Zoe looked resigned. “OK, OK.” She thought a second. “There’s a vet in Baton Rouge looking to volunteer here. I’ll send Bob and Carrie Mae up to interview him. That should give us some peace for a couple of hours.”
Katie clapped her hands. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she said to Claire.
Claire shook her head and smiled, this time with real warmth.
Zoe gave Claire and Keerbrock khakis, explaining why they were necessary. At 3:30 they went inside the fence. Flo was already waiting for Katie at the spot where they had formed a circle the day before. “Whatever happens, just be cool,” said Zoe. “You two stay close to me,” she said and positioned the three of them behind Katie. Even as Katie opened the case, elephants were coming up the hill, and by the time Katie had held out the jadeite for Flo, the elephants had already formed a circle. Keerbrock looked concerned, and even Claire wasn’t at ease.
There were two new elephant recruits who had not been present the day before. Somehow they knew the rules, because they waited patiently for their turn to come forward and touch the stone. This time there was no drama from the males. In fact, a big male led the rumbling. Both the rumbling and the synchronized swaying became organized much more quickly than the day before, and the sounds much more coherent.
Katie joined in with the swaying almost immediately. “If you close your eyes and just hear and feel it, it’s easier to join the rhythm,” said Katie.
Claire did so and fell right into sync. Keerbrock first looked self-conscious, but then closed his eyes. “If anyone takes a picture of this, I’m finished,” he said.
As the waves became more enveloping, Claire asked in an awed voice, “What’s happening?”
“Bart is coming back to life,” said Keerbrock quietly.
Then, for the next several minutes, there was nothing but the elephant plainsong.
¬
Later, back on Zoe’s veranda, sampling Arkansas’ finest claret, they reflected on the day.
“I didn’t feel like driving a pipe into the ground, did you?” asked Claire.
“Nope, but we learned a couple of things,” said Keerbrock.
“Such as?”
“Clearly, elephants are getting a more vivid picture out of the stone than we humans with our puny auditory processing capacities, and, also, their reaction points more to idea that the stone is more diorama than instruction manual.”
Claire turned to Katie. She cleared her throat. “I think you should stay here …” Katie started to protest, but Claire plowed on. “I insist—with the jadeite. I’ll make it right with everyone. I don’t know what will come of this, but clearly it’s the most productive thing for you to be doing right now … But it’s important to keep this secret. Can you do that?”
Zoe answered for her. “That stone is important to the elephants. I think we can find her a half hour here and there where she can be alone with the elephants.”
Claire looked at Zoe. “Maybe you can answer this question: I’ve always heard that swaying in captive elephants is a type of stereotypical behavior, indicating stress. But what we saw was the opposite?”
Zoe smiled. “I was thinking about that, too. You’re right—swaying can mean stress, but elephants also do it to get comfortable.” Zoe was a tough customer, but she hesitated a bit in the presence of this high-octane brainpower. “I did have a thought, though.”
Keerbrock seemed to sense the reason for her reticence. “I’d like to hear it—you’ve spent more time with elephants than any of us.”
Relieved, Zoe nodded. “Well, I was thinking that elephants can’t run, but they can move pretty fast by walking. Similarly, it’s hard for a ten-thousand-pound animal to dance, but that synchronized swaying could have rocked the house at any club I’ve been to.”
Katie clapped with delight. “Saturday Night Fever, elephant style!”
Claire was deep in thought. “Think about how they fell into synchrony so that the pulse traveled around the circle.”
“Like a wave,” offered Keerbrock.
They were all silent for a moment, then Keerbrock said, “Why don’t they just take the jadeite from you? You couldn’t stop them.”
They all thought about that for a second. Zoe spoke first. “Maybe they understand and respect the notion of property?”
Claire shook her head, “Maybe, but not in Africa, or there wouldn’t be such problems with farmers.”
Keerbrock clearly had an idea. “Just speculating here—and if anyone quotes me I’ll deny it!—but maybe possession of the stone confers on the bearer the status of an avatar.” He sighed. “Anyway, the more I know about Bart, the more I like him—and envy him—except for the part about becoming extinct.” He turned to Zoe. “You have the luckiest elephants on the planet.”
Zoe nodded. “I think they know that.”
Claire was thinking about what Keerbrock had said about liking Bart. “More and more I like Will’s idea of a diorama. Maybe what we found is a time capsule, something that would tell future elephants what they were like, and what they did.”
Claire knew she was going way beyond the evidence, but she wasn’t finished. “So, what do we find in most tombs and monuments from past civilizations: images of battles and triumphs, weapons and the like. Instead, Bart’s kin chose to leave for future elephants what amounts to a lifesaving technology, as well as a path to religious ecstasy.”
Claire was getting excited. “I know there’s more to be found at the site.” She fixed Keerbrock with a look. “I’m saying right now that I’ll bet that whatever we find, even if it’s many more things, we won’t find a weapon. I like Bart, too.”
Keerbrock actually smiled. “I hope you do get to go back. But let’s think a bit about what can be done here.”
He turned to Katie. “I’m just going to toss this out: Wouldn’t it be interesting to see what Flo communicates to other elephants without the stone?”
Katie nodded, and Keerbrock turned to Zoe. “How do you feel about Flo becoming an elephant missionary?”
Zoe didn’t look particularly enthusiastic. “Flo’s happy here. I don’t know. It would be awfully expensive …”
Keerbrock nodded. “I understand, but think about it. I’ve been using my Nobel money to support offbeat, worthwhile projects, and I can’t think of anything more compelling than this. I’d also be proud to make a donation to your refuge.” He put a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “No need to decide now.”
Zoe nodded. Claire looked at the great scientist in silent wonderment. Who was this new Keerbrock?
A LAND OF EXTREMES
74
Andrei Bezanov sat at his gleaming European walnut desk in his office in Vladivostok and looked with satisfaction at the two emails from his lawyers. Apparently the two Canadian mining giants, Groupe Riviere and Yellowknife Ore, had rethought the wisdom of their investment in Transteppe after the death of their representative on the board and the uprising in Petropavl. They were willing to sell their stakes to Primorskichem for the offered ten cents on the dollar. For chump change, he thought, he not only had a controlling interest in Transteppe—he wasn’t worried about too much resistance from the Kazakh government since Transteppe would not likely be in Kazakhstan for too much longer—but once a new puppet government was in charge of the region, Primorskichem could begin to reap the enormous benefits of that minor investment.
The only thing that could screw things up would be if it got out that Russia had engineered the uprising and that he, Bezanov, was connected to Hayden’s death. He wasn’t worried so much about going to jail; his fellow oligarchs had been bumping off pests for years with impunity, and the Russian government would ignore extradition requests and indictments. Rather it was the fraudulent conveyance provisions that could unwind the sale, and the bother of having foreign holdings seized or frozen as the World Bank’s ICSID or the Permanent Court of Arbitration issued damages judgments.
Worse, he would no longer be able to leave Rus
sia, and he loved his home in Mustique, his property on the beach in Malibu, his apartments in New York, London, and Rome, not to mention his hundred-meter-long yacht, Iridium. Just the thought of a future of shuttling between Moscow, Vladivostok, and the Black Sea caused an involuntary shudder.
His advisers had reassured him that Moscow’s involvement in the uprising could never be proven. As for Hayden, no one at Primorskichem, and certainly not Bezanov’s Russian partners, knew that Hayden’s death was something more than a random act by homegrown extremists.
As for Anachev, he didn’t know anything. Change that—Andrei was fairly certain he didn’t know anything. Killing him was always an option, but now, because his anger had gotten the better of him, Ludmilla knew of his manipulation of Sergei. Sergei disappearing right now would bring unwanted attention that he didn’t need. Still, Bezanov thought, he needed to plan in case that became necessary.
He thought a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have released the brother, he mused, now that the woman scientist was back in the US and harder to get at. Clearly, she represented a new and better insurance policy, but only if she came back to Transteppe.
His thoughts turned back to covering his tracks. Only one other living person knew exactly what had transpired. That was the man who had organized the operation, the man who brilliantly impersonated a fanatic and then equipped, even better, sold the group he’d attached to the means to bring down the helicopter.
Bezanov had to admit that the man who had contacted him, the man with no name, was something of a genius. But, Bezanov reminded himself, this man had somehow contacted him directly, breaching all the firewalls and security measures the oligarch had erected to prevent precisely that contingency.
This was a loose end, and the more Bezanov thought about it, the more intolerable it became. But how do you tie up that loose end when you don’t know the man’s name or how to contact him? And, even if you can eliminate him, how do you do that without creating another loose end? That required some thought.
75
Before he left Rushmere for Transteppe, Sergei called Rob. His friend answered sounding uncharacteristically subdued.
“Something’s up? What’s wrong?”
“Well, our job security is now about the same as a North Korean general’s.”
Rob filled in Sergei on the Primorskichem takeover of Transteppe by purchasing the Canadian miners’ stakes.
“I should tell Claire.”
“Don’t! She’ll want to come immediately, and the situation is completely combustible with US Special Forces here on the ground. Let’s you and I figure it out first.”
During the long plane trips Sergei did figure it out, at least some of it. His conversation with Claire had restarted his speculations on whether there was a tie between Andrei and Hayden’s death. Now, with the news of the sale to Primorskichem, all the pieces fell into place.
The Transteppe helicopter ferried him from Astana to the concession in the early afternoon, two days after he left Rushmere. He showered, donned work clothes, and strode purposefully to Rob’s office. His days as a pawn were over.
Before Rob could say hello, Sergei said, “The Russians killed Mr. Hayden, and we can use that knowledge to stop the takeover.”
Sergei then told Rob about the mystery of a janitor speaking Russian to a train crew member while standing beside crates exactly the size that might hold a Stinger rocket launcher.
Rob drummed his fingers on the table. “Did you say a janitor?” he said a bit ruefully.
“I said dressed as a janitor. I don’t think he was a janitor.”
“You’re right, he wasn’t a janitor. Claire saw him fire the rocket. So did others.”
Sergei looked confused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Clearly, I should have, but at the time, we needed you focused on dealing with the Russians and not chasing leads on Hayden’s death.” Rob thought a minute. “Actually, I’m glad I didn’t tell you. Knowing what you now know, you probably would have given away your suspicions and gotten yourself killed.”
Sergei gave a short, bitter laugh. “We Russians had seventy years’ practice hiding our feelings. I could have carried it off.”
Sergei returned to the murder of Hayden. “There’s something odd about that murder given the extremely well-planned game the Russians and the company orchestrated.”
“I agree,” said Rob. “They didn’t have to kill Hayden to get control of the company.”
Sergei nodded, “It’s almost as if there was more than one person calling the shots, and one of the players went rogue. I’d put my money on the greedy oligarch who controls Primorskichem.”
Rob gave Sergei a sharp glance. “I thought you didn’t know him. What did you say? ‘We travel in different circles.’”
Sergei sighed. He’d already told Claire about his long history with the oligarch and couldn’t hold back from Rob. So he told him the whole story. When he finished, he added, “You can be certain that I never told Bezanov anything other than what I was finding in mineral surveys, and I did my best to disguise the significance of the find.”
Rob took all this in and then gave a rueful laugh. “I’m a rotten security head—way too trusting of my gut.”
Sergei looked wan. “Maybe your gut was right—if it came to that, I think I would have sacrificed my brother to save you and Claire. He was always kind of a pain in the ass.”
Rob laughed again.
Sergei picked up his train of thought. “By the way, I’m now convinced that when Bezanov came to Transteppe, it was to see whether Hayden would stand in the way of his plan. He has no soul, but for practical reasons, I think he wanted to get control of Transteppe without killing Hayden.”
Rob looked wistful. “That means that if we hadn’t found those bones, Hayden would still be alive.”
“I hate that thought, and I hope Claire doesn’t follow that chain of logic,” said Sergei, knowing that this was exactly what she would do.
They sat in silence for a moment, then Sergei perked up. “There’s always been a battle in the character of the Russian leadership between the bullies and the chess players in our dealings with the rest of the world. The bully part almost always undercuts the best efforts of the chess player. Bezanov is both a bully and a chess player. That can work to our advantage.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a phone call from Ripley’s office.
“Well, they didn’t waste much time,” Rob said, getting up and signaling Sergei to follow.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re here.”
The concession had all but shut down, and the only people Rob and Sergei passed were a few of Rob’s black-clad security detail as well as what looked to be American Special Forces troops.
When they got to the site manager’s office, Ripley greeted them at the door and gave Sergei a look that put him on his guard. “Thanks for coming,” said Ripley carefully. “We’ve got visitors from Primorskichem who’ve asked that you give them an update.”
Ripley stepped aside to reveal two men dressed in business suits. They were wearing visitor badges. Both were lean and intense. Neither smiled. “OK, let’s see,” said Ripley, sounding nervous. “If I’ve got this right, this is Dimitri Lerchov,” he said indicating the taller of the two, who gave Sergei a perfunctory handshake while looking him directly in the eye, “and this is Pietr Popov.”
Rob looked at the two men but made no move to introduce himself. He turned to Ripley. “How is it that two visitors show up when the concession’s locked down, and I’m not even aware of it?”
“They just showed up,” said Ripley, “and gate security brought them to me.”
Before Ripley could continue, the man named Dimitri spoke in Russian. Sergei translated. “He says that Primorskichem now owns a majority interest in this mine, and its representatives don’t have to ask permission to check on the company’s investment—particularly in these times.” Sergei let that last phrase linger.
Sergei then continued in a neutral voice, “They want to talk to me at the warehouse.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s what they said.”
With times so fraught, Rob didn’t want to risk an incident. “OK, you know where to find me,” he said and left.
Sergei and the two Russians walked in silence to the warehouse.
Once there, Dimitri pointed to a table and said, “Let’s talk.”
Sergei shrugged and they sat down. Sergei waited.
“Show us the images you have on the phospherite.”
Sergei noted the command. Not “We’d like to see …” or “Please …,” just “Show us …” Without a word, he got up and led them to his office and turned on his computer.
He typed in a series of commands, and an image appeared showing the same section of the lip where the bones and the jadeite had been found. Only the phospherite showed up in color. Sergei had assumed his report to his Russian contact would prompt a visit and had prepared.
“This is one rock—phospherite deposits come in thick layers?”
Sergei sighed. “This is taken from a section of a recumbent fold, so the bottom is on the top. I’m assuming that the phosphate rock layer is somewhat below this, but because of the fold I would have to take a much longer vertical sample, and I haven’t had the chance to do that yet.”
“Why not?”
Sergei made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “You might have heard that the mine has shut down.”
“Don’t play with us. We’re telling you to do more exploratory drilling.”
Sergei kept his voice even. “That’s not my decision. Management has said there will be no activity that could be perceived to be commercial until we’re sure who our partner is.”
Dimitri stared at Sergei with a look full of menace. “We now have control, and I think you know very well who your future government partner will be.”
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