he was no longer a subject of news broadcasts, but not Abraham Zuba. You see, this tells me that the government is no longer interested in finding you, Ranger Lucky. They have given up on you!’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘So, no one will be trying to rescue you, my friend. The Tanzanian Government has stopped looking for you. Now we must tell the governments of Australia and New Zealand that you are alive, well and available – at a handsome price. Here, take these and write what I tell you.’ His smile evaporated. ‘Or I will shoot one of your rangers!’
Unhappily, Lucky reached up with his bound hands and took the notepad. ‘I can’t write with my hands tied,’ he protested. ‘Untie me.’
‘No, I think not. We cannot have you attempting to escape our custody, my friend. Write as best you can with your hands tied.’
Lucky glared back at him defiantly.
‘Do you want me to shoot one of your rangers?’ Zuba said impatiently. ‘I will shoot them all, starting with the youngest, if you do not do as I say! Put from your mind all thoughts of being rescued. You will be my prisoner for a long, long time if you do not write this letter.’
With a sigh, Lucky rested the notepad on his lap, then took the pen from Zuba. ‘Okay, go ahead. What do you want me to say?’
From the open doorway of the low-flying Seahawk, Ben looked out over the sprawling city of Dar es Salaam, and beyond it, the blue-green Indian Ocean. From the small amount of research on Tanzania that he had been able to do prior to this operation, he knew that the city had a population of more than four million people, many of whom lived in slums. The city’s port district of Temeke was easy to find. A bluff point lined with docks poked out into a natural harbour, and a score of large cargo ships were either tied up at the docks or at anchor in the bay.
Operation Pink Elephant Page 9