Dead of Night

by Michael Stanley

  ‘CITES could make sure that the authorities in South Africa act on this.’

  The secretary general took a few moments to respond. ‘Ms Nguyen, I think you may have a misunderstanding about CITES. We are not an enforcement organisation. If you have reported the matter to the South African police, that should be enough. But I will give you the name of the person in the Department of Environmental Affairs there, who could liaise with them.’ He swivelled his chair towards his computer, brought up his contacts, and neatly wrote down a name and number on a Post-it note.

  ‘Thank you, I’ll certainly do that, Dr Helmholz, but I don’t think it will make any difference, and there’s not much time – less than two weeks. I need your help. You are a very senior figure here with contacts at senior levels. People will listen to you. I’m only a journalist.’

  Helmholz looked at her with pursed lips and a small frown, and Crys knew she’d lost him.

  ‘A journalist looking for an even bigger story than the one you already have, perhaps?’ he asked in the same polite tone he’d used throughout the interview. Then he rose and came around the desk to shake hands. ‘Anything my staff can do to help you with your rhino article – contacts, information, et cetera – please feel free to call on us. We greatly appreciate the support of organisations like National Geographic.’

  Crys realised he’d only listened to her because of National Geographic. As a reporter from the Duluth News Tribune, she wouldn’t have reached his office at all.

  Now he thought she was just another reporter trying to create a big story.

  Why doesn’t anybody care about the animals about to be slaughtered?

  Chapter 25

  After lunch, Crys crossed the river to Rond-Point-de-Rive, where Rhino International had its offices. She was greeted by the receptionist, who showed her to the director’s office. Nigel Wood was a very different character from Dr Helmholz. He jumped up from behind his desk with a broad smile and shook her hand vigorously. He was a tall man, a little older than her, conservatively dressed in an expensive-looking suit, with a discreet hint of aftershave.

  ‘Welcome to Geneva, Ms Nguyen. I’m so pleased you could visit us.’ He was clearly English, but to her surprise, pronounced her name perfectly.

  ‘It’s kind of you to see me at such short notice, Mr Wood, but I needed to fit in Geneva before I go on to Vietnam. I know you must be busy with the big CITES meeting at the end of the month.’

  ‘You’re on your way to Vietnam? Well, there is a lot on here at the moment, but I certainly appreciate the opportunity to give you our position for your article.’ He offered her coffee and indicated a seat at his office conference table.

  As she had with Helmholz, Crys explained her project for National Geographic and asked about Rhino International’s approach to rhino conservation. Wood confirmed what she’d read on its website. Rhino International supported a total ban on all sales and movement of rhino horn.

  ‘There is nearly a total worldwide ban on rhino horn now, Mr Wood,’ she responded. ‘Yet the poachers are winning. The rhino breeders claim that removing the horns from rhinos and then selling them on an open market would drive prices right down and remove the incentive to poach.’

  He was silent for a few moments, never taking his penetrating, bright-blue eyes off her face.

  Eventually, he said, ‘It isn’t the solution, you know. I’ll give you a copy of the report we’ve prepared on exactly this issue. There’s no case where legalising a banned substance has reduced demand. Take marijuana, for example. Where it’s been legalised, consumption has increased. The difference between that and rhinos is that you can pretty well supply any demand for marijuana. You just grow more. That isn’t the case with rhinos. The horn grows too slowly, and the population grows too slowly.’

  ‘What about artificial rhino horn? Some of it is indistinguishable from the real thing, even at microscopic level. Couldn’t that change the picture altogether?’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘The whole thing is based on mystique. Consumers won’t settle for imitations.’

  ‘So, what’s your answer then? We’re not winning the war on the poachers – I saw that myself in South Africa. And it’s at a huge cost – in terms of money and people.’

  ‘Education. That’s the thing.’ He thumped the desk. ‘The trick is working with the youngsters, focusing both on the ineffectiveness of rhino horn, and on the awful consequence of rhino extinction. Then the kids talk to their parents. And it’s working. It’s like the fur trade. That was destroyed because it became socially unacceptable to wear them. We can do the same thing with rhino horn.’

  ‘But what can you really achieve that way?’ Crys asked. ‘How can you reach that huge number of kids?’

  ‘Through social media. Facebook, Youtube, Instagram, and so on. Fun ads with cute, animated rhinos, and competitions, et cetera. A lot of kids do engage. It is working.’ He paused, shook his head, and then said, ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I get a bit too intense about this. Rhino are very special: the last male Northern White Rhino just died, and the Asian ones are just about gone. Maybe there are new ideas we need to consider. Meanwhile, we have to protect the rhinos we still have. That’s my mission here: making sure CITES doesn’t throw in the towel and allow trade.’

  Crys sympathised with Wood’s commitment even if she wasn’t yet convinced by his strategy. She was about to ask more about the education initiatives, when he suddenly switched the subject.

  ‘Tell me about what you learned while you were in South Africa.’ He leaned back in his chair to listen. ‘I’m sure that will lead to more things we can discuss.’

  Her first reaction was to ignore his request and keep control of the interview. But Wood’s passion appealed to her, and he might also have useful contacts. She hadn’t given up on trying to save the elephants, so she gave him a summary of her time in Africa, starting with Tshukudu.

  As well as being a good talker, he was an attentive and patient listener, just adding the occasional comment or question. However, when she told him about the plane crash and the subsequent attack by Pockface, he sat forwards, concentrating on every word she said.

  ‘Dreadful!’ he exclaimed with a deep frown. ‘You were lucky you weren’t killed. Did the police catch the thugs who attacked you? Did they find the money they were looking for?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ she replied quickly. ‘And it got worse. I was held by the police, but one of the guards let me escape from my cell. It was a setup, though: the Portuguese men were waiting for me. They still thought there’d been money on the plane and that I knew where it was and started to torture me – started off by dislocating my finger.’ She held up her hand. ‘I think they would’ve killed me if the police hadn’t got there in time.’

  Wood leaned back, shaking his head. ‘What an awful experience. I can’t believe you’re so calm about it!’

  ‘It’s behind me.’ She shrugged. ‘There’s one other thing, though, and I think it’s important. While they were holding me, I overheard a phone conversation.’ She summarised Pockface’s call.

  Wood held up a hand to stop her, and then asked her to repeat the exact words she’d heard.

  ‘As far as I can remember, he said, “Not next Sunday. Sunday after. Need eight men”, and then he listened for a moment. I couldn’t hear the other person. Then he replied, “Three. Yes, three. And more money. Same”.’

  Wood looked shocked and muttered, ‘Sunday week? That soon? And three…’ He scratched his head. Then he asked, ‘Did the police have any explanation for what this was all about?’

  ‘Well, everyone seemed to believe there was a lot of money involved.’

  ‘But what was it for? Did they say?’

  ‘The police colonel thought it might be for some sort of smuggling. But he didn’t really know. He even asked for my opinion.’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’

  ‘I guessed that with all those men, and a lot of money, they could be setting up a bi
g elephant operation. I’m hoping you can help stop it. I don’t trust the police in Giyani. That’s why I escaped. We need to bring outside pressure to bear on the police and nature conservation authorities there, so that they take action and take it quickly.’

  Wood took his time before replying, rubbing his brow, and frowning. Crys’s shoulders slumped. Despite his words, it was going to be the same as with CITES. Not his problem.

  ‘Did the Portuguese men ever mention elephants or say anything that would link with elephants?’ he asked at last.

  Crys shook her head.

  ‘I think you’re wrong about the elephant connection. Look, I’ll tell you something – our people in Vietnam have picked up rumours of something big happening in South Africa soon. It’s very possible you’ve stumbled on the same thing.’ He fixed her with his bright-blue eyes again. ‘If so, it is big, and it’s directed at rhinos, not elephants. We thought it would be in the next few months, but if we’re talking about the same operation, it’s more like days.’

  ‘You have people in Vietnam?’

  ‘The workers in the education programmes. They keep their eyes and ears open.’

  Crys still wasn’t sure rhinos made sense. They weren’t in big herds like elephants. But it didn’t really matter as long as Rhino International

  would take it up. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if my experience in South Africa helps you get the attention you need, I’m really glad. Please keep me in the picture – it will be an important story. You’ll need to get the police and nature conservation to act very quickly. I hope what I’ve told you helps.’

  But Wood was shaking his head. ‘I wish it did. Unfortunately, you’ve only got a few overheard scraps to add to the rumours from Vietnam, and there’s no obvious connection at this point.’ He frowned, and Crys’s heart sank.

  ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘one of the senior people from the Department of Environmental Affairs in Vietnam is here for the CITES meeting – his name’s Dinh. We must ask him whether he’s heard these rumours and, if he has, he may have some ideas of how this all fits together. He’s an important person and may be able to give you some connections to follow up in Vietnam for your article. Would you be able to meet him tomorrow if I can set it up?’

  Crys didn’t hesitate. Wood struck her as the sort of man who wasn’t easily brushed off. If Rhino International would get behind this – driven by Wood’s enthusiasm – they might save a lot of animals. And it could be a really big news story too.

  ‘Just let me know when and where,’ she said, smiling.

  Crys had just settled down to write up the notes from her interviews, when her phone rang. It was Barbara Zygorski of the New York Times. She sat up, hoping for something useful.

  ‘Hi Crys, I had to pull in a few favours to get to Michael’s emails, but I eventually got there. Sorry for the delay, but I had to be very discreet.’

  ‘Fantastic. Thanks so much. Was there anything after the date I gave you?’

  ‘There was, and it’s pretty strange.’

  Crys picked up a pen and grabbed a sheet of the hotel stationery.

  ‘I think Michael must have two mailboxes in his mail programme and by mistake used his Times one to send an email instead of his personal one. That’s easy to do. And, of course, the reply came back to his Times inbox, and he replied. So, there were only three emails: two out and one in.’

  Crys could hardly contain herself. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They’re all very short. The first one had just one word – “Agreed” – with a question mark.’

  ‘Agreed?’ Crys asked. ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No. That’s it. The second was a reply. It said “We agree. Ten thousand dollars.”’

  ‘It sounds as though they’re trying to close some deal or other.’

  ‘True. And the third – Michael’s reply – seems to be a counter offer. It says “Ten thousand dollars now; ten thousand dollars when you have the information.” That’s it.’

  Crys thought for a few moments.

  He must be offering to sell them something – probably to get inside a smuggling gang.

  ‘Who was Michael talking to?’

  ‘There is no name, just an email address. It is duong731a@vn.yahoo.com.’

  Crys punched the air. She could contact someone who had been in touch with Michael more recently than anyone else she knew. She copied it down, checking with Barbara that she had it correct.

  ‘When were the emails sent?’ Crys asked.

  ‘All on the same day – five days after you received your last one. And there’s one more thing: Michael’s emails were sent from South Africa, and the duong731a one was sent from Ho Chi Min City in Vietnam.’

  Barbara then asked if Crys had any updates as to Michael’s whereabouts, and Crys filled her in with the little news she had.

  ‘But it seems he may still be alive,’ Barbara exclaimed. ‘That’s great news.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s true.’

  As soon as she put the phone down, Crys wrote a short email to duong731a@vn.yahoo.com enquiring whether the recipient knew where Michael was. She took a deep breath and pressed SEND, wondering if she’d get a reply and whether she should have written it in Vietnamese too.

  Then she sent an email to Mabula, giving him the information about the emails and asking him to see if his Vietnamese counterparts could trace the sender.

  Fat chance she’d hear anything from him, but she had to try.

  Chapter 26

  Wood called Crys the next morning and invited her for drinks at his apartment that evening. Dinh would join them at five. It was astonishing to her. Things seemed so much easier in Geneva than in South Africa. Here rhinos were saved over drinks.

  She spent most of the day pulling together her notes on rhino poaching. She wanted to include some of what had happened to her, but needed to clear that with Sara first. She decided to wait to ask until she had a good amount of the article written.

  She was also able to squeeze in an hour’s run along the water’s edge, and she couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place to do it.

  When it came time to go to Wood’s apartment, she decided to continue enjoying the fine weather and walked. When she reached it, she found an attractive building with well-tended gardens. The apartment itself was on the eighth floor and faced the river and the city. She was impressed. She doubted a rhino NGO would pay for this; Wood had to have his own means.

  He greeted Crys at the door and asked her to call him Nigel, making a joke about British formality.

  ‘And people call me Crys,’ she said with a smile. He took her arm and walked her to the living room.

  Dinh, the Vietnamese government official, was already there. He was dressed casually in jeans, a leather jacket and a cream shirt with a garish tie loosened around the neck. Nigel introduced them, and Crys extended her hand, Western style. Dinh hesitated momentarily at this un-Vietnamese greeting, then took her hand and shook it.

  While Nigel went to fetch drinks, Dinh chatted to Crys in Vietnamese, asking about her family and when they’d left Vietnam. She replied that she’d left as a child and hadn’t been back, and that she was looking forward to her upcoming trip. He nodded a few times but didn’t push for more details, apparently understanding that the period after the war was best left undisturbed.

  When Nigel returned, Dinh switched back to English and told him, ‘Ms Nguyen speaks very good Vietnamese. If a little rusty.’ He gave Crys what she thought was a rather condescending smile.

  ‘I’ve briefed Dinh on your experiences, Crys,’ Nigel said before she could respond. ‘I think he needs to tell us what he knows.’

  Dinh nodded. ‘Of course. It’s not much. Really only one thing. A man came to see me about a month ago. He said he had important information about a big operation in South Africa. Many rhino. This year. He said he had the details.’

  ‘Why did he approach you?’ Crys asked, her reporter’s hat firmly on now.

  ‘He k
nows I’m with the Department of Environmental Affairs. He thought I’d pay well for the information. He wanted five thousand US dollars – a lot of money in Vietnam. I told him he must explain how he got the information and show me some proof. He said his brother works with the smugglers, and he’d heard about it from them.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought it was probably a scam – fake news, as your president would say.’ He gave the condescending smile again. ‘I told him he must come back with his brother and some proof of what was planned, then I would give him the money.’ He paused. ‘I never saw him again.’

  ‘So, you were probably right about it being a scam.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But then I saw this…’ He dug in an inside pocket of his jacket and produced a folded newspaper cutting, which he passed to Crys.

  She unfolded it. It was a short article from a Vietnamese newspaper. At the top were photographs of two similar-looking young Vietnamese men, both smiling for the camera. Dinh looked at her expectantly, a small smile on his face.

  He didn’t think she could read it.

  She was irritated, and although she was sure Nigel had heard the story before, she read it aloud anyway, just to make a point.

  It was quite short. The two men had been shot to death in an alley in the Saigon Port area. The men were brothers; the one on the left was known to be involved with rhino-horn smuggling. The police believed this might be the reason for the hit. The other man had no record. The police were asking the public for information.

  ‘The one on the right is the man who came to see me,’ Dinh said when she was finished.

  ‘Did you report it to the police?’ Crys asked.

  ‘Of course. They wrote it all down. But nothing happened. The smugglers have a lot of friends, a lot of money.’ Dinh sipped his drink. ‘Of course, I was intrigued and investigated, but I couldn’t find out anything more. No one was willing to talk to me. Nor to the police. People disappear in Vietnam. One day they don’t come home, and that’s it. The police go through the motions. Sometimes they never even find the bodies. It’s not good.’