Shoot the Bastards

by Michael Stanley

  Crys lay back on the bed. At last someone was taking action. It made all her trials and tribulations worth it. “Great idea,” she said. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow if we want to be there when it all goes down.”

  “You can’t come, Crys. If anyone spots you—your Portuguese friends or your new friends from Vietnam—they’ll abort the operation.”

  Crys sat up again. She had to go back to South Africa. She had to find out how this all linked with Michael. She hadn’t been nearly killed for nothing… “But—”

  “No buts, Crys,” Nigel interrupted. “We can’t afford for this to go wrong. Either come here to Geneva and wait for me to return, or go back to Duluth and write your story. I’ll arrange for my receptionist to take you to my flat if you want to use it.”

  Crys stood up. “Dammit, Nigel. It’s my story! I haven’t come all this way to sit quietly and wait!”

  “Crys, I’m telling you, you’ll only get in the way.”

  Crys was ready to explode, but she ground her teeth instead. She could tell this was going nowhere. She wasn’t going to change his mind.

  “Okay, Nigel,” she said. “I understand. I’ll think about where to go. Thanks for the Geneva offer.”

  “Good decision. I’ll see you in a week.”

  “That’s what you think!” she said when he hung up.

  * * *

  Crys’s blood was boiling. She threw the phone onto the bed. There was no way she was going to stay away from South Africa with everything that was happening. There was no way she was going to hang around in Geneva and write her story. What was going to happen in South Africa was her story, and she was going to write it. And she was going to find out the truth about Michael, whatever it took. She didn’t need Nigel or his damned permission.

  She retrieved the phone and called a local travel agent, asking to be put on the first flight to Johannesburg.

  “There’s an Emirates flight this evening at 11:55, arriving at 16:30 tomorrow, local time,” the agent told her.

  She looked at her watch. She had time to pack, check out, and have dinner, and still be at the airport two hours before takeoff.

  “I’ll take it,” she said. “I’ll check in at the airport.”

  Her adrenalin was flowing again. She was going back to Africa and perhaps the biggest story of her life.

  Part 5

  South Africa

  Chapter 31

  As soon as Crys had checked into the airport hotel in Johannesburg, she phoned Tshukudu. There was no time to lose. If she and Nigel were right, the strike on the rhino-horn storage facilities was only forty-eight hours away.

  She wanted to tell the Malans what was going on, and, if possible, get their help. She also hoped to find out whether Johannes had any information about where the stockpiles might be because she wanted to be there when it all went down.

  She was relieved that it was Johannes who answered—she found him easier to speak to than Anton, who always seemed a bit abrupt and offhand. Somehow, she’d rubbed him the wrong way when they’d first met.

  “Johannes, it’s Crys.”

  “Crys. Where are you? What’s going on? You just disappeared…I was worried. The police said you’d left the country without permission.”

  “I’ve just flown into Johannesburg from Ho Chi Min City. There’s lots to tell.”

  For the next ten minutes she recounted what had happened after she left South Africa. It was only when she’d finished that Johannes spoke.

  “Honest, Crys, you know how to get yourself into trouble.”

  She couldn’t deny that. “True, but right now the important thing is what’s about to happen here.”

  “What you’re saying is that you think this Vietnamese gang is going to attack rhino-horn storage facilities, probably in Kruger?”

  “Yes, exactly. But it’s just a guess, based on various things I heard. I’m pretty confident that the target is rhino horns, not live rhinos. That’s essentially what the boss man who held me said. I’m less confident that the facilities are in Kruger, though. But logically you would think it has the most horns, given its size, right?”

  It was a few moments before he answered. She wanted to squeeze it out of him.

  “You could be onto something, Crys. We do know that they hold a lot of horn in stockpiles there. My father knows more about it than I do. He’s been in this area a long time and has a lot of friends, but I don’t think he knows where the sites are. And if he does, he doesn’t tell anyone. And certainly not me.” He paused, and Crys wondered what he was thinking. “But he did tell me there are three main stores.”

  Crys felt a thrill of excitement.

  “Three is exactly the number Pockface said—three. So, they could be going to attack the sites simultaneously.”

  Now Crys was more confident than ever that Kruger was the target. Was this what Michael had discovered?

  “Do the people there know about what you’ve just told me?” Johannes asked.

  “I assume so. When I spoke to Nigel Wood yesterday from Vietnam, that’s what he was going to do as soon as we hung up—contact the authorities and tell them Kruger was the likely location. Then he was going to fly to South Africa right away.”

  “Why would he come here?”

  It was a good question. “I guess he felt he would have more influence if he presented the evidence in person. Who would he have to speak to?”

  “The minister, the police, National Parks. The top people are all likely to be in Pretoria.” He paused. “I’m surprised you didn’t join him there.”

  Crys didn’t feel like telling him that Nigel had brushed her off because she was no longer useful to him. Because she’d be in the way…

  “I have to be where the action will be,” she said instead. “I’m staying at the airport so I can make an early start tomorrow—once I’ve decided where to go, that is. And I need to speak to Colonel Mabula to find out if he’s learned anything about Michael.”

  There was silence from Johannes’s end. Cry wanted to reach through the phone and shake him.

  “Are there any other possible targets?” she asked. “Tshukudu, for example? Private stashes of horns that would be worth attacking?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said cautiously. “We keep our horns in a bank vault in Phalaborwa. Whenever we have a few, we either take them there or have an armed courier do it for us. Most of the farmers do that, so there aren’t many horns at the farms. It wouldn’t be worth the effort or risk going after them.”

  “Then I have to be in Kruger,” she said. “I just have to decide where. Can you help me find out where these stores are?”

  Johannes scoffed. “Are you joking? No one’s going to tell you that, Crys. People don’t just go and visit them. And anyway, if there is an attack, it will probably be late at night.”

  For a moment, she wondered if he did know, but wasn’t telling her.

  “So, how would the attackers get there?” she asked.

  “If they know where to go, it wouldn’t be too hard. They could just check in as day visitors and then hide out somewhere. Then late at night they’d hit the stockpiles, blow them open or whatever it takes.”

  “How would they get away?”

  “Fly a plane into an old bush airstrip. Or maybe a helicopter. But Kruger’s huge, Crys, and it borders Mozambique. Once they’re out of South Africa, you haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of catching them.”

  She rubbed her forehead as she mulled that over, wishing she wasn’t so tired. She seemed to be jet-lagged the whole time.

  “At least one of the stores will be near Skukuza camp, won’t it?” she asked. “That’s where the park headquarters is, right?”

  “Yes, I guess that makes sense.”

  “Would your father know? Or one of your friends in Kruger, like that Hennie van Zyl gu
y from the anti-poaching squad?”

  “I can ask, but nobody’s going to tell me anything.” Johannes sounded reluctant. She didn’t want to push him too hard, but he was really her only chance. And she’d come so far…

  “Look, Johannes, it’s not just for my story. I’m pretty sure now that these people are behind Michael’s disappearance. I’m worried that if I’m right, they need to keep him alive until this hit. Maybe they need him to be involved somehow. After that, who knows?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said he was onto something big. We discovered an email address he used to communicate with the smugglers. I’m quite sure one of the traders in rhino horn I spoke to recognized it when I showed it to him. And I know that he was looking for the Portuguese men. It can’t be a coincidence. He was following the same trail I have, just from a different starting point.”

  “So, you think he found the Portuguese smugglers? And they’re holding him?”

  “Yes. Or they found him…” She hesitated. She hated to make this personal, but felt she had no other option. “Please ask your contacts, and phone or text me if you find something useful. Will you do that? For me?”

  It took him so long to reply, she thought he’d hung up.

  “Okay, okay,” he mumbled eventually. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

  * * *

  Crys paced around the room. Her conversation with Johannes was useful—it had focused her thoughts and convinced her of what she’d already suspected—but she still didn’t have any details. She was sure something dramatic was about to happen but had no idea what it was or where it was going to take place.

  Her next priority was to check with Mabula to see if he’d discovered anything about Michael. She was beginning to lose hope, though. She was nervous now that each call might be the one that would bring the final bad news. She took a deep breath and dialed his number. There was no answer, and she was forwarded to his answering machine: This is Colonel Mabula. Please leave a message at the tone. Thank you.

  “Colonel Mabula, this is Crys Nguyen. Do you have any news? Please call me urgently. I have some important information.”

  She hung up, wondering what Mabula would do with her information. Would he use it for good or for bad? Only time would tell.

  In any case, she had to decide quickly where she was going the next morning, so she jumped on the internet and browsed, hoping to find some hint that would set her on the right trail.

  She found no speculation about any unusual poaching activity in Kruger or on any of the surrounding game farms. There were a few reports of a rhino or two being poached in different parts of the country, but no indication of anything big coming up.

  So, without any added information, Skukuza it would have to be.

  She opened the South African Airways website and tried to reserve the direct flight to Skukuza for the following morning. But it was fully booked. She tried the early-afternoon flight instead and found it was fully booked as well.

  Damn! she thought. Kruger must be a popular destination.

  However, there were flights available to Nelspruit, just outside Kruger and a short drive from Skukuza, so that was a possibility for her. She’d need a car in Kruger anyway.

  Next, she checked the National Parks website to see what accommodation was available. There was nothing in Skukuza, not even campsites, nor at any other camps in the park. In desperation, she tried to see whether day passes were available. They weren’t. Again, all sold out.

  Crys leaned back from her computer. What was going on? It was highly unlikely that every bed and campsite in a park the size of New Jersey could be sold out.

  Maybe Nigel had convinced the South African authorities that there was a real threat against their stockpiles. It would make sense to close the park down as much as they could. They certainly wouldn’t want tourists caught in any crossfire. But it seemed she was locked out of the park too.

  With nothing else to do, she drew a bath and settled in to soak and think through her options. None of them were really appealing, but eventually she decided going to Phalaborwa was the best of a bad bunch. At least from there she could try to talk her way into Kruger and, if that failed, go up to Tshukudu and see if Johannes and Anton could help.

  When she returned to the internet, she reserved a seat on the 11:45 flight to Phalaborwa—there was no trouble with availability there, at least. It would arrive just before one o’clock in the afternoon.

  She called Johannes again.

  “There’s is definitely something going on,” she told him. “All accommodations and all day passes for Kruger are sold out for the whole weekend.”

  “That’s impossible! They never run out over the whole park.”

  “That’s what I thought. Nigel Wood must have been able to persuade the right people that the threat is real, or, at least, a strong possibility. But they wouldn’t want to make it public, so they’re just saying everything is fully booked. It’s a clever strategy if they want to keep people away.”

  “Not you, though, I’m guessing…”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Am I that obvious? You’re right, I really need you to help me get into the park. This is my story. I can’t lose out on it.”

  “Crys, I’ll make some calls in the morning, but as I said before, don’t get your hopes up. If they’ve decided no one’s going in, they mean it.”

  “I’m going to fly to Phalaborwa, then make a decision what to do when I get there. If I can get into Kruger, I’ll go. Otherwise, is it okay for me to come up to Tshukudu?”

  “Of course. You’re always welcome here. Let’s talk before you check in. Around ten-thirty or so.”

  * * *

  Crys wondered what Nigel was doing in Pretoria and was angry he wasn’t sharing information with her. She’d done all the work to get them to this point. She’d even risked her life—more than once. The more she thought about it, the more furious she became.

  But if she wanted to know what was happening in Pretoria, there was only one way to deal with the situation. She had to swallow her pride and call him.

  She did, and there was no reply. Her call was forwarded to Rhino International’s answering machine in Geneva. She left a message asking that Nigel call her in South Africa as soon as possible.

  With no options left, she decided to call it a day. She slipped into bed, turned out the light, and was asleep almost immediately.

  Chapter 32

  As the small prop jet came in to land at Phalaborwa, she was surprised to find that she was excited to be back—even after everything that had happened to her there.

  It had to be the Africa sickness. The one that crept under your skin when you visited the continent for the first time, then itched until you went back again. And every visit made the itch more intense.

  Someone had told her that story many years ago, but she thought it was just enthusiasm and had never believed it. Now she had to admit that she did, because just ten days ago all she wanted was to get out of this country.

  Johannes was there to meet her and suggested they have a snack at the small airport café.

  “Okay, I’ve been doing all I can—I’ve called everyone I know,” he said. “No one is willing to let you into the park. They all think it’s dangerous, and that you’d probably get in the way. A couple said they’d be willing to talk to you afterwards—if anything does happen. Most people seem to think it’s probably a false alarm, though.”

  Crys frowned, feeling a wave of something between frustration and despair. “Thanks, Johannes. I know it’s not your fault. But I’m a reporter. I’ve gone through hell for this and have provided information that could be really important. And now I’m being shut out.”

  Johannes shrugged. “I can’t do anything more. I would if I could. You know that, I hope.”

  She nodded. “Well, take me
to the park gate. Please. I’ll try to talk my way in.”

  “If you want. But you won’t get in. They’re only letting in people with legitimate, prior reservations, and I’m told they’re checking the IDs of everyone in each vehicle. You’d be turned back in an instant. You’re better off coming to Tshukudu. Next week you’ll be able to talk to people in the park, as well as the police.”

  Crys felt helpless. Slowly the realization hit her that, in spite of everything, she wasn’t going to Kruger. She simply had to accept it.

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  As they drove to Tshukudu, Crys asked Johannes if he’d heard anything from Mabula while she was overseas.

  “Not Mabula himself,” he replied, keeping a sharp lookout for potholes, “but one of his detectives visited Tshukudu asking about you. And he kept asking about money they insisted was on the plane. Of course, I didn’t know anything about any money, but he gave poor old Bongani a hard time.”

  “Mabula kept pushing me on that one too. And the Portuguese also believed there was money on the plane and that I’d stolen it. To say nothing of the gang in Vietnam.”

  “The detective asked a whole lot more questions about Michael Davidson, too. It was strange. Apparently, he’d been looking for the Portuguese people, trying to meet up with them. I suppose he wanted to interview them.” Johannes shook his head. “I’d go to a lot of trouble to avoid them myself.”

  He turned off the main road onto the dirt track leading to Tshukudu.

  “My father was really angry that the detective had come to Tshukudu at all. One minute he accused him of being on the payroll of the poachers. The next, the man was a corrupt policeman who had stolen the missing money himself. He was upset about the story of the Portuguese too—asking why the detective thought we’d know about it. Frankly, I didn’t understand what Dad was on about since we didn’t know anything about it at all. He’s getting crankier the older he gets…”