‘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.
What is going on?
That 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 two centimetres thick and three metres tall. Apparently, security wasn’t a problem. The roof was thatch, with 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 neighbouring farms. They could contact the police to send a helicopter with armed men if necessary.’
Unless they were all tied up in Kruger.
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 redialling 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 realised 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, emba
rrassed 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 Chu Nhan – but that just means boss in Vietnamese,’ she said.
Anton’s eyebrows rose and 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 yourself 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 rumours…’
Johannes and Anton, black-market rhino-horn traders?
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.’
‘I thought you were more interested in what I was doing than in my safety. But the way it worked out, I can’t complain…’
He nodded. ‘Anyway, we’ve been investigating Rhino International, and there are a number of suspicious things about it. We can’t find out where they get their money. Most NGOs are happy to advertise their funding sources, but not Rhino International. Then there is Wood himself. Did he give you the story about the upper-class background and rebelling to become an ecological activist?’
Crys stopped in her tracks. ‘He did. Exactly that.’
Søren took her arm and moved on. ‘Well, we’ve looked into it. We can’t find any trace of that background – no public-school records, no wealthy Wood families with a son called Nigel. There are plenty of Nigel Woods to choose from, but none of them fit.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I mean Nigel Wood’s background is fiction. He may have legitimate reasons for making up a new background, but what we see is that Rhino International has no obvious source of funding, and a director who isn’t who he says he is. That worries us – a lot. I think it should worry you too.’
It certainly did.
Then the reporter in Crys kicked in.
‘You’d better come to my chalet,’ she said.
They sat on the veranda of Crys’s bungalow, protected from insects by the fly screen. From time to time something large would be attracted by the light, bash into the net and bounce back into the night. An orchestra of cicadas played in the background.
Søren went through everything he knew about Nigel Wood and Rhino International. It wasn’t just the lack of transparency and Nigel’s fake background. There were things that couldn’t be explained – smugglers getting wind of enforcement operations and staff members with shadowy connections. Crys didn’t like the sound of it at all, and was feeling very uncomfortable about how easily she’d accepted what Nigel had told her.
‘But what’s the point of Rhino International, if it’s not legitimate?’ she asked. ‘Just to find out what the anti-smuggling people are doing?’
Søren shook his head. ‘Smugglers don’t want legal trade any more than we do, because that would depress prices. If Rhino International is in league with the smugglers, its role would be to pressure CITES to keep it that way.’
‘So, the good guys and the bad guys want the same thing?’
‘As bizarre as it sounds, that’s right.’
Crys sighed in disbelief. But she had to admit that it did make sense.
‘Crys, we need to think about some worst-case scenarios here,’ Søren continued. ‘If Wood isn’t legitimate, what is he doing here? I can see him passing on the information you obtained to the South Africans, but why come himself? Frankly, I think the reaction here is too strong for the snatches you overheard. He’s presented some other evidence, and he got it very quickly. Too quickly, I would say.’
‘You think he made it up?’ She frowned. ‘If he did, that could be a disaster for Rhino International. If nothing happens tomorrow, he will look a total idiot.’
‘Well, he could blame it on you.’
She bridled. ‘If he did, I’d go public with what I know. He’d still lose credibility.’
Søren said nothing for a few moments. Then he asked, ‘Suppose he wants everything focused on Kruger – why is that? What could he gain?’
‘Perhaps opportunity. The chance to do something else in South Africa while people’s attention is elsewhere. Maybe blow up rhinohorn stocks or something like that.’ It made him sound like a mad environmentalist with a James Bond script. She shook her head. ‘No, that’s nonsense.’
‘Or he could be planning a rhino-horn heist of his own…’
It all sounded totally farfetched to Crys. She frowned and folded her arms. ‘He’s had very little time to set up anything like that.’
Søren nodded. ‘Of course, we may be qui
te wrong. He may simply be desperate to stop the poachers getting a huge stock of horn and more resources, even if he has to invent some of the evidence. Maybe Rhino International is entirely above board, and all the things they’ve been doing are part of a plan to infiltrate, to learn more. That could still be the answer.’
Crys shook her head. This was all too much – Søren spying on the Malans under the cover of rhino conservation; Nigel infiltrating the poachers. ‘But surely NGOs don’t behave like that!’
Søren sighed. ‘Let me give you some background on this business, Crys. From the inside … from my fifteen years as someone in the know.’
Crys didn’t sleep well, what with jet lag and her mind churning with all that was going on. Eventually, she couldn’t take tossing and turning any longer and got up, made some instant coffee, and went and sat on the porch. The air was crisp and the Milky Way spectacular. In any other circumstances, she would be in heaven. However, whatever was happening in Kruger was going down today, she didn’t know who to trust, and she was no closer to finding Michael. Instead, she was sitting at Tshukudu doing nothing.
Her head was full of what Søren had told her. They’d talked late into the night, and she’d learned a great deal about the politics of CITES and the associated NGOs, as well as about the rhino-horn underworld. She was astonished at the layers of intrigue around what seemed to be the straightforward missions of the NGOs: the jostling for influence, the back-stabbing, the never-ending quest for funds, and even what verged on blackmail.
And apparently it wasn’t much different in the rhino-horn trade itself. Gangs fighting each other for ascendancy; groups trying to muscle into every aspect of the business, from the poaching, to the shipping, to the selling, to protection. Even the North Koreans were involved, with their embassies being engaged in the smuggling to obtain hard currency.
The major difference between the official and unofficial participants was that the unofficial ones didn’t hesitate to kill anyone that got in the way. She knew that was true. She’d come close to death at their hands three times in the past few weeks. And Michael? She forced her mind away from that thought.
Dead of Night Page 28
