The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  The GPS showed the exact location, altitude and distance so I had exact co-ordinates to work with. Keeping the aircraft facing north I moved the right-hand stick on the controller and watched the screen as the drone moved away from the river and over the thick bush below. Once I was six hundred metres in I pushed the button to the front left of the controller and it responded by making a loud clicking sound like that of an old fashioned camera. Satisfied. I moved the drone to the right for fifty metres and repeated the process until I had once again reached the bank of the Kafue River. I moved the drone over to the right and did the same on the other side. Once I had reached six hundred metres on the other side, I brought the drone back towards me for fifty metres and repeated the process once again.

  It was when I had taken forty-eight photographs that the controller bleeped its first battery warning. I had a good idea of where the aircraft was, but I decided to use the 'Home' button to be on the safe side. Instantly the aircraft's GPS system kicked in and I saw the bush below moving rapidly as the drone returned to the exact spot it had taken off from. Five minutes later I heard the drone descending above me. I walked out into the sunlight and flicked the controller back to manual to land. By my calculations with the two remaining batteries I would be able to cover the area working back to the mouth of the river completely. If Dixon Mayuni's camp was indeed where Hannes had said in his report, I would surely have a clear idea of its exact location. Sweat was forming on my arms and face as I replaced the spent battery and took off for the next flight. Apart from a near miss with an overly curious Fish Eagle, the flight went off well and I got the next forty-eight photographs without any hassle. It was on the third and final flight that I started running into problems. The wind had picked up in the valley and there were numerous warnings on the controller that the fact that the aircraft was fighting this high-altitude wind would affect the usual battery life of twenty-five minutes. In the end I managed to get thirty-five photographs in all before the second battery warning sounded and fearful of the important data on the memory card, I brought the drone back. Just before landing I took one more photograph at altitude of the Zimbabwe side of the river so that I might identify the drop off point that Mayuni used on his frequent trips to the Zimbabwe side. The drone landed safely near me and I carried it back to my spot in the shade. Leaving the memory card in place I folded the arms on the aircraft away and packed everything back in my bag.

  I spent the next thirty minutes sitting in the shade listening to the sound of the bush. From the buzzing of insects to the cry of the Fish Eagle and the quarrelsome grunting of the hippos I was reminded that the entire valley was alive. Soon enough I heard the boat motor approaching and I got up to watch it arrive. Amos was gliding through the shallows towards the tree branch with a relieved smile on his face. I climbed down the sandy bank and got on to the boat.

  “Everything okay sir?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes, all good thanks, Amos” I replied “I think let's get back to camp now”

  The sun was blazing out on the river and we passed a herd of elephant near the pump house on the Zimbabwe side. Eventually we arrived at the jetty and I slipped Amos a twenty dollar note as a tip.

  “Will you be needing the boat again today sir?” he asked.

  “I might want to go out again,” I replied. “So, if you could wait on stand-by?”

  He agreed and I made my way up the stairs to the green grass and cool shade of the camp. It was time to find Mr Dixon Mayuni.

  Chapter Seven: Needle in A Haystack

  THE INSIDE OF THE CHALET was cooler under the thatch roof. I turned on the overhead fan and sat at the desk to boot up the laptop. Once done it was an easy job to remove the memory card from the drone and insert it into the computer. Sure enough, there were one hundred and thirty one JPEG files showing on the card. Time to get to work Green. I started with the first photograph I had taken. The quality and resolution of the 4K image was impressive and I was able to zoom in easily and keep the clarity. I carefully examined the picture for any sign of human habitation. The image showed nothing but dense bush. Slowly and methodically I examined each image carefully zooming in to each one. At the end of the first row of the grid I sat back and took a deep breath. Outside the staff had connected the sprinklers to quench the grass from the burning heat of the day. The repetitive sound of the water squirting combined with the blanket of warm air that surrounded me made me yawn. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee. Staying in the shade of the thatched roof I went to stand by the grille door of the chalet to drink it and smoke. Through the heat haze I could see the greenery on the other side of the river and the mountains of the Zambian escarpment in the distance. Hannes wouldn't make a mistake Green. He said in the report that Mayuni's camp was there. It must be there. With the caffeine boosting my energy I returned to the laptop to continue. It was on the second row of the grid of images that I picked up the first sign of human activity. It was only after zooming in that I saw the overgrown track. It crossed from left to right going towards the Kafue and although faint I clearly saw the log of a cut tree in the image. It was not a path that a vehicle could have taken but more of a footpath through the bush. The second image confirmed my suspicions and I continued to zoom in and follow the track across the grid until finally I saw the bank of the Kafue River. Once again, I zoomed into the image and found yet another clear sign. It would have been impossible to see from ground level but hidden deep in the tall reeds on the left bank of the river was the unmistakeable long dark shape of a dugout canoe. The next picture showed the right-hand bank of the river and again there was the clear indication of a foot path heading into the bush. It was as I was zooming out that I saw the motor boat. Like the canoe it was cleverly hidden in the reeds of a small tributary but when I zoomed in, I could clearly see the shape of a boat with a motor. It was covered with camouflage webbing, but the glint of the propeller was clear to see in the sunlight. On to something here Green. I logged the coordinates of the boat and went on to the next picture. Again, it was mainly thick bush, but the pathway was visible upon zooming in. I followed the path for the next three photographs, but it was on the fourth that I had my eureka moment. In the centre of the picture nestled amongst the trees was a clearing. Near the top was the clear image of the thatched roof of a mud hut. Five metres from that I saw the blackened soil and ash of the remnants of a cooking fire. Laid out on a small bush nearby and clearly visible were four khaki shirts and other clothing. I see you Mr Mayuni. I see you now. On the right-hand side of the clearing was what looked like a series of shiny metallic objects stacked together.

  Puzzled. I zoomed in on this until I realized what I was looking at. The picture came up as clear as day. I was looking at sixteen twenty litre drums on a pallet. Cyanide. Containers of cyanide powder. They must be. Murdering bastard! I zoomed out a bit to look at the general layout of the camp. To the left of the clearing near the pathway were two large dark circular objects. Once again, I zoomed in to take a closer look at the image. Around each object was an area of blackened soil. Pots, large steel cooking pots for boiling the flesh away from Lion and Leopard bones. It was exactly as Hannes had said in his report. In the centre of the clearing was a tattered and faded green tarpaulin held down by rocks on four corners. Printed on the tarpaulin was the emblem of a dragon. Clearly something of value was being stored beneath it or it simply wouldn't be there. Once again, I zoomed in to the canvas and it became clear. A hole in the top left of the material revealed it. The curved white and cream stick like objects that were visible through the hole in the tarpaulin were ivory tusks. There was no telling how many there were but there was now absolutely no doubt in my mind. I was looking at the camp of Mr Dixon Mayuni. I logged the coordinates of the camp and carried on looking through each image the drone had captured. Apart from the small and cleverly hidden camp the entire area was untouched, thick, virgin bush. The last image was the one I had taken before landing the drone on the Zimbabwe side. The image was f
amiliar as it showed the clearing around the giant Baobab tree I had sheltered under while flying. Further downstream about fifty metres from where I had sat was a gulley that cut into steep bank for roughly fifteen metres. I had been totally oblivious of it earlier, but it was clearly visible from four hundred feet up. Seeing nothing of interest anywhere else in the image I decided to zoom in and take a look. As the image expanded, I saw the clear signs that humans had been there. Above the gulley near a tree facing the river was a small area of grey and blackened soil. It was the ashes of a camp fire. Not far from this was an area of disturbed soil through which something glinted in the sunlight. There was no way of telling what it was, but I assumed it was some kind of tin can or some other metallic object. I could only imagine it was some kind of rubbish dump. The gulley was clear and filled with water. It would serve as the perfect spot to moor a small motor boat and to drop and collect people. I was certain that I was looking at the point from which Mr Mayuni would launch his poaching operations on the Zimbabwe side. This was the spot where he would deliver the armed men and the cyanide drums. This was also the spot where he would collect the spoils of his murderous trade. The very spoils I had seen hidden under the tarpaulin at his bush camp on the other side of the river.

  I sat back in the chair to take it all in. Everything Hannes had said in his report was accurate and true. His killer, Dixon Mayuni, was close by. I got up and made my way out of the chalet and across the lawn to Shirley and Andrew's house. After a bit of small talk, I asked for the hard drive. Shirley retrieved it from the safe and I walked back to the chalet and plugged it in to the laptop. I typed in the password and brought up the report titled 'Lower Zambezi Operation' I skimmed through it looking for the piece of information I sought. Soon enough I found it. 'The drop off would take place every Friday night without fail'

  I glanced at the time and date on the screen of my computer. The memorial service had been on the Wednesday. Today was Friday. Hannes had been right about everything so far, so I had no reason to doubt it. Dixon Mayuni and his band of merry men would be coming across the river that very night. With my mind spinning I drummed my fingers on the desk and stared blankly out at the lawns of the camp. I got up and took a walk to the drop off to the river bank. I sat on the grass and stared out across the river towards the Zambian side. The afternoon was stifling hot and the sun burned my skin pleasantly as I sat thinking. What can you do Green? One unarmed man against a group of murdering poachers with guns and cyanide. What the fuck can you do? Nothing. I sat there rolling this over and over in my mind. The anger I felt towards Mr Mayuni and the entire operation was real and it burned in my gut, but I realized the single most valuable thing I could do was to make sure Hannes' report was presented to the forum in Geneva. You already have the aerial photographs of the camp and the landing. Combine those with the rest of the information on the hard drive and the whole thing will blow up. I took my eyes off the river and looked down at the green grass beside me. I picked up a dried twig and rolled it between my fingers as I thought. But you have the night vision goggles and the Astroscope zoom lense on the camera. You could easily get more evidence. Current evidence. Proof. I was suddenly disturbed by the sound of branches snapping to my left. I turned to see the family of Elephants I had seen the previous evening. They were slowly approaching the camp from upstream moving slowly through the trees. I marvelled at their dignified and graceful movements and their tight family unit. My mind went back to the harrowing video clip of the baby Elephants confused and distressed at the horrific killing of their herd. For some unknown reason I felt a strange duty of care for the animals of the valley. I put the twig into the corner of my mouth and chewed it lightly. Fuck it. I'm going.

  Chapter Eight: Savage Kingdom

  IT WAS 4.00PM. BY THE time I was fully prepared to leave. I had given the hard drive back to Shirley and Andrew and told them I would be walking through the bush downstream that afternoon. At first there was a bit of resistance to this idea, but I explained that silence was important for birdwatching and that I was well aware of the dangers, having been born in Africa. In my bag were two bottles of water, the night vision goggles, the camera with the Astroscope night lens and a packet of home-made biltong from Shirley. Around my neck, to keep up appearances, were the binoculars and around my waist under my shorts, my knife in its sheath. Once again, the air was tinged with an ethereal orange colour as the sun made its way down towards the Zambian escarpment. I left the camp quietly giving a wave to the security guard as I left and made my way downstream near the river bank. The grass gave way to the sandy soil of the valley floor and the bush became thicker as the human pathways gave way to animal tracks. I felt a buzz of excitement mixed with expectation as I walked around the giant ant hills and under the spreading canopies of Mopani, Acacia and Fig trees. All the while I kept the river in view not wanting to venture too far into the bush for fear of predators such as Lion or Leopard. The chance of running into either was real and expected and I wanted to keep an escape route to the water an option even with the ever-present danger of Crocodiles and Hippos. I was aware that the average walking speed was roughly five kilometres an hour which would mean, with obstacles, it would take me about an hour and twenty minutes to cover the ten kilometres to the Baobab tree opposite the Kafue River. I broke into a slow trot all the while scanning the bush around me for any movement of animals.

  The afternoon was still and hot and apart from the birdsong and chattering of Vervet Monkeys in the trees above, everything was quiet. I found my pace after a few minutes and easily jumped over the narrow gullies and slip ways that led to the river. After ten minutes I came out on an open flood plain which was covered in knee high green grass. Ahead of me a herd of fifteen Cape Buffalo were grazing near the bank of the river. Scattered around them were a number of Impala. They raised their heads in alarm as they sensed my arrival. Dotted around the waterlogged plain were a number of dark ponds with white lilies decorating the surfaces. Knowing these were havens for Crocodiles and needing to keep a good distance between myself and the foul tempered Buffalo, I cut away to my right to stay on the dry ground. This detour added at least a kilometre to my journey and by the time I arrived at the abandoned pump house I was panting heavily and dripping with sweat. The old building was crumbling and surrounded by thick reeds. Once again, I had to cut inland to pick my way around it. As I crossed a muddy gulley in the thick bush, I saw the unmistakeable spoor of a large female Lion. It was a stark reminder that death lurked everywhere around and I paused, to gauge my surroundings before moving on.

  Eventually I came up on to dry clear land and I paused to take a look through the binoculars at my surroundings. In the distance downstream I saw the giant Baobab. The light was just beginning to fade and I knew that I would need to move fast to get there before the darkness set in. I knew the moon was near full and would rise around 7.45pm. It would allow me to take a slow walk safely back to camp later on. I continued my run along the bank of the river only slowing down occasionally to divert around an area of thick thorn bush or a wide gulley. I passed at least five pods of hippos wallowing in the river on the way. Some were slowly making their way to the bank to start their night time grazing. I reminded myself to be wary of the giant animals on my return. The adults were as big as a small car and I knew full well that stepping between a mother hippo and her juvenile was a sure-fire way to get killed. With my breathing heavy and steady I continued the run. The sun had gone and twilight had set in by the time I arrived exhausted, dripping with sweat and panting heavily at the clearing around the Baobab. I sat on the sand against its gnarled trunk and drank a litre of water from one of the bottles in the bag. Once I had caught my breath, I took a walk to the drop off to the river bank. Using the binoculars, I scanned the Zambian side for any sign of movement. There was nothing. The dark powerful waters of the Zambezi had taken on the colour of gun metal in the fading light. Its silence belied the terrible dangers it held in its depths. Using the last of the lig
ht I tracked back along the route I had used on the way in until I found the last gulley I had crossed. I reached down into it and pulled out a handful of sticky black mud which I used to blacken the exposed skin on my legs, arms, and face. It smelt of rotten vegetation and animal dung, but it would do the job perfectly. The light had gone completely by the time I got back to the Baobab tree and sat down to wait.