“We've only got an hour’s flying time,” said the colonel as they swept in low over a river and followed it north.
“It’s getting dark, they'll move down to drink. We stay on the river.”
“OK, but if we don't find any within thirty minutes we'll have to head back.”
Mamba gave his brother thumbs-up as he scanned the banks of the river. He spotted a tour group and ignored their waves. A few miles further he found what he was searching for, a small herd of elephants on the floodplain. “Down there,” he transmitted over the radio.
“Roger.” The pilot banked the helicopter and circled around. The elephants raised their heads and ran from the noisy intruder.
“Come in low over the top.” Mamba yanked back the cocking handle on the M60. The elephants seemed to know his intent and made a beeline for the trees. He smiled and aimed at a large bull as it turned and raised its trunk in a challenge.
The M60 roared and bucked against his shoulder as he sent a line of tracer into the bull. The elephant staggered falling behind from the rest of the pack. Mamba continued to fire, pumping round after round into the wounded beast. It dropped to its knees as he emptied the last of the one hundred round belt. “Take us down,” he ordered as the weapon ran dry and smoke streamed off its barrel.
The pilot brought the helicopter down to a hover as Mamba reloaded the machine gun and slung his chainsaw over his shoulder. He dropped down onto the grass and moved cautiously toward the bull.
The groan of the dying animal was music to his ears. Setting the M60 on the ground he started the chainsaw. The sharp teeth ripped through the elephant’s flesh as he cut through to the base of the tusks. When he’d exposed as much ivory as possible he sliced through the tusk and let it drop to the ground. Letting the saw idle he wiped sweat from his brow.
As he ripped into the other tusk an angry bellow caught his attention. Turning toward the noise he saw a massive elephant charging through the grass. “Holy shit.” The tusks were lowered and he leaped to one side. It thundered past and he dropped the saw, diving for the machine gun. “Fuck.” The weapon had been crushed under the charging beast’s massive feet.
He spun toward the threat; it was a female elephant. She had turned to the corpse of her mate and prodded him with her trunk. Snorting in rage she looked up and charged again. As Mamba turned to run there was a burst of gunfire. He dropped to the ground and watched as his brother emptied an entire magazine into the skull of the animal. She died with a bellow hitting the ground with a thud.
The colonel offered his hand to Mamba and pulled him to his feet. “You're getting careless, David.”
He dusted off his clothes and picked up the saw. “Maybe, but at least now I've got two sets of tusks.”
“Always about the bottom dollar.”
“Someone has to keep your wife in all her fancy clothes.”
The colonel laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Just hurry up, the sun will set soon.”
“Still scared of the dark, big brother?” Mamba asked as he went back to work on the first elephant.
“No, I'm scared of my pilots trying to fly in the dark.”
He chopped the other tusk free from the bull, dumped it next to the crushed M60, and strode across to work on the cow. “I think you're afraid of missing dinner with your wife. She's got you by the balls.” He grinned as he revved the chainsaw and sliced the dead female elephant’s face open.
***
MOMBASA, KENYA
“This is the address,” said Kruger as he pulled the Mazda into a poorly lit gravel parking lot.
The headlights lit up a half-dozen other vehicles including a police car. Behind the parking lot a corrugated fence topped with barbed wire was strung with colored party lights. From inside the car they could hear vibrant music.
“Looks inviting,” Bishop said dryly as he double-checked the Browning pistol he’d purchased from Toppie, and tucked it into the waistband of his pants.
“Hey, it's not too bad by African standards.”
“I’m not sure how comfortable I am leaving all our gear in the trunk.” In addition to the pistol Toppie had sold them assault rifles, ammo, and chest rigs similar to what they had left in Zambia.
“They'll be fine.” Kruger parked next to the police car.
They checked the gear was concealed in bags, locked the hatchback, and entered the drinking establishment through an open gate in the iron fence. What lay beyond surprised Bishop. The fence hid a beer garden that looked far more inviting than the exterior suggested. Long wooden benches sat on a terracotta-tiled terrace with a web of vines forming a roof above them. The party lights illuminated the customers sitting on benches devouring plates of ribs. “You sure this is the right place? Toppie gave me the impression it was a shit hole.”
“This is the address. We need to ask for a guy called Steve.”
“Steve?”
Kruger shrugged as he strode to the bar. Made from polished hardwood it displayed an impressive collection of spirits on softly lit glass shelves. In an adjoining dining hall there were more benches and patrons enjoying dinner.
Bishop's stomach grumbled. “How about we grab some of those ribs?”
Kruger waved over the bartender, a middle-aged woman with an apron tied around her ample waist. “Can we order a couple of beers and some ribs?”
She smiled. “Sure thing, honey.”
“Can you also tell Steve that Aden and Kruger are here to see him,” added Bishop.
Her smile faded and she focused on pouring them two locally brewed ales.
“Seems Steve's not real popular around here,” Bishop said as they took a seat. He took a sip of the beer and sighed. “God, I needed that.”
“You also need a shower.” Kruger took a swig of his own beer as a waitress appeared with a massive plate of pork ribs. “That was quick.”
They ate with their hands devouring the meat in a matter of minutes. When they were done the waitress reappeared with a bowl of lemon-scented water and hand towels. “Mr. Hanna will see you now.” She led them around the bar through a service door. The staff paid them no attention as they walked through the kitchen and out into a corridor. “Wait here.” She knocked twice on a door before leaving.
Bishop rested his hand on the pistol concealed under his T-shirt.
The door opened and a tall middle-aged Caucasian with thick dark hair waved them inside. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed your dinner.” He had a strong South African accent.
“Top notch,” replied Kruger. “I assume you are Steve.”
“That's correct. Please take a seat.” He sat behind his desk. “I want to apologize in advance for this meeting being short. I have a lot of business to take care of tonight before I go home to see my children. Now, I understand from Toppie you're both ex-South African military and looking for work.”
“Ja, we've got a bit of expertise in the bush, tracking and the like.”
Steve scribbled something on a notepad. “Very good, those are skills I can sell.”
“We'd like to make some real money,” added Bishop with a South African accent of his own. “If you get what we mean.”
“Oh, I think I do. Where are you staying?”
Bishop hesitated.
Steve smiled. “No, nothing sinister, I've got someone I want you to meet.”
“We're at the New Palm Tree Hotel,” said Kruger.
“Ah very nice, a friend of mine owns it. Make sure you mention my name when you check out, OK?”
“Sounds good.”
Steve rose, reached out, and shook their hands. “It is very nice to meet friends of Toppie. Him and I go back a long way.”
“He's a good man,” said Kruger.
Steve laughed. “He's a lunatic. Anyway, I hope I can help you to find something. So you know, the deal will be I take twenty percent of everything you make.”
“Fifteen,” said Bishop.
“Twenty is customary.”
>
“Maybe for criminals and petty thieves. We're neither.”
Steve nodded. “OK, we’ve got a deal, fifteen percent. Gentlemen, it has been short but still a pleasure. Feel free to enjoy more food and drink. Have as much you wish, it's on the house.” He gestured to the door.
Bishop and Kruger left the office and made their way back through the kitchen to the bar. Kruger ordered two more beers and another plate of ribs. They sat in a corner away from the other customers. “What do you think?” he asked Bishop.
“A lot more professional than I expected.”
“Yeah, Toppie had me thinking we were meeting with a crime boss.”
“I get the feeling Toppie lives on a different planet to everyone else.”
“That's true.”
“Let's finish up here and get back to the hotel. I want to take a shower and get my head down.”
“Might be an idea to check in with Vance, ja.”
For the first time in the last few hours Bishop's thoughts turned to Saneh. He felt guilty that he’d lost himself in the mission and forgotten about her. “Yeah, maybe.”
***
As Bishop and Kruger finished their beers Kogo ate takeout at the bench in the warehouse. His plans were not progressing well. So far he’d only recruited one new member to the team; a bush meat poacher living in the slums of Likoni. The man could hardly be called capable. His only virtue; he knew every inch of Tsavo. Two men were not enough but he was reluctant to postpone the mission. The idea of disappointing Mamba terrified him.
The phone on the bench rang, interrupting his meal. He snatched it from the cradle. “Hello.”
“Kogo, is that you?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It's Steve, I've got two men for you. Former South African military, they've got the skills you want, and they're clean.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, they're not police informants. They come highly recommended from a source I trust.”
“You sure?”
“The men are staying at the New Palm Tree Hotel. You can check them out for yourself. They're under the name Aden. Oh, and I get fifteen percent of whatever they make.”
“You will have to discuss that with Mamba.”
“I'm discussing it with you.”
“Fine, if I use them you get fifteen percent.”
“Deal. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“A hundred pounds of ivory.”
Steve laughed. “Your game, not mine.” He hung up.
Kogo contemplated the offer then grabbed his keys. If these men were suitable his mission tomorrow could still go ahead.
***
Bishop struggled to stay awake as Kruger pulled the Mazda into a parking space at their hotel. He checked his watch; it was nearly midnight and they had been on the go for almost 72 hours.
“You look and smell like shit,” said Kruger as he stepped out of the car. “If you don't take a shower soon I'm going to hose you down.”
“Thanks mate, good to know you've got my back.”
As they unloaded their bags of gear Bishop noticed a new model Toyota Land Cruiser parked nearby. The expensive truck was fully fitted out: roof racks, spare tires, jerry can holders, and spotlights. Not a common sight in Kenya.
“Aden?” someone said from the shadows.
Kruger dropped his bag and spun toward the voice with a pistol drawn. “Show yourself.”
“It's OK, I'm a friend of Steve's.” The man walked forward with his hands extended. Lightly built with a shaved head, his coffee-colored skin hinted at a mixed ethnicity. “Can we talk in your room?”
Kruger glanced at Bishop who nodded and they led the man from the parking lot.
“What's your name?” asked Bishop as Kruger opened the door to their room. He knew it wasn't Mamba.
“You can call me Kogo.”
Kruger dumped his bags on the floor and gestured for the man to sit on a bed.
“It's late, Kogo, so feel free to get to the point,” said Bishop as he pulled the door shut. “We already spoke to Mr. Hanna. Is this the second half of the job interview?”
“Yes, he vouched for you but I wanted to meet in person before I offer you work.”
Bishop sat on his bed facing the poacher. “OK. So do you have any questions?”
“Have you hunted elephants before?”
“Ja,” said Kruger. “We did some work in South Africa but things got a little hot. That's why we're here.”
“There's a lot of anti-poaching organizations in South Africa,” said Kogo.
“Not so many here,” said Bishop. “Hey, let’s talk money, we don't come cheap.”
Kogo nodded. “The money is good. We’ll give you a five percent cut each of the ivory.”
“We, who is we?” asked Bishop.
“I work for someone, he authorizes all the details.”
“And his name is?”
“You don't need that information at the moment.” Kogo got up from the bed. “I will pick you up in the morning. Do you need equipment?”
“Don't bother, we don't work for people who don't have names,” said Bishop.
Kogo's brow furrowed and he glanced around the room. “OK, OK, I work for a man called Mamba Mboya.”
Bishop fought the urge to grab him by the throat. “Will he be coming with us?”
The poacher shook his head. “No, think of this as a trial. If you prove yourself to me then you will work with Mamba.”
“Fair enough. So, we've got our own gear. Where are we going?”
“I'll give you the location in the morning.” Kogo offered Bishop his hand.
“We don't work like that.” Bishop ignored Kogo's attempted handshake. “You either tell us where we're going or you find someone else.”
Kogo glanced nervously at Kruger then back to Bishop. “Tsavo East National Park. Are you familiar with it?”
“No, but we'll do our research. See you in the morning.”
Kogo nodded. “4.30 am. I'll have another man with me who knows the park.”
Bishop opened the door. “See you then.” He waited for the poacher to leave before moving across to the window and watching him climb into the Land Cruiser.
“You looked like you were going to kill him,” said Kruger.
“Wanted to, that slimy prick was probably at Luangwa.” He left the window. “Can I use your local phone?”
“What’s up?” Kruger handed him the device.
“I'm going to give Dom a call and see if he knows people at Tsavo. I for one will not be shooting any elephants.”
CHAPTER 7
TSAVO EAST NATIONAL PARK, KENYA
It was a few minutes past eight in the morning when Kogo stopped the Land Cruiser and killed the engine. He glanced in the rear vision mirror and made eye contact with Bishop. “This as far as we can drive.”
“Better get cracking then, ja.” He and Kruger alighted from the four-wheel drive and joined the third man at the back. He was their tracker; a lean bush-meat poacher familiar with Tsavo who spoke very little English. Bishop shrugged on his chest rig and inserted a magazine into his R5 assault rifle. Kruger carried a R1 and had a heavy-caliber double-barreled rifle slung over his shoulder.
“The tracker will lead us to the elephants. He says they will be near the lake a few miles from here.” Kogo took a compact chainsaw from the trunk and locked the vehicle. “Kruger will make the kill. I cut the tusks and we leave as fast as we can.”
“Is this area heavily patrolled?” asked Bishop as he checked his pouches. The South African-style vest he’d bought off Toppie contained the essentials including water, ammo, a compact pair of binoculars, and a medical kit.
Kogo turned to the tracker and asked him in Swahili.
The man shrugged and rattled off a few sentences.
“Not really,” translated Kogo. “There are volunteers patrolling the park but it's big.”
“So there’s a chance we could bump into a patrol out ther
e.”
“It is possible, that’s why you have been hired.”
“I haven't seen any money yet, champ. I'm not about to go in there and get myself shot on the off-chance your mate here can find us an elephant. How about you cough up some cash up-front?”
Kogo shook his head. “I can't do that.”
“Listen, fuckbag, you've dragged us all the way out here because you're desperate. I don't know why but you need tusks and you need them fast. The way I see it you need to pay up-front or cut us in for a bigger slice.” Bishop locked eyes with the poacher.
“I can't make that decision.”
“You've got a sat phone, call your boss.”
Kogo looked to the tracker for support but the man shrugged. He wasn't about to challenge the heavily-armed former soldiers. “OK, fine, I will make the call.” He took the satellite phone from his pocket and dialed.
Bishop watched him intently as he waited for the call to pickup. Turning his back Kogo talked in Swahili.
“Do you have a map?” Bishop asked the tracker.
The man shrugged again.
“Do you speak any English?”
The only response was another shrug.
“I guess not.” He took the opportunity to check the surroundings. It was a lot like Luangwa: dry red earth, scrubby bushes, and tall thorn trees with sparse cover. It reminded him of Saneh, bloodied and wounded, lying in the dust next to the safari truck. Turning back to Kogo he saw the poacher had finished his call.
“I can’t pay you now but we can offer you five thousand dollars each if we return with at least two tusks.”
“And if we don't?”
“Then I can pay you a thousand each for your time.”
Bishop glanced at Kruger who nodded.
“You've got a deal. But, if you try to screw us you're a dead man.”
Kogo swallowed.
“Have you got a map of the area?”
The poacher reached inside his vest, pulled out a folded map, and handed it over. Bishop opened it on the bonnet of the four-wheel drive. “Ask your man where the elephants are.”
Kogo spoke to the tracker who leaned over the map and pointed at a smudge of blue.
PRIMAL Renegade (A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 8) (The PRIMAL Series) Page 8