Shoot the Bastards

by Michael Stanley

  They drove in silence for a while, but Johannes was frowning. Clearly, he was struggling with something.

  “Between you and me, Crys,” he said finally, “the truth is my father’s having problems. We’re having problems. That’s what’s making him cranky. The economy in South Africa is tanking. Dad’s businesses are taking a pounding. We’re sitting on a fortune of rhino horn we can’t sell—thanks to CITES and your NGO friends—and we’re running out of cash. It’s got to the point where we may have to sell Tshukudu, and there are some very shady characters ready to buy it just for the rhinos, so they can sell hunting contracts to their Vietnamese clients. No one else is interested.”

  “No…” Crys was shocked. She’d realized that the rhino farm was a passion rather than a business, but she’d thought Anton was so wealthy that nothing could really affect them.

  Johannes glanced at her face. “Look,” he added hastily, apparently deciding he’d said too much, “I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s not your problem. It’s all off the record, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “You promise you won’t mention that I said anything to you? You won’t write it in your article?” He looked over at her anxiously.

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  As they approached Tshukudu, Crys realized she hadn’t asked Johannes about Bongani. She felt a stab of guilt. They’d been through a lot together.

  “I assume Bongani’s gone to Kruger with the anti-poaching unit,” she said.

  Johannes shook his head. “They wanted him, and he was willing to go, but I need him at the farm at the moment. You’ll see him when we get there.”

  Crys wondered whether he’d gone back to where they’d left the money. She wondered if it was still buried, or whether he’d helped himself to it. At that moment, she really didn’t care.

  Just as they drove through the Tshukudu gate, Crys’s phone rang. A glance told her it was Mabula.

  “Colonel Mabula. Thank you for calling back.”

  “Where are you?” he snapped without greeting her.

  “Back in South Africa. I arrived back from Vietnam yesterday afternoon. Do you have any news of Michael?”

  “Not directly. But we think we’re getting very close to the Portuguese gang now. And I’ll bet that means we’re close to Davidson too. I can’t say more than that right now, but I’m optimistic. I’ll let you know as soon as something breaks.”

  Crys sighed. It would have been wonderful if Michael had been safe. Now he was still caught up in whatever Pockface was planning on Sunday. And she still didn’t know where Mabula stood in all this.

  “That does sound hopeful. I’ll certainly be thrilled when those thugs are behind bars.” She paused. “I do have some information that you need to know.”

  “About the thing that’s supposed to happen tomorrow, I suppose?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “The head of a Swiss-based NGO has been whipping up the authorities—”

  “Nigel Wood?”

  “Yes. Apparently, they’re convinced he’s onto something. I guessed you must be the reporter he said had helped him. I should have known you’d be sticking your nose in there too.” He sounded exasperated.

  “I did some snooping around for him when I was in Ho Chi Min City. He had some information that seemed to fit what I’d found out here—the stuff I told you I’d picked up from the Portuguese who kidnapped me.”

  “Yes, but he’s got more than that, apparently. Enough to get the deputy minister excited. He’s really bashed a wasp nest.”

  Damn Nigel, she thought. He must have known that when I’d phoned him in Geneva. She wondered what the additional information was. Apparently, it was important enough to convince the authorities that Kruger was the target.

  “Where are you right now?” Mabula asked.

  “Just arriving at Tshukudu.”

  “I want you to stay there. I still need to resolve the issue of the money.”

  “Colonel, I’ve told you—”

  “I know what you told me,” he interrupted, raising his voice. “If Johannes Malan is with you, please put him on the line.”

  She handed the phone to Johannes.

  He listened to what Mabula had to say. “Yes,” he said and listened again. “Yes. Yes. I will.”

  He hung up and gave Crys her phone back.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “He just wants me to keep you out of any more trouble.”

  “And are you going to?” she asked, challenging him to say he would.

  He shook his head and gave a resigned smile. “As if I could.”

  She laughed, and after a moment she asked, “Do you trust him—Mabula?”

  Johannes shrugged. “You never know who to trust these days.”

  * * *

  When they arrived at the house, Johannes pointed out which chalet Crys was to use, then went off about his business.

  She settled in, feeling strangely at home. Perhaps her case of Africa sickness was severe, she thought.

  Once she’d unpacked, she sat on the bed and tried to reach Nigel again. This time she reached his assistant in Geneva, who told her that Nigel was not contactable in South Africa; he’d left Pretoria, but he planned to check in every day. Crys asked him to leave Nigel a message to call her, that it was very urgent.

  As she disconnected, there was a light knock at the door, and she heard Bongani’s voice say, “Crys, can I talk to you?”

  She jumped up and pulled open the door. “Bongani! I’m so glad to see you.” She gave him a big hug—something very unusual for her. She even surprised herself. And she certainly surprised Bongani. He wasn’t sure whether to reciprocate. His hands touched her back only very briefly.

  “Please sit down,” she offered.

  But he shook his head. “Crys, I think you must leave here.” He looked very serious.

  She was taken aback by his abruptness. They’d gone through a lot together, and here he was talking to her as if she was a stranger.

  “Well, I was hoping to go to Kruger, actually, but I can’t get in.”

  “Not Kruger, it’s too dangerous there. Here, too.”

  “Dangerous here? At Tshukudu?”

  “You know I was helping the poachers, Crys,” he said. “Not anymore. But I know those people. The big boss, he will hurt my family unless I help him, so I just pretend. What is going to happen in Kruger is very big. But there are other things going on. Things I don’t know. Mr. Anton is very upset, very worried. Something’s going on here too. You should go back to Phalaborwa till next week.”

  Crys frowned. Did he know that Anton had severe business problems?

  She started to ask about Kruger, but he held up a hand and cut her short. “I can’t say any more. I need to go. Please listen to me, Crys.” And he turned and left without another word.

  She stared after him through the open door and wondered what was going on.

  It wasn’t like Bongani at all. They’d formed a strong relationship in the few days they’d spent together. Why was he now so cold? Did he know something more that he wasn’t saying? He was clearly very scared. It was almost as if someone had warned him off speaking to her…

  She walked out onto the porch, more frustrated than angry. Because, besides giving her the cold shoulder, Bongani had also confirmed that the action was going to happen in Kruger. But there was no way she could get there. Yet he’d suggested it was dangerous at Tshukudu too.

  She went in search of Johannes.

  He wasn’t at the house, but Boku told her he was working on his Land Rover in the garage. She walked over to the crude structure that housed all the farm’s vehicles. The walls were made from poles, about an inch thick and ten feet tall. Apparently, security wasn’t a problem. The roof was thatch, wit
h a lightning conductor rising high above it.

  She walked in through the entrance and looked around, and spotted Johannes carrying a toolbox. He saw the look on her face, put down the toolbox and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  “Hi, Crys. Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “Johannes, I’ve been thinking. Suppose this attack isn’t just restricted to Kruger. Suppose they’re planning to hit some of the private farms, too.”

  “You’re not thinking about Tshukudu, are you?” He frowned. “There’d be no point. I told you—we don’t keep stock here. If they wanted our horns, they’d go after the bank in Phalaborwa.”

  “But suppose they don’t know that?”

  That made him pause. He rubbed his chin. “Have you heard something that suggests that?”

  She shook her head. “Pockface said three, and there are three Kruger targets. That can’t be coincidence. But still, how well prepared are you?”

  “Well, we’re really more concerned about attacks on the rhinos. But they all have radio chips and no horns. Anyone stealing them would have to wait at least a year to get any value, and we’d track them down by then. As far as the house is concerned, it’s set up to withstand theft…but not an armed attack. But we do have emergency communication with neighboring farms. They could contact the police to send a helicopter with armed men if necessary.”

  But what if they’re all tied up in Kruger? she wondered.

  She toyed with the idea of suggesting that, but instead asked, “Do you have any guests here at the moment?”

  “Only you, and this evening some guy is visiting from an NGO. Investigating options, fact-finding, he said.” He shrugged. “He’ll be like all the others, of course. An expert on everything, never seen a wild rhino, and telling us why what we’re doing is all wrong. But we can’t afford to alienate these people. I hope my father isn’t rude to him.”

  Dinner tonight could be entertaining, she thought.

  “Look, I have to replace these spark plugs. The engine’s been running unevenly. I’ll see you at dinner. Okay?”

  Crys nodded and headed back to her chalet. The best thing she could do was to start work on her article.

  * * *

  Before she reached the chalet, her phone rang. It was Nigel.

  She took a deep breath to compose herself. It wouldn’t help to be rude to him—much as she would have enjoyed that.

  “Nigel!” she said, brightly. “Thanks for calling me back. Look, I’m working on my article and I need to ask you a few quick questions.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Pretoria,” she lied. “I decided it was the best place to work, and then I’d be in a position to interview people next week about whatever happens tomorrow.”

  He was quiet for a few moments. “Makes sense, I suppose. Just don’t go to Kruger. This thing is big and could blow up.”

  “That’s what I need to know. I heard from Mabula that you have some new evidence that has convinced the deputy minister. I thought it would take a bazooka to get his attention.”

  “It’s something Dinh discovered in Vietnam. I can’t go into the details now; they want it kept very quiet.”

  He seemed to have forgotten that everything would be very quiet but for her.

  She bit back an angry retort. It wouldn’t help to alienate him.

  “I’m back in Pretoria next week,” he said, “and we can get together. I promise I’ll fill you in on everything. Take care.” And just like that, the line went dead.

  Crys shoved her cell phone into her pocket and clenched her fists. He’d hung up on her. If he’d been within reach she would have hit him. And she was none the wiser about his so-called convincing evidence. She tried redialing the number, but when it diverted to Geneva, she hung up.

  She recalled what Søren Willandsen had said: Trust no one in this business.

  What did she actually know about Nigel and Rhino International? For that matter why had she lied to him about where she was? Her instinct had been to keep him in the dark, just as he was doing to her. As she continued back to her chalet, she realized the more she knew Nigel, the less she really liked him.

  She needed to meditate for a while, and then write. And perhaps fit in a nap. She simply had to accept the frustration of waiting for Sunday without being able to do anything.

  Chapter 33

  When Crys arrived for evening drinks before dinner, she found the new visitor already relaxing with the Malans, enjoying a gin and tonic. She stopped in her tracks in the middle of the room when she saw him.

  He jumped up immediately and extended his hand. “Ah, you must be Crystal Nguyen, the National Geographic writer. Such a pleasure to meet you. Johannes and Anton have just been telling me about you. I’m Søren Willandsen, I run an NGO, End Extinction, in Vietnam. We do a lot of work in rhino conservation. I hear you’re interested in it, too. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to discuss.”

  Crys was so astonished that for a moment she didn’t let go of his hand. But he shook his head slightly, and she got the message.

  “Mr. Willandsen, is it? Nice to meet you, too.”

  Anton waved her to a seat and asked what she wanted to drink. He was a little abrupt—the visit from Søren had put his back up, as Johannes had predicted.

  “Why don’t you tell me how come you’re back here,” Anton said as he handed her an orange juice.

  Crys started with Geneva. His reaction to her comments on CITES and Rhino International was a derisive snort. However, he seemed much more interested in the Vietnam episode and approved of the way she’d escaped.

  “Set fire to the whole damned lot of them, did you? Pity those bastards weren’t caught in it,” was his verdict.

  “I’m certain they headed to South Africa,” Crys said. “And I’m pretty sure they are interested in the Kruger National Park. What do you think?”

  “Me? How should I know?”

  Johannes looked away, embarrassed by Anton’s rudeness.

  “I doubt it’s Kruger, though,” Anton went on. “The stockpiles there are super-secret; no one knows where they are. And don’t put anything about them in your article.” He waved a finger at her. “If there’s anything in this at all, I’d guess they’d be hitting a bank vault somewhere.”

  Crys was surprised by his next question. “Can you describe this boss man?”

  She tried, but nothing about him had struck her as memorable. “One of the men called him Chủ Nhân—but that just means boss in Vietnamese,” she said.

  Anton’s eyebrows rose as he opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated and then said, “So, Vietnamese obviously, but nothing special about him.”

  Søren chipped in. “Mr. Wood from Rhino International is pushing the Kruger angle very strongly. He alerted all the rhino NGOs, asking for their support with the South African authorities.”

  Anton waved a hand at Søren, batting away the idea. “Waste of time. If it happens, it’ll be a bank hit. There’s a big vault in Phalaborwa. We’ve got a lot of our stock there. Now that would be a real target.”

  “We’d be in big trouble if that happens,” Johannes commented. “Our insurance wouldn’t cover that!”

  Anton laughed. “You’re buying all this, are you, Johannes? The young lady here has absolutely no evidence that anything is going to happen except for her interpretation of a few snippets of conversations she overheard.”

  Crys bristled. “Nigel Wood has more evidence. That’s why he’s come out here.”

  “And what evidence is that?” Anton’s voice was mocking.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  Anton gave another snort.

  “There is the business of the three stockpiles in Kruger,” Johannes put in.

  Anton glared at him. “Who said anything about three stockpiles? If you know anything, you keep it to yo
urself unless you want it all over National Geographic.” Turning back to Crys, he added: “As for this Wood character, his new evidence is so good he didn’t even bother to tell you about it?” He paused to let that sink in. “It’s a bit like those end-of-the-world predictions we keep hearing. For my money, on Monday morning, the world will still be here, and so will our rhino horn.” He climbed to his feet. “Come on, let’s go in to dinner. I’m hungry.” And without waiting for them to finish their drinks, he strode out of the room.

  * * *

  After dinner and once they’d finished their coffee, Johannes offered to walk them back to their chalets.

  Søren immediately said, “Thank you, but don’t worry. Crys and I will walk back together. We are near each other.”

  Johannes frowned, but let them go. Crys didn’t object. It was exactly what she’d been going to say. She wanted to speak to Søren, to find out why he’d wanted to keep their previous contact secret.

  They walked slowly across the lawn. Crys turned and saw Johannes watching from the veranda. She gave him a wave and he turned away.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Søren said, “Actually, I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”

  “What’s going on?” Crys murmured. “Why didn’t you want them to know we’d met in Vietnam?”

  “Look, I know all about Tshukudu. They do good work here breeding rhinos, but we’ve been worried about horns leaking from farms like this into the Asian market ever since South Africa allowed trade. There have been some rumors…”

  “That Johannes and Anton are black-market rhino-horn traders?”

  He nodded.

  It seemed impossible, but by this time, nothing shocked Crys. “So why did you want to talk to me?”

  “Two reasons. The first is to discover exactly what you found out in Vietnam. Nigel Wood has used that to get everything focused on Kruger this weekend. You weren’t honest when you told me after the fire that you hadn’t come up with anything, were you?”

  “You’re the one who told me to trust no one,” Crys said pointedly.

  He nodded. “That brings me to the second point. We do undercover work to help with enforcement. That was another reason Donald was following you in Ho Chi Minh City.”