The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  “Join me Mr Green!” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Miss Bonjiovanni,” I replied as I pulled my own beer from the cooler, “I believe I will.”

  I slumped back into the hammock and the can opened with a hiss. The beer was bitingly cold and extremely welcome after the furnace of the beach. Gabby and I spent the next hour in light hearted conversation until the cook appeared from the path in the jungle to our left. A late lunch of crumbed fish fillets was served with chips and salad. Gabby and I took our time eating before making our way back to the hammocks with fresh beers. Within fifteen minutes we had both fallen asleep. I awoke at 3.15pm. as the sun had started its descent towards the mainland. Leaving Gabby to sleep I got up, lit a cigarette and walked barefoot out on to the beach. The tide was in and the lagoon to the right was full. I walked quietly back to the dining area and opened the trunk of snorkelling equipment. I placed two pairs of fins and two masks on the bench table and opened a fresh beer. My idle relaxation was disturbed by a sudden cacophony of birdsong from the nearby jungle. With the heat of the day subsiding a pair of Olive Bee-Eaters were defending their tree from a Green Coucal.

  I looked around me at the picture postcard scene of tranquil beauty and I realised that I had finally broken away from the horrors of the recent weeks. The birds had woken Gabby who yawned as she got up out of her hammock.

  “Hello sleepy head,” I said as I sipped my beer.

  “Mm hello,” she replied sleepily as she raised her arms and stretched her tall frame “Oh! Are we going snorkelling?”

  “I thought we might,” I replied. “While there's still enough sunlight.”

  A few minutes later we went out on to the beach and down towards the lagoon. It turned out she was an experienced diver and we both took to the water together and finned across to the natural rock wall that enclosed the bay. Although the clarity of the water was excellent there was very little sea life or coral within the lagoon. Using underwater signals, I told Gabby to follow me to the mouth of the lagoon so we could follow the rock wall in the open sea. It took some minutes to reach the opening but as soon as we had rounded the wall we were instantly rewarded. Suddenly the underwater vista exploded into vibrant colour and life. The sharp rock wall descended at a steep angle to a depth of around six metres after which it flattened out to sand. Ten metres out from there the sand dropped off into a great dark blue unknown. Great clumps of orange clubbed finger coral clung to the stone wall and we were suddenly surrounded by scores of curious, almost translucent, needle fish that swam up fearlessly and peered through the lenses of our masks. Below us, great schools of bright yellow and black angel fish, pennant fish, pyramid and millet seed butterfly fish swayed and waved in the fronds and clumps of weed. In all my years of sport diving I had never seen such visibility and clarity in open water. The subtle undercurrent meant that there was no need to kick our fins. Instead we hung motionless in the water and allowed the current to carry us slowly along the wall. At one stage I had to guide Gabby away from a crevice in the rock as there was a particularly angry looking Moray eel poking its head out and baring its teeth as we passed. Huge clumps of mushroom coral gave way to bright green stag horn forests interspersed with delicate gardens of ancient plate formations. Below us a group of parrot fish crunched away at a large dome of grooved brain coral and the sound was clearly heard by both Gabby and me. The spectacle was as overwhelming as it was unexpected. At one stage Gabby suddenly grabbed and shook my arm. Slightly alarmed and expecting to see a shark I looked to where she was pointing only to witness a giant sea turtle swimming away to the depths in what looked like slow motion. Gabby dived repeatedly, sometimes to over four metres, to more closely inspect items of interest. Her slim body glided through the depths effortlessly as if she was completely comfortable in the alien environment. The myriad of colour and life continued as we drifted along past giant elk horn formations and glittering shoals of bright orange clown fish. It was fifteen minutes later when we finally reached the end of the rock wall and entered the shallows at the head of the lagoon. We removed our fins and stood in the warm knee-deep water. When Gabby removed her mask and snorkel it left a temporary red line where the pressure had pressed the mask on her face.

  “Oh my God!” she panted “I have never seen anything like it!”

  “No,” I replied “Me neither. It was amazing.”

  We took a slow walk along the beach back to camp with Gabby in animated conversation describing and reliving what we had just witnessed. We sat in the shade at one of the bench tables and drank cold beer until the sun had made its way down the sky over the distant mainland.

  “I'm going to take a shower,” said Gabby with a satisfied sigh, “wash the salt from my hair.”

  “I'll go in right after you,” I replied.

  I watched her walk into the darkened interior of the bedroom, lit a cigarette and turned on my seat to look out towards Margaruque island. The slowly setting sun had turned the dunes to a burnt orange colour and the ocean was beginning to take on the same hue. Gabby returned after a few minutes wearing a yellow sarong around her waist and her bikini top. I followed suit and took a quick shower and changed my clothes. Although the water was cold, it felt good to wash the salt from my skin and hair. I walked back out to find Gabby had set up a small blue-tooth speaker and was playing Cuban music from her phone. I rummaged through the cooler and pulled out a bottle of wine with two glasses. Not wanting to stray too far from the music we took a seat on a towel on the beach to watch the sunset. The sea was a solid slab of orange with light horizontal brushes of gun metal grey that stretched out to infinity. On the horizon near the island of Margaruque a dhow set sail and its black outline was stark against the warm glow of the ocean. It was completely dark and the moon had not yet risen by the time the guard and the cook arrived with the gas lamps. They hung two of them from the poles of the roof of our room and placed another three around the outside living area. The yellow glow and quiet roar of the lamps lent an atmosphere of homely warmth to the area which the music complimented. The cook approached us and asked what we would like for dinner. There was a choice of crumbed calamari, lobster, or prawns. Gabby and I both chose the calamari and the cook set off to prepare dinner as the guard arrived. At first, we were puzzled as he carried a large rusted piece of flat sheet metal that he placed on the sand not far from where we sat. He returned soon after with a wheel barrow of driftwood and began to build a fire. It crackled and glowed and sent tiny sparks into the air to join the blanket of stars above that were completely free of any light pollution or smog. A fine dinner was served later on one of the bench tables and I regularly filled our glasses with chilled wine from the cooler. Afterwards Gabby and I retired to our seat on the beach near the fire. We watched as the moon rose and slowly climbed up the sky. It was 9.15 when the table was cleared behind us and the guard and cook both came to say goodnight. We thanked them and watched as they made their way up the beach back to their quarters. Later that night Gabby and I took a walk to the lagoon. The moon had turned the surface of the water into a sheet of pure molten silver. We stripped off our clothes and swam naked in the warm still water. It was when we were about to get out that I stopped her in the shoulder high water and pulled her gently towards me. Once again, I tasted the salt on her lips, as we kissed and she soon found the reason I had held her back. Our intertwined bodies ground against each other under the water in a rhythm as ancient as the earth. Later that night, when Gabby was asleep, I got up and walked out to sit on the bench table to have a cigarette. The air was cool, the night was silent, and I was content. The next day was a carbon copy of the previous. We spent the morning exploring the south side of the island collecting coconuts and snorkelling the reefs.

  A lot of photographs were taken and I flew the drone taking numerous videos and stills from all altitudes. We returned to the camp in the heat of the day to eat lunch and rest only to venture out again as the afternoon cooled off. The private paradise we found ourselv
es in was as pristine and untouched as the brochure had shown. That afternoon we climbed the highest dune on the island and saw whales through the zoom lenses of our cameras in the rough open waters of the eastern coast.

  The night was spent with much laughter, merriment and music and it was midnight when we finally lay down in bed exhausted and more than a little tipsy. It was a bitter sweet moment when the captain arrived the following day to take us back to the mainland, but the sadness was tempered by the knowledge that we were returning to the luxury and facilities of Sand Dollar Lodge. The trip back to Vilanculos was quick and smooth thanks to the brisk wind that filled the sail of the bright yellow dhow 'Celeste'. That night we took a drive to town and had dinner at one of the fancy hotels we had spotted on our first day. The food was, of course, excellent and it was 9.45 pm when we finally returned to the bar at Sand Dollar Lodge for a night cap. Later that evening, at around midnight, I carefully pulled my right arm from around Gabby's neck and walked out to the verandah to smoke a cigarette. I sat on the wooden banister and looked out at the lights of a distant ship beyond the islands. There had been something troubling me for the past few days. Something I had been successfully avoiding but was eating away at my conscience. Even more so that night given the fact we were due to return to Beira and reality the following day. You need to tell her Green. You need to tell her everything. Tell her about Hannes. The reason you are in Mozambique. The reason you were in Zimbabwe. You need to tell her how you got the scars on your body. Tell her about Dixon Mayuni. You need to tell her about Imperial Dragon and the ivory. There's no doubt you've fallen for her Green so don't be a fucking idiot. You want a future with her? Tell her. Tell her how you feel. Tell her everything or you might lose her. I flicked the cigarette butt out on to the grass and watched as the glowing tip broke up and died.

  “Yup,” I whispered to myself, “that's what I'll do.”

  Chapter 19: The Gathering Storm

  I AWOKE AT 6.30AM. feeling fresh and rejuvenated. I slipped out quietly through the bedroom door and boiled the kettle for coffee. When it was ready, I opened the lounge doors and sat on one of the verandah chairs to smoke. The night had brought in a layer of clouds that hung in the sky like dirty smog and I could no longer see the islands on the horizon. Ten minutes later I heard the squeak of the bedroom door and Gabby stepped out wearing nothing but an old t-shirt.

  “Oh,” she said sleepily. “Where has the sun gone?”

  “I'm sure it will burn through the clouds soon enough,” I replied. “Coffee?”

  “Yes please,” she said as she took the chair next to mine.

  We sat in silence as we drank our coffee and looked out to sea. I had the distinct feeling that something was not quite right with Gabby, and this was confirmed when she sighed and I turned to look at her. She sat with her legs up on the cushion clutching her coffee mug with both hands and her eyes welled with tears.

  “Hey,” I said putting my hand on her shoulder, “what's wrong?”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her right hand.

  “I'm sorry,” she said clearly embarrassed, “it's just I don't want to leave this place. I don't want to go back to reality. Work and all of that shit.”

  “I know...,” I said as I rubbed her back, “me neither. But hey! We'll have a nice drive back, now we know what to expect from the road and we'll do something fun tonight. How does that sound?”

  She leant her head briefly on my arm then turned and flashed her bright smile at me once again.

  “That sounds fine.”

  After a shower and more coffee, we walked to the restaurant for a cooked breakfast. The sun broke through the clouds as we ate on the decking and the mood lightened. I packed the vehicle and we left the small town of Vilanculos at exactly 9.00 am. The short distance to the main Maputo road was well tarred and free of potholes and soon enough we took the right turn heading north towards Beira. In the light of day, the main road was in even worse shape than I remembered. Huge sections simply didn't exist any more and those that did were peppered with deep sharp holes.

  That and the fact there were a lot of heavy haulage trucks and passenger buses travelling the same route slowed us down significantly. Gabby and I accepted we were in for the long haul, so we passed the time listening to music and chatting about the island trip. It was a full two hours later when we finally reached the Save bridge.

  “This is where we dropped the soldier isn't it?” she said.

  “That's right,” I replied “And if my memory serves me well, we have another two hours of bad road before it improves...”

  “Oh well,” she said as she handed me a bottle of water from the cooler “I guess we'll just take it easy.”

  The sun burned overhead as I negotiated what was left of the dusty road and it was just under two hours later when we reached the small isolated plantation town of Muxungue. Crowds of vendors surrounded the vehicle when I stopped at a service station so Gabby could pick up some snacks from the kiosk. I ignored them and kept the engine running to keep the interior of the cab cool with the air conditioning. Soon after we had cleared the town the road improved and I was finally able to drive at speed. The landscape changed as we gained altitude and far in the distance, I saw the hills of Inchope where we would eventually make the turn towards the coast and the city of Beira. Gabby seemed content, eating snacks, chatting and flicking between her own music and the radio station she had found when we had driven down. I, however, found myself agonizing about how and when I would tell her my story. On more than a few occasions I resorted to simply smiling and nodding when she spoke as I grappled with the mechanics of how to actually go about it. Another thing that worried me was how she might react when I told her. She's a journalist Green. For fuck sakes, she's been covering atrocities, injustices and wars for her job all over the world! She'll appreciate your honesty and hell it might even work in your favour. You love this woman Green and you want some kind of future with her. Fucking tell her! Tell her everything. The journey continued with me delaying the inevitable confession until we reached the bustling trading post of Inchope. I glanced at my watch as I took the right turn on to the new motorway. It was 3.00 pm. and I knew we were only one and a half hours from Beira.

  “Gabby, I need to talk to you,” I said.

  Sensing this was serious she removed her sunglasses, turned the music off and looked at me.

  “Sure,” she said soberly. “Go ahead.”

  I started from the very beginning leaving absolutely nothing out. I told her about the article in the news I had seen back in London all that time ago. I told her of my history with Johannes Kriel during the war and his achievements in the world of conservation and anti- poaching thereafter. I told her about the guilt I had felt upon hearing of his death and the fact that at the time it had been treated with suspicion because of the nature of his work. I recounted my journey from London to Harare for the funeral and the bizarre encounter with his widow when she had entrusted me with the hard drive that contained the report that she believed was the reason he had been murdered. I went on to tell her how I had accessed the files on the hard drive and the moment I realised the importance of the information on it. I described the night when the men who I believed to be government agents broke in to my room in Harare to retrieve the dummy hard drive which I had switched with the real one. I narrated my journey to the Zambezi valley and my ill-fated encounter with Dixon Mayuni and his band of poachers. I told her, in detail, of my escape and how I had been injured by the spike through my foot, the bullet wound, and the crocodile attack. Gabby maintained her composure throughout and sat stony faced, taking it all in as she listened. I went on to explain the appalling conditions of the Kariba hospital and my eventual transfer to the Mercer clinic in Lusaka, Zambia. She shook her head in disbelief as I described the long journey to recovery at the bush camp on the outskirts of Lusaka.

  “Are you okay Gabby?” I asked.

  “I'm listening Jason,” she said so
ftly. “Carry on please.”

  I was sure she was taking the story well and the truth about my injuries would invoke some measure of sympathy from her that might carry through to the end of my confession.

  “Okay.” I said.

  I spent a good ten minutes describing the highly organized poaching operations of Mayuni in the Zambezi Valley and went on to recount my journey back there to punish him. I was totally honest about leaving him tied up in the river for the crocodiles although I neglected to mention cutting his Achilles tendons. Making no mention yet of Imperial Dragon Trading I went on to describe how the ivory and other illegal wildlife products were smuggled through Zimbabwe on haulage trucks from the copper belt in Zambia.

  “And this ivory ends up where?” she asked.

  “Well,” I said, “ultimately it ends up in China of course, but it leaves Africa in shipping containers from here in Mozambique”

  “From where exactly in Mozambique Jason?” she said.

  “From Beira Gabby,” I said. “It leaves here hidden in containers of hard wood. It's smuggled out, bribes are paid and it sails away to China.”

  She turned to me with a look of shocked disbelief in her eyes. The fingers of her right hand began drumming silently on her leg and this worried me. It was then that I noticed a road sign that showed we were only sixty kilometres from Beira. My story had taken a long time to tell and we had covered a lot of distance during the telling of it. Gabby's naturally enquiring journalistic mind kicked in and she began to fire question after question at me. I fielded each of them with total honesty and openness and went on to tell her how the entire operation was shrouded under the veil of legitimate business and the people in charge of these businesses were hugely wealthy, powerful and politically connected. I stressed the ultimate importance of Hannes' report and the fact that it was due to be presented at the conference on illegal wildlife trade in Geneva later that year. I explained its ramifications and the good that would result in its being made public. Still the questions came, one after the next and with increasing intensity. It was when we were approaching the industrial area of Ceramica that we passed the first haulage truck loaded with hardwood. I watched as her body tensed with anger at the sight of it.