Nigel put his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, are you all right? I’m a bloody mess or I’d give you a big hug right now.”
I put a hand up. “No, really, I’m fine. Just shaken up.”
He turned me back to him. “From an elephant?”
I nodded, tearing up, thinking that I was ordered to keep my distance from Jon, but I was not asked to do the same for Nigel. And I wasn’t as strong as I had wanted to be in that moment. “Wounded.”
“Christ.” Nigel took my hand and sat down. “Is it still out there?”
I shook my head. “We got it.”
Nigel squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t like seeing an elephant die.”
I pulled my hand away and hugged my shoulders. “Does anyone?” I realized that I was an emotional roller coaster and needed to be careful.
Nigel shrugged. “A hunter, I suppose.”
Something about his answer seemed smug and I hardened further. “And poachers, I suppose,” I blurted out sarcastically.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Nigel grabbed my shoulders and crouched down to look me directly in the eye. “Catherine, I didn’t mean it that way.” He searched my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Speaking of poachers, how’s the job at Hippo working out?”
Nigel took his hands away, went behind the bar, and opened a beer. He tipped it toward me but I shook my head. He took a sip. “Haven’t seen anything yet.”
I looked at him incredulously.
“What? The guy is never there, and I have to sit there listening to Alvares drone on about the good old days of Luanda’s ivory carving heyday. It’s bloody exhausting.”
“I hadn’t taken you to be so apathetic.” I knew I was feeling jumpy and defensive and it was time to leave. “I’m sorry, Nigel. I didn’t mean that. Been a long day. I’m going to turn in.”
“You’re not upset with me, are you?”
I shook my head. “No, just frustrated at how slowly things move around here. How many more elephants have to die before this whole thing is exposed?”
“I feel your pain, believe me.”
“Thanks, Nigel. That helps. Good night.”
I walked back to my room and waited much of the night for Jon to arrive so that I could turn him away, but he never showed up. I wanted to believe that he’d have a very good explanation for not showing up. I wanted to believe that he was on a bust with the rangers and couldn’t make it. Meanwhile, I was hoping that Craig would have sorted things out with Jon by now. I wanted the air between us cleared. I wanted to tell him about that night on the airstrip—that it was me who had taken the photos of Geldenhuis. But we’d have to submit the photographer’s name to the court in a few days, so he was going to find out, whether we turned out to be friends or enemies.
Chapter 38
Two more days had passed and still no word from Craig. I was starting to fear the worst. He’d never been out of touch for so long. I didn’t know what to do but to continue with the investigation. Induna Munali had invited Nandi and me for a visit and we entered the shade of the open-walled meeting hall. As we approached the induna, crouching, bowing, and clapping one hand on top of the other, he clapped his greeting in return and then readjusted a blanket around his shoulders. He was looking stronger than he had the previous week, but was still not completely recovered.
The mood was much different from what it had been in our first meeting, since word had gotten out about what had happened in the induna’s field. There was a hush of respect on the part of Lubinda and Nawa that hadn’t been there before. Never having intended to kill an elephant in my life, I wasn’t sure that this was such a good thing. The ministry wasn’t sure it was such a good thing, either. Although they had gotten permission from the permanent secretary to shoot a problem elephant in the area, only a ministry employee was authorized to pull the trigger.
Fortunately, Natembo knew what he was doing when he fired that last shot. Jon could report that a member of the ministry had killed the elephant. Otherwise, the incident would have left them with some rather messy paperwork, despite the threat to Gidean’s and Lubinda’s lives. Knowing that Gidean was okay, save a few broken ribs, made it worth it, I had to admit. Jon had explained in his report that the elephant had been so badly wounded by shotgun rounds, the rangers would have had to have put it out of its misery anyway.
But I was sick over the idea of more dead elephants, regardless of how thrilled the villagers were to receive all of that meat. The sight of jubilant axes attacking a sea of bloody flesh did not sit well with me. An elephant didn’t seem to deserve the death sentence for a felony, but I knew it wasn’t that simple. A man had died trying to defend his field just a week ago. Regardless of my quandary, the farmers were very happy.
A supplicating bent-over man emerged from the shadows, bearing two carved wooden stools. He placed them down behind us, bending down to the ground, bowing and clapping hand over hand, first to us and then to the induna, before disappearing into the shadows again.
I sat down carefully on the lopsided stool, trying not to fall backward. The induna reached up from his own worn stool to shake my hand. “Musuhili,” he mumbled weakly.
“Musuhili, Induna Munali.” I shook the induna’s hand. “How are you feeling today?”
“I am better now that you are living in the Caprivi.” The induna smiled wearily.
I smiled, relieved that his tone had changed. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
The induna clapped one hand on top of the other. “I thank you for saving my wife. You are a very brave woman.”
I noted that his English was very good. He hadn’t needed Finnius to translate our last meeting. “I’m not so brave. Just lucky with my timing.”
“Luck is for the witch doctor. I can see you have much wisdom.”
He smiled and opened his snuffbox. He took a healthy pinch and inhaled as hard as his weak lungs could bear, and then he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He exhaled and looked me straight in the eye. “I know why you are here.”
I sat up, ready to give an explanation, but the induna jumped in. “I understand you have evidence against my son.”
I shook my head, not expecting the conversation to start like this. “Only if the tusks were his.”
He pointed a finger at me. “There are very bad influences in our communities, but the government cannot do anything. You are from the outside. Sometimes that is good. And your organization cares about elephants. We need your help. My people should not be blamed for ivory that is moving through this region from somewhere else.”
“How do you think I can help?”
“My son used to work in Mr. Lin’s shop. He heard things. Lin is connected to a powerful triad. The Sun Kwon Muk. They control the ivory supply to China.” He took a larger portion of snuff, inhaled deeply, and burst into a coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” I tried to stand to help him, but he waved me back.
A small boy brought a cup of water, and the induna drank it and inhaled. “Their presence in Africa is growing. They are pressuring Lin to force the doctor to increase his supply. They raised the volume to two tons.”
“Two tons?”
The induna nodded. “My son made the foolish decision to get involved. The borders make it easy for each country to blame another, so he thought he could get away with it.”
“What did he do?”
“He drove the witch doctor when he was in town. He was with him at Susuwe that day. He was given three tusks as payment.” He clucked his tongue. “After the murder, the police and the rangers were paying more attention. And so were the game guards.”
“So, he wasn’t set up?”
He shook his head. “I have lost control of my son. And what is happening in the region is too big for a small induna like myself. But I cannot involve the chief. He has many pressures. I have been watching you and decided to join forces with you and your organization.”
“What can I do?” I was impressed that the ind
una really seemed to want to do something to stop the smuggling, even though it might put his son in danger. It was clear we were on the same side, but I was nervous about whether I could live up to his expectations.
“You have to promise to keep whatever I tell you between you and me only.”
I nodded, eager to hear what he had to say.
“You must catch the doctor. It’s the only way to bring down the shop owner and the triad. But there is someone else since the witch doctor is dead.”
“We have some leads on who that is.”
“That is very good news.”
“How do you see me helping, exactly?”
“If you can protect my son, he will testify.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
He nodded.
“You must understand that I don’t work alone. I would have to tell my boss about this in order to secure his protection.”
“I understand that. But no one in the Caprivi must know of this plan. No one, do you understand?”
“Why not the ministry?”
The induna scoffed. “Too many leaks. It’s gone on too long. Which is why I am stepping in.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Post Sianga’s bail and get him to Windhoek, then he will talk.”
“And how can you be sure that anyone would listen?”
“A witness has never lived long enough to tell of what is happening.”
I nodded, uncertain of how long this would take to organize. “I will do my best.”
He clapped his hands together again. “I thank you very much for helping me and my people.”
“You are very welcome.”
Nandi and I stood up.
“And thank you for watching over our elephants. They are our treasure that we need to protect.”
I smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter 39
There I was, back at the prison, standing in front of Sianga, hoping he was ready to provide the confession that we’d need to nail Geldenhuis. I had 50,000 Namibian dollars in my bag for bail and no idea whether our plan was going to work. Craig had finally resurfaced at the last minute with no explanation, and did all the legwork in Windhoek via Hong Kong, and had wired the money up that morning. It felt funny to go through all this effort when I myself had been a witness to the smuggling and the murder of the witch doctor. But there was no going back. Craig convinced me of all the reasons that what I had seen in Zambia on my illegal night flight was never going to fly as evidence.
I had offered to fly Sianga to Windhoek, but Craig thought it would be safer if I just got him as far as Kongola. The MCD would meet me at the gate to the West Caprivi and transport him the rest of the way.
As Sianga approached with a bruised face, Nandi started weeping. “Sianga!”
I couldn’t help being startled at his appearance and took a step back, almost falling down the few steps that led to the visitor standing area.
Sianga looked at us sternly as the guard approached. “This had better work.”
I nodded solemnly, worried about this new weight of responsibility. Craig had planned this out with the MCD, and they thought that no one would expect me to do this. We had to catch them off guard, he said, and we had a very narrow window of time to do so before we were figured out. And by “them,” I was assuming we were talking about Geldenhuis, Mr. Lin, and the witch doctor’s replacement, Ernest.
If the MCD were involved locally, Craig expected there’d be a tip-off and the police would never have gotten him into their custody. I had to trust their thinking, but looking at Sianga’s face made me wish there had been some other way to do this.
“Bloody hell.” The guard cursed as he searched his keys for the one to the barred door. His impatience made me feel all the more tense. My eyes darted around the prison, trying not to appear suspicious, with all the eyes that bore into us at that moment.
The guard unlocked and opened the door, then violently threw Sianga out of the prison cell, his arms flailing to keep his balance. The guard followed us out and waited at the door, eyeing us aggressively with arms folded, leaning against the stained and crumbling cement outer wall of the jail.
We got into my car, and I drove off as fast as I could, yet the seconds spent driving out of the prison lot were agonizing. Finally I reached the long bumpy river road heading out of town.
As we bounced along the washed-out sandy track, I started to feel a little better about our plan. I took the main dirt road that fed into the tar road, but it was exactly the worst time to be there. The cooler evening air held all the dust just above the ground, making it impossible to see the road and whether a herd of cattle might be sitting in the middle of the tar warming themselves.
I turned left and passed the Engen filling station from which emanated frenzied African rhythms. The impromptu taxis were filled—small pickup trucks slumped to the ground with people and their shopping wares. The drumming of the music was so penetrating in my heightened adrenaline state, it felt as if my teeth were rattling loose. I was relieved to put some distance between us and the noise.
We drove in silence through the busy neighborhoods and then out of town. Women were walking along the side of the road with impossibly large bundles of thick branches on their heads, having just come back from collecting firewood in the forest. Others carried buckets of water, and still others bags of mealie meal from town.
I would have stopped for the ones carrying groceries, since there was room in the back of the Beetle, but, given our mission, we couldn’t risk extra passengers. After a while, the activity along the sides of the road petered out. And in the darkness, I trained my eyes on the road in search of cattle.
A little while later, I spotted something in the middle of the road up ahead. It didn’t have the right shape for livestock. Rectangular. No. Fifty-liter drums. Like some kind of informal roadblock.
“Do you know what this is?” I looked at Nandi to get her take as several armed men moved toward the road.
Nandi fidgeted. “Maybe go around.”
“What?” I looked her fully in the face. “You mean not stop?”
Nandi nodded. “Tribalism. Because of secession. Because we are Yeye, they will not like that we cross Fwe lines. Very dangerous.”
“They are looking for me.” Sianga leaned forward. “Drive through.”
I tensed as I scrutinized the setup. Two men stood in front of the drums, blocking the road. A large Mercedes truck was parked perpendicular to the road beyond the drums, and cattle were crossing the road, blocking the oncoming side. I had no choice but to stop to wait for the cattle.
An armed man approached my window as another headed for the passenger side.
The man stuck his head through my window, glaring at Nandi and then Sianga. “These people are not from this region.” He shook his head. “We cannot let you pass.”
Nandi looked straight ahead. The whites of her eyes bulged as she ignored the man breathing heavily at her window.
“We’re on our way home. We must pass through this region to get there. These people are my guests.” My tone was weaker than I had hoped.
The man shook his head again as the other tapped at Nandi’s door with the barrel of his R1, motioning for her to get out.
She sat frozen in place.
“Who’s responsible for this roadblock?” I demanded.
The man opened the passenger door and tried to pull Nandi out.
I slammed my foot down and accelerated through the barrels.
The truck on the side of the road immediately pulled out to block me. I swerved off the road to avoid the vehicle, but I bounced around and landed in a deep ditch. The engine screamed as I tried to blow through it, but it was no use. We were stuck.
I looked in my rearview mirror at the three men running toward us. “We’ve got to get back on the road.”
Sianga jumped out. “It’s me that they want.” He started running. “You stall them.”
�
��Sianga, no!” we yelled as we climbed out of the car after him. But it was no use. Sianga was halfway to the tree line as we walked up to the road, where we could see another vehicle approaching. We had to be where we could be seen.
Suddenly, my head was jerked backward, my hair yanked by the roots. I could see Nandi getting hit on the side of the head with the butt of a rifle.
“Nandi!” I screamed just before everything went dark as burlap enveloped my head.
My face burned from hessian rubbing against my skin. A thick rope cinched down around my mouth. I was dragged away from the road and toward the forest, but they struggled to get me under control. I was wriggling like a maggot in a frying pan.
I was slapped hard in the face. The beating got worse the more I struggled. These were not casual troublemakers.
They threw me on the ground and tried to tear off my pants. I lashed out violently, punching and kicking hard where I could sense a crotch would be. They fumbled with the unexpected retaliation, but quickly regained the upper hand and bound my hands behind my back while someone else restrained my legs.
Of all the nightmares I’d had in my life, none involved being bound and gagged in a dark forest with no one to stop a group of men from committing any violent act they chose. Time slowed to a sickening halt as my canvas pants were torn from my waist. I didn’t think I could actually survive what was going to happen next. My whole body shivered with revulsion, inviting death as a more welcome end, just as a round of shots exploded overhead.
The urgency of fumbling, thick sweaty bodies disappeared. There was yelling, running away, cursing, squealing of tires. My stomach wrenched. My ears rang.
As I tried to wriggle out of my binding, I didn’t sense any movement nearby and started to wonder about Nandi. I tried calling to her, but my muffled mumblings were useless.
Then I heard voices. Familiar voices approaching me. And more running.
I knew the voice—just couldn’t place it. Then more footsteps and hands on my body. Gentler hands. A blanket was dropped over my body, making me feel whole again.
“Catherine? Are you all right?” It was Eli’s voice.
Ivory Ghosts Page 23