Dawn of Deception

by Dan Fletcher

  Scott poked the fire again, apparently unaffected by the heat, “But most of our work is preservation, looking after the habitats they live in, recording their behaviour so that we can understand them better.”

  David nodded. They were one of the dedicated field teams that the likes of David Attenborough got his research from. “You said there are eight volunteers, where do they come from?”

  “America and the UK mostly, students looking for work experience. Apart from me there’s only one other Kenyan on the team.” Scott seemed to suddenly remember why they were there, “This is all very nice but I’m guessing that you didn’t come all the way out here just for a chat. You mentioned something about poaching?”

  David had been working his way around to it, “Caitlyn tells me you keep records on the numbers of elephants and rhino poached and that you’ve seen an increase since the KWS was formed?”

  “Apart from the recent rise in the amount of rhino horn being taken it’s not so much the increase that’s alarming, the figures have been rising steadily since the seventies,” he threw David an accusing look. “It’s the fact that the numbers should have gone down or at least levelled off that’s most worrying.”

  David nodded to show that he was in agreement before wording his next question carefully, “Are your statistics based solely on the team’s findings?”

  “No,” Scott shook his head. “The information is collated from all the parks in the country on an annual basis and put onto a spreadsheet. We’ve been keeping a record since the late seventies. I always send a copy to your headquarters but they don’t even bother to acknowledge receipt these days. Look David, what’s all this about?”

  “I was hoping that we could work together.” David didn’t want to tell Scott everything, “That you could help me and my rangers catch some of the poachers.”

  “I don’t know, it all sounds a bit too dangerous for my lot, and I’m no use, not with my dodgy leg.”

  The limp didn’t seem that bad, David began to wonder if Scott had deeper psychological issues.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Broke my kneecap playing rugby back in High School,” Scott slapped his right leg. “I was good, would have gone pro if it wasn’t for that one tackle. Their centres took me down from opposite directions, one of those things I guess.” There was no bravado in his voice, only bitterness. His eyes glazed over as if he was reliving the moment of his downfall.

  Despite his current appearance David guessed that the kind of school Spencer went to wouldn’t have been on Kisii’s fixture list but he still had to ask.

  “Where did you go to?”

  “Nairobi School, do you know it?” Scott’s face lit up like he was part of some elite club.

  David nodded, “I’ve heard of it.” Only the colour of the students would have changed since Scott had been there. A school that was once reserved for privileged white children, now its pupils were the sons of Kenya’s upper class, celebrities, ministers and business leaders. Scott must have fallen from grace to end up in this shack, or maybe he had become a recluse as a result of his injury.

  David decided to get the meeting back on track, “I wouldn’t be expecting you to do anything that you’re not already doing. Just keep me posted of the rhino’s locations and let me know if you spot anyone suspicious. If a member of your group does see anything they need to stay well clear and we’ll do the rest.”

  “So my team won’t be in any direct danger?”

  “None that they’re not already in.” Most people would consider following wild rhino around dangerous enough. Added to the fact that armed men were trying to kill the endangered species with machine guns made it practically suicidal. “You can use the radio to contact me.”

  Scott stared at the fire for a while. Sweat was dripping down the middle of David’s back and he desperately wanted to wrap things up.

  “Look if you don’t want to get involved then I more than understand,” he stood and moved over to the window where it was relatively cooler.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Scott grinned, “It will be nice to be doing something positive for a change. Standing by and recording Kenya’s wildlife slowly but surely get depleted has become a bit disheartening.”

  “Thanks,” said David. “I owe you one. If you ever need a favour then just let me know.” He started thinking about call signs and logistics.

  Scott’s smile was devilish, “Just look after Caitlyn or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KWS Base Camp, Maasai Mara

  August 12th, 1996

  David hoped that he wasn’t too late for lunch. He was famished but it had already gone 2 o’clock and the canteen staff would probably have started clearing up. His worst fears were realised as he pulled up outside the Rangers Cafe. The shutters were down, a closed sign in the window.

  “Shit!”

  He gave the steering wheel a gentle thump, worried that it might break if he hit it any harder. He would just have to rough it over at the hotel. The buffet there was out of this world but it would cost him a weeks pay, even with his forty percent discount. Fortunately the Mission took care of David’s mother and sister and his Aunt refused to take money from him. With no place of his own and living on rations most of the time he managed to save most of his pathetic salary. When it turned up, two months had passed without anything going into his bank account.

  He slammed the door shut. Dented by an angry buffalo it was the only way to get the damn thing to close.

  The Mara Serena Safari Lodge was hidden from the KWS facility by dense bush that covered the hill. He went through the cutting that connected the two and skipped around the side to the terrace, going in what was effectively the tradesman’s entrance. Deliberately avoiding the few tourists who would be waiting in the foyer to take their afternoon safaris or rides in a hot air balloon over the park.

  Those not put off by the murders. Or maybe they didn’t know about them? Although David found it difficult to believe that they hadn’t read or seen anything on TV. Julie Ward’s death and the subsequent investigation spearheaded by her father had been well publicized. The twenty-eight year old photographer’s dismembered body had been found burnt in the park, a week after Julie disappeared on a solo safari. Maasai were suspected because of the ritual way in which the body was disposed of but nobody was charged.

  Unable to accept the bizarre theory put forward by the GSU, that his daughter had been mauled by lions and then struck by lightning, Julie’s father wouldn’t let it lie. John Ward had been campaigning for justice ever since, accusing the warden and his men of a cover up. The rangers were acquitted in 1992 but Ward was still going after the ex-warden, driven by his daughter’s death. Every so often a new fact or angle on the case would appear in the press.

  David walked along the terrace. The hotel was built to blend in with the northeast slope of the hill, overlooking the Mara River. The seventy-four bedrooms were a series of individual pods that would be equally at home on the moon if painted white instead of green. The rooms fanned out to create a wide funnel shape with the restaurant and pool at the centre. The main buildings were a series of larger pods. One of them housed the restaurant and dining room, the others conference rooms, lounges and the reception area.

  Thankfully there were only a few stragglers having lunch and nobody at the buffet. He felt self- conscious in his sweat stained uniform. Most of the hot dishes on offer had been exhausted. David piled his plate high with cuts of meat, salmon and salad. He took a table next to the low stonewall at the edge of the terrace. Manicured shrubs and flowers were dotted between the trees and rocks on the slope going down to the pool area. Kidney shaped and crystal clear, the swimming pool was surrounded by unoccupied loungers, facing out towards the breathtaking view of the escarpment below.

  David tucked into the thinly sliced venison. There was no label to say which antelope he was eating. But judging from the size of the joint the meat was carv
ed from it was probably Kudu. Whatever it was, it was delicious, as was the salmon. A waiter appeared and he ordered a bottle of Tusker to wash it down with.

  When he heard the footsteps behind him he assumed it was the waiter returning with his drink, “Do you always eat so much?” Bernstein sat down in the seat opposite him. He was wearing what looked like a disguise, khaki shirt and shorts. A Nikon camera with a huge zoom lens dangled against his chest.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too,” Bernstein smiled sarcastically. “I’m following up on Ella’s story, came up here to see where it all happened.”

  “I would have thought that this place was beyond a reporter’s salary?” At over $250 dollars a night Bernstein’s expenses must be seriously totting up.

  “It is.” He thumbed over his shoulder, “I’m staying at the campsite down the road, great facilities.”

  David wasn’t sure whether the last part was meant to justify his staying there or a simple statement of fact. He guessed the latter. Bernstein probably owned a Winnebago back in the States.

  The reporter had obviously come looking for him, “What do you want Bernstein? I told you I’m not interested in being your stool pigeon.”

  The American allowed the waiter to serve David his drink and ordered one himself before replying.

  “I’m only here to take photographs and get a feel for the place,” his worried expression and the outfit he had on said otherwise. “I was hoping that you might be able to show me around. Give me your version of what happened.”

  “Sorry I’m busy. You’ll have to find another tour guide,” David speared some of the salad with his fork.

  “I’ve tried. All of your rangers gave me the cold shoulder. Told me that I needed to speak with you first. You’ve obviously got them well trained.”

  The waiter arrived with Bernstein’s beer.

  “Like I said, I’ve got things to do.”

  “Come on cut me some slack will you? I kept your name out of the piece in the Daily Nation didn’t I?” Bernstein’s eyes were glued to David’s food, “You’re not seriously going to eat all of that are you?”

  David sighed. “Feel free,” he indicated the spare set of cutlery.

  Apart from the scenery the other advantage of the hotel’s outrageous prices was that you could refill your plate as many times as you liked. As long as they didn’t charge him for two meals, that might actually break the bank. Bernstein didn’t waste any time, he unwrapped the fork from the spare napkin and started digging into David’s meal.

  Bernstein spoke with his mouth full, “You know, considering everything that’s going on it wouldn’t do any harm to put a positive slant on the Service.”

  “We’ve been through this, it’s all just conjecture. You’ve got no real poof.” David thought he saw something pass across Bernstein’s eyes, “You’re not thinking about publishing the story already?”

  “The statistics alone merit comment don’t you think? My editor agrees with me that the readers can make up their own minds.”

  If Bernstein broke the story now it could ruin any chance of catching the person or persons responsible. At the moment the only name he had on his list of potential suspects was Deputy Director Tanui. David couldn’t bring himself to believe that his old mentor was involved. He was going to have to stall the reporter somehow.

  “Hold on a minute,” David held up his hand. “Now I’m not suggesting that what you’re saying is true. But let’s just say it is. Alerting whoever’s involved is only going to send them underground. Don’t you want to find out who it is?”

  Bernstein scratched at his goatee, “So you’re admitting that someone in the KWS is involved?”

  “I didn’t say anything like that, but I’d like you to give me the time to find out.” David ate a forkful of salmon before Bernstein could finish it all off. “If someone from the KWS is involved I promise that you’ll get the exclusive. Think about what a scoop that would be.”

  “And what if you don’t find out anything? Where does that leave me?”

  He watched in horror as the reporter picked up the last roll of meat with his fingers and bit into it. David glanced at the buffet. Two members of staff in white aprons and chef’s hats were starting to clear away the silver trays.

  “Release your article the way it is, no harm done.”

  “Apart from the fact that the editor is breathing down my neck and I need the money.” Bernstein studied his beer bottle, “A week is the best I can do.”

  David was momentarily distracted by the men in suits that joined them on the terrace and took up a table near the entrance. The pair looked overdressed, possibly businessmen using the conferencing facilities, but instinct told David otherwise.

  “A week isn’t enough.” His plan was shaky at best and might not even work. Who knew how long it would take? He carried on watching the men out of the corner of his eye. They dismissed the waiter without ordering anything.

  “It’s all I can promise and only on one condition.”

  David gave the reporter his full attention, “What condition?”

  Bernstein smiled, “That you take me to the spot where Ella’s family was slaughtered.”

  *****

  After three days the great mammals’ carcases had been stripped bare by scavengers, their skeletal frames partially draped in folds of ghostly grey skin.

  David thought that returning to the scene of the crime wouldn’t affect him, but he was filled with a mixture of emotions. Sorrow at the waste of life and anger against those who had caused it.

  “So they went that way into Tanzania?”

  David nodded and Bernstein took some shots of the river and the bank on the other side.

  “And where did you guys come in from?”

  “That way,” David pointed down the river. “From the northwest. We camped near the Purungat Outpost and they wandered away from us during the night.”

  “Is following the herd standard practice?”

  “No, but it ought to be. If it were down to me we’d track every single elephant and rhino.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Bernstein wasn’t taking notes but he might have a recorder hidden in one of his pockets. David decided to be careful about what he said.

  “The KWS is overstretched, there’s insufficient manpower and no funding to supply more.”

  Bernstein continued to ask questions and take photographs until the light started to fade.

  “Come on we better not stay any longer,” David waved his rifle in the direction of the LandRover. “The hyenas will be back once it gets dark.”

  Bernstein glanced at one of the skeletons, “But there’s nothing left surely.”

  “Don’t you believe it, they’ll eat the skin and bones eventually.”

  “I think that I’ve got everything I need.” Bernstein gulped, “Why don’t we call it a day?”

  David led the way up the path from the river and they headed back to the jeep. Besides the encroaching nightfall David wanted time to brief his squad on the changes he was making to tomorrow’s schedule. He also needed Chege to find another radio set and train somebody how to use it.

  A branch was broken by something hidden in the bush. David could tell by the sound that it was something heavy. He signalled Bernstein to be silent and they retraced their steps as quickly as possible.

  “What the hell was that?” exclaimed Bernstein once they were safely inside the truck and David had the engine running.

  “I’m not sure, something big, maybe a buffalo.” He couldn’t help thinking about his father and their last hunt together.

  As they drove back to the campsite David pointed out the few zebra and giraffe that he spotted along the way.

  “I thought that this was supposed to be a game reserve? Where the hell are all the animals?”

  “Most of them have gone over into Tanzania, they’ll be back when the rains come and there’s something to graze on. T
hat’s when we get the huge herds of wildebeest and predators following them that you see on TV. During the migration the Mara River becomes a bloodbath between the crocodiles and the hippos.”

  “I thought that hippos are vegetarian?”

  David nodded, “They’re short tempered though and very territorial. Hippos are rare in that they are one of the few animals that will kill even though they have no intention of eating their victim.”

  “I’d like to see the migration, when does it happen?”

  “Normally between August and September. But as long as there’s a drought they won’t come.”

  “Must be something to see,” said Bernstein craning his neck back towards the river as if he might get lucky.

  “There’s nothing like it. Over a million animals risking life and limb to get to greener pastures. It’s the greatest show on earth.”

  Bernstein gave him a sideways look, “Haven’t I heard that line somewhere before?”

  David grinned, “He stole it from me.”

  He pulled up outside the campsite but kept the motor running, “This is you I believe.”

  Bernstein held the door open so that David couldn’t drive off, “You will keep me in the loop won’t you?”

  “I’ll keep my side of the bargain, just don’t forget to keep yours. I’ll let you know as soon as there are any developments.” David reached across and pulled the door shut before the reporter could reply.

  Driving away he glanced in the rear-view mirror. Behind Bernstein a car pulled in at the roadside, the front seats occupied. Although he wasn’t sure from this distance they looked like the two men he had seen on the terrace of the hotel. Maybe the noise that they heard down by the river didn’t belong to an animal?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GSU Headquarters, Nairobi

  August 12th, 1996

  Maliki still didn’t have the information he needed but the President wanted to see him anyway. He’d tried to get out of it. But Moi insisted that they needed to discuss what was happening with the human rights committee and the Ambassador. Prudence Bushnell had been making waves since she arrived in July, appointed by President Clinton to do just that. She was pushing for democratic reform and corruption to be rooted out from the government. If not for her the damn committee wouldn’t even exist.