“Yes. How would you? Should have been a bloody moonlit picnic, shouldn’t it have been?” Baggs quipped sarcastically. “How rude of Gidean not to invite you along.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right, it won’t.”
There was a harsh outburst in Afrikaans outside Baggs’s window. His eyes lit up, and he giggled. “You don’t want to get on Draadie’s bad side.”
I looked out the window to see that she had done what Baggs had asked—chased off the potential poachers from their nap. “What kind of a name is Drottie?” I tried to pronounce Draadie’s name like he did.
“Who, Draadie?” He chortled. “That’s her nickname. It’s the diminutive term for a thin wire. Can’t say the Afrikaners don’t have a sense of humor.” He looked with admiration at the empty lawn.
I smiled. “Look, I’m sorry we’ve been having trouble communicating. I’m hoping we can change that. Which is why I’m here right now.” I pushed the clipping toward Baggs. “What do you make of this?”
Baggs squinted as he skimmed the headlines. “Murder?” Baggs blurted out angrily. “Impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Listen. They’ve got the wrong guy.” He pointed his pencil at me. “Dr. Geldenhuis doesn’t get blood on his hands, do you understand me? I’ve been on this case for a year now.”
“Do you think he was set up?”
“It’s the only explanation.”
“What would the motive be?”
“Don’t know.”
“Maybe the witch doctor’s creating a distraction?”
“The witch doctor doesn’t dabble in triads,” Baggs said, using the British-coined word for Chinese organized crime groups. “He’s too smart for that.”
“Geldenhuis must be on your list of suspects, given the kind of character he is.”
“And what kind of character is that, Detective Sohon?”
“He doesn’t strike me as the most upstanding citizen you have in this town.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Sohon? And who does?”
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I just wonder if he could be involved in the ivory smuggling.”
Baggs tossed his hand as if throwing me a bone. “He was caught in South Africa a few years back with a couple of tusks in his trunk. Now we think he might be dealing on the side again. But there’s no way this guy would strangle some Chinese mobster for a buck.”
“Is he connected to the triads?”
“Donnie is a hobbyist. He’s no international smuggler, and certainly not a killer. Mark my words, Ms. Sohon.”
“Catherine, please.”
“Catherine. The only blood Dr. Geldenhuis touches is his patients’, and he is dedicated to his craft of keeping people alive. I have firsthand experience with this. He is a bloody damn good doctor.”
“So why would anyone bother to set him up? Could he be in a little deeper than you think?”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the papers, can you?”
“No, but we can believe the genetic reports on ivory corridors. We can analyze what was found in the trunk of the car last week. We can see where it came from.” I was testing him, having already sent the ivory chip to Craig’s analysis team stationed in Pretoria. Knowing that I now had security clearance, I felt I could push a little harder.
I pulled out my ivory report and put it on his desk. I quickly flipped to the page with the ivory trade map. “The Hong Kong office traced the latest illegal shipments of ivory that were intercepted in Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou to southern Angola and Zambia. They think it’s being run through the Caprivi corridor and shipped from Walvis Bay or Johannesburg.” I turned the page. “Here’s another one: Guangzhou seizures via Singapore and Vietnam made up of elephants from Zambia and Angola.”
Baggs shifted uncomfortably at this. “A couple of tusks gone amiss hardly warrants an international investigation. Not sure what you think you’re going to find here.”
“What if it came from the Caprivi?”
“Caprivians are not poachers. You’re more likely to see a butchered carcass with its teeth still on. These people are law-abiding citizens when it comes to ivory. We have a handle on the situation. Couple of chancers, that’s all.”
“And what about just over the border, in Angola?”
“I know you Americans think that you can act as INTERPOL at the slightest of hints,” Baggs fumed, “but need I remind you that you are here as our census pilot? Not to investigate the ivory trade. You could blow a year’s worth of work for us in a day.”
“Monitoring elephants from the air, documenting carcasses, natural mortalities, poaching, and what happens to ivory—that all falls under the general umbrella of elephant conservation, no? I am a conservationist first, pilot second. I’d like to help if I can.” I suddenly noticed six new freshly hacked-out bloody tusks behind his desk. The three tusks from the induna’s backyard were still sitting in the same place they were during my first visit. I pointed to the pile. “And why so protective when the evidence is stacking up?”
He saw where my gaze landed. “Last night’s bust.”
“Fresh?”
Baggs nodded. “I’m sure your Hong Kong triad would kill to get their hands on these chopsticks. Apparently selling cheap from a former conservancy chair vacationing in Botswana.”
I felt like he was again batting at what he thought was a cornered mouse. “Look, I’m simply trying to help connect people and information.”
“Brilliant idea! Why don’t you save your speech for a Rotary lunch? Dr. Geldenhuis is not your man. Small-time doctor. Small-time crook. Let the little people handle this.”
I couldn’t help wondering whether he was covering something up, and I refused to let him end the conversation like this. “Okay, how about this. You investigate these small cases, but let me take a sample?”
I could see that he was about to lash out, so I quickly touched the edge of one of the three tusks from the first pile. “Just the tip, or even the edge of each of these tusks. I’ve got a hacksaw in my car. Maybe we can help provide additional information by knowing where they originated?”
Jon smoldered and stood up. “We’ve got the investigation covered. Now, good day, Ms. Sohon.”
I tried to keep my cool, but I was fed up, having seen the elephant bloodbath just over the Angolan border firsthand and knowing Craig had been unable to get any leads on the incident. “Maybe you should cut this martyr bullshit and open your eyes.”
Baggs gritted his teeth. “One must be careful not to let things get too personal, Ms. Sohon. You’re way out of your element here.”
He grabbed his keys, pulled his jacket down, and showed me to the door. “And as I understand it, perhaps you should look inside for the true martyr in this game!” He growled as he walked out after me, “I have much more important business to attend to with the governor.”
I stood in the reception area trying to recover from the sting of his words. What was he referring to exactly? Surely Craig wouldn’t have said anything about what had happened to Sean? I was just being paranoid. “Wait, please, Jon, hear me out.” I was embarrassed that I had just blurted out his first name—not sure how he’d handle my switch to the informal, particularly after such a bad interaction.
Unflinching, he marched to the door.
“At least have a look at the report,” I pleaded.
As Jon walked out of the building, Draadie smiled, and said sarcastically, “I see you’re getting on like a house on fire.”
I smiled and hesitated in the doorway. I was going to respond but instead observed Jon eyeing Alvares, the deli manager, who had just pulled up in the parking lot. I watched Jon look both ways and then shake a finger at him, telling him to get out of the parking lot, like he didn’t want to be seen associating with him. Alvares had gotten similar treatment from the manager of the Dollar Store.
“Trust me.” Draadie sucked on her cigarette. “Fire is better tha
n ice.” She blew smoke out the window and smirked. “It gets much worse.”
“That’s a scary thought,” I replied emptily as I watched Alvares angrily make a hasty departure with Jon following closely behind. I looked at my watch and turned to Draadie. “Does Jon ever spend time at Hippo Lodge?”
There was enough time to stop by the lodge under the guise of telling Alvares I’d be in on the weekend and still make it to Susuwe before dark. That way I’d have an excuse to follow Jon.
“He’s on the wagon, if that’s what you mean.” Draadie puffed.
“But does he ever hang out there?”
Draadie shrugged. “He likes to fish. And so does the doctor.”
“Dr. Geldenhuis?”
“He owns the place.”
I smiled and said good-bye.
I heard Draadie call out after me, “Watch the road, the river is rising.”
Chapter 16
The road to Hippo Lodge was badly flooded, just as Draadie had warned, but I was able to drive around the deeper potholes. When I got to Hippo Lodge, the same waiter who had greeted me two days before was there to meet me again. I looked around nervously. There was no sign of Jon, but Dr. Geldenhuis was sitting at a far table near the window with a huge black man dressed in a white suit. “Is Alvares here?” I whispered, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
The waiter shook his head. I hesitated and looked at the two men, who were engaged in a tense conversation. Instead of leaving, I asked to be seated outside, within earshot of the doctor’s table, overlooking the Zambezi. I could see them through the edge of the window.
I held my hands so they wouldn’t shake. This was a little too close for comfort. I turned my chair sideways so I could still watch them and turn my head if necessary. I could easily pass for one of the many tourists who had just arrived in an overland truck, but not if the doctor saw my face.
There was nothing subtle about the doctor’s guest in his raw-silk suit, his knuckles bulky with diamond-encrusted gold rings. He was engulfed in a veil of cigarette smoke. Two empty glasses sat in front of them, and they sat as if in a stalemate.
The man looked at his gold watch and cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got to catch a lift back to Lusaka with the reverend.”
“Hadn’t known you to shack up with conventional religion.”
“Haven’t you heard about my monogamy campaign?” He smiled and a gold tooth glistened in the setting sun. “Very lucrative.” He stretched and then smoothed down the pockets of his suit. “But hectic. I’ve had to sleep with each wife for a month to demonstrate the virtues of a single partner.”
I remembered Nigel’s story about the Zambian witch doctor’s fertility treatments and realized that this must be him.
A voluptuous black woman with very little clothing sauntered up and winked at the black man. “Two of the same?”
Geldenhuis looked at the waitress and nodded. “Windhoek draft for me.”
The waitress nodded. “And Castle for you?”
The witch doctor nodded and folded one hand over the other. “Of course, Windhoek. The good doctor always loyal to the home front. It makes me wonder why I give of my country’s wealth so freely. Zambia’s riches deserve better. There’s no trading without favors.”
“So is that what this is about? You came all the way from Lusaka to complain about testicles?”
“I wouldn’t have put it in such crass terms.”
The doctor scoffed, “Your arrogance astounds me.”
“And using your little humanitarian effort as your distribution arm is not arrogant?”
The waitress returned with two beers, and the man slid her a fat roll of bills. She smiled and walked away with his eyes glued to her rear end, each cheek peeking out of her impossibly short white booty shorts. The thought of working here was becoming less and less attractive.
The witch doctor took a healthy sip of beer, then tapped his cigarette box on the table, removed a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag, and exhaled. He clucked his tongue. “You should know by now that your dark African brothers love to bargain. You want to increase volume and keep the price down, I expect something in return.”
I had no proof that their conversation was about ivory, but I was pretty sure it was.
“But you are getting a great price.”
He twisted the fat ring on his ring finger. “It’s the game that intrigues me.”
“Game?” He took a long angry gulp and placed his mug down hard on the table, his knuckles white on meaty stumps.
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a group of boisterous European tourists seating themselves throughout the open lapa.
Geldenhuis whispered, “Is this meeting on my property part of your little game?” The veins on his neck strained as he spat, “Show up at the old Sioma Falls airstrip tomorrow night at eight. I have to deliver supplies to Lusaka and will stop on my way back. I need that inventory.”
The witch doctor glared at him in silence, got up, and left.
Before Geldenhuis could turn around, I leapt up and hurried down the path to the river and took the long way back to my car. I got in and headed straight for the Mpacha airstrip. I had to figure out where the Sioma Falls airstrip was located and gas up for the following night. Craig said he had clearance for me to fly across the Zambian border, so if I wasn’t able to contact him, I was covered.
Chapter 17
After spending a day reading, studying maps, and preparing my airplane for a night mission, I met Nigel on Thursday morning at the Kongola Community Care office as planned. Since we were going to meet with the induna, I had decided to buy a local skirt for the occasion. I parked in the lot next door at a little craft stall to buy a rectangular piece of thin material that the local women wrapped around their waist as a skirt. I picked out a wavy pattern of green and blue on a black background, gave a sleepy-looking old woman a Namibian fifty-dollar note, wrapped the material around my shorts, and tied a knot in the side, making a long skirt.
As I stepped into the dark Community Care office, I surprised Nigel just as he was dropping thick wads of money into a filing cabinet drawer. He quickly closed and locked it, then spun around. “Ah! Hadn’t heard the telltale chortle of a VW Bug.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Not a problem. Just doing some bookkeeping.”
“Bookkeeping?” I couldn’t help chuckling, seeing as I had just seen him holding fistfuls of local currency.
“I like to keep my own records of what goes on around here.” He put a key into his shirt pocket. “That way, I can trust what goes into the reports to Windhoek.”
“Are your reports so valuable that you have to lock them up?”
“Sometimes the things that look least valuable end up having the most value.”
“And the cash?”
“At month’s end, I end up with an inordinate amount of cash on my hands.”
“Why is that?”
“People don’t have bank accounts. I have to pay all the game guards in cash.”
“Is it dangerous to carry all that cash?”
He shrugged. “Never had a problem yet.”
“That’s good.” I looked around. “Is Finnius here?”
“Finnius!” Nigel called loudly, and then whispered to me, “He had the courtesy of showing up sober today.” He teased, “Just for you, I imagine.”
I smiled and sat down, pulling out a stack of blank ETIS and MIKE forms that WIA had given me. “Is it okay if I review how to fill out these forms with Finnius? The rangers are hoping that the game guards can keep better records of elephant mortalities outside the parks.”
As Finnius walked in through the back door, Nigel looked over my shoulder. “What does MIKE stand for?”
“Hello, Finnius.” I nodded and handed Nigel a form. “Monitoring the Illegal Killing of Elephants.”
Finnius clapped one hand over the other and bent his knees slightly before sitting down.
“Th
at sounds horrendously bureaucratic,” said Nigel.
“It is a bit. But that’s exactly the problem. These forms are not getting filled out. There’s no way to know how bad the poaching is across Africa if we don’t have a standardized way of keeping track between countries.”
Nigel yawned. “Like I said, horrrrrribly bureaucratic.” He sat down and smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “Please”—he gestured generously—“proceed.”
I frowned.
“Hey, I’m just kidding,” said Nigel. “I know how important this is. That’s why ol’ Finnius here is going to help you get this reporting off the ground.” He looked Finnius up and down. “Isn’t that right, Finnius?”
Finnius squinted anxiously at a form that I had placed in front of him.
“And by the way, what’s the difference between an ETIS form and a MIKE form?”
I didn’t know how to respond, given Nigel’s shit-eating grin, so I ignored him, placing my finger at the top of the form to start explaining it to Finnius.
“I’m serious,” said Nigel. “I asked myself that question recently and then Googled ETIS and got ‘extraterrestrial intelligences.’ Surely that’s not what it means in this context?”
“Look, as you say, it sounds horribly bureaucratic, but ETIS stands for the Elephant Trade Information System.” I ignored his narrowed eyes and continued. “It differs from Monitoring the Illegal Killing of Elephants in that it focuses on the actual trade in ivory rather than the poaching event.” His eyes narrowed further, and I found myself getting defensive. “It’s subtle, I know, but the distinction between ivory movement versus a killing event is important.”
“So, why bother with the ETIS forms in this area? Why not just focus on MIKE?”
“Because it’s not just the killing that we’re worried about. It’s understanding how the object of value that is removed from the dead animal is moving at a global scale.”
“Humph.” He shrugged. “Now you’re getting all complicated on me.”
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