by M A Moore
Where were Paul and Jeffrey? Reynolds ran over to their operations center and tore the tattered canvas off the pile of rubble. At least he didn’t find a body lying there. He noticed the smoking remains of their second jeep nearby.
Jeffrey walked out of the trees, bleeding a little from a cut on his cheek and looking more disheveled than usual. Paul, splattered with mud, came limping several strides behind him clutching a laptop to his chest. Reynolds sighed in relief.
“What happened?” Reynolds asked, but he had his suspicions.
It was Jeffrey who answered. “A helicopter flew in from the north and blasted the area with automatic weapon fire. If it hadn’t been for Ed Brown’s five minute warning we’d be dead.”
“We grabbed what we could and ran for the trees,” Paul added. He hugged the small computer a little closer to him and suppressed a coughing fit. He reached down and started searching through the charred remains of his work station to look for salvageable equipment. There wasn’t much to be had.
Recently Reynolds and Mavis located the terrorist cell that had been responsible for the most egregious poaching activities in this part of Kruger. He’d sent the information on to Ralph Toomey. Reynolds hoped Toomey had passed the intelligence on. Evidently the wrong people found out about their team’s involvement. This raid was a warning, or maybe it was an attempted assassination. It was certain they wanted their operation eliminated. Next time Ed Brown tried to reach him, Reynolds would answer the phone.
Ed Brown called two hours later and they agreed to meet at the Skukuza Rest Camp at Parfuri. The men had met before, but were not on amiable terms. Reynolds sat at a picnic table under a thatched shelter chain smoking when Ed Brown drove up in his jeep.
Reynolds didn’t bother standing as Brown approached. He blew out a stream of nicotine laced vapor from deep in his lungs and coughed twice, “I suppose you expect me to thank you.”
“No,” Brown replied with a shake of his head.
“How do I know it wasn’t your people who raided my camp?” Reynolds was belligerent.
“I don’t think anything I could say would change your mind,” Brown began. “By the way, Ralph Toomey is dead. They shot him outside of Harare in Bikita.”
Reynolds responded by lighting up another cigarette even though his first was still smoldering on the table edge where he had set it down. “Who did it?”
“Gun runners. Toomey has been doing intelligence work for us, and he died before he could pass on more detailed information. We don’t know who committed the deed. All we have are suspicions.”
Reynolds puffed for a few seconds on his cigarette without making further comment. He crushed out the stub on the top of the table. “I deal with poachers, not illegal arms dealers.”
Ed Brown turned to Reynolds and sneered. “What do poachers want? Money to purchase guns. Where do they get it? From selling ivory to whomever will buy it. It’s all connected and you know it.”
Brown's stare pierced Reynolds’ face daring him to disagree. “Consider, your team is alive and I am giving you a chance to get even with the bastard or bastards that gave up your identity and location.”
“I’m listening,” Reynolds replied, feigning disinterest, and not quite succeeding.
“Robert Widdon.” Reynolds‘ head perked up at the name. “I see you have heard of him.”
“They reported him dead in Zambia.”
“A relative sent to find him here in Africa identified the body as Robert Widdon. Before they cremated him one of our operatives was able to get a fingerprint off the corpse. It confirmed it wasn’t him.”
“Was the relative involved in the cover up?”
"We don't think so. The body was pretty well mangled in a car accident and it had Widdon's general characteristics."
"Who was the poor bastard?"
“A petty criminal that drifted around picking up odd jobs when he needed cash.”
“So Widdon is still alive.”
“Most likely. The relative, a cousin, has gone missing."
"Collaborator?"
"Again, we don't think so. We know arms come in from U.S. suppliers through several middle men. Stanley Bonner told us about the cache you found just south of here in the park. We want to break this particular supply train.”
Reynolds took another drag on his cigarette. “Bonner is a slime bag.”
It was Reynolds only comment.
“It sounds like you have had dealings with him before," Brown laughed. "His reputation is questionable. Right now he is our connection to South African Intelligence, and our link to both Robert Widdon and his cousin. We don’t know her involvement quite yet. Our people back in the States are working on it. My bosses have decided that we need to join forces with Bonner and his men. I want you on the team.”
“Why me?” Reynolds asked. Ed Brown considered it a legitimate question that deserved an honest answer.
“For one, I don’t trust Bonner. Second, I do trust your motives. I think you want to eliminate the illegal trafficking of endangered animals. If we break up this particular arms smuggling ring it will, at least, put a dent in it. Third, your smart drone could be very useful in the next few days. And fourth, my organization, in exchange for your cooperation on this project, will supply funds and some new technology we think will benefit you and your team.”
Reynolds looked up at the man with dreadlocks and said, “You could have stopped after three. When do we leave?”
“I meet Bonner tomorrow in Johannesburg. We had a trace on Widdon’s cousin and hoped she might lead us to him. But it’s been inactive for a while and that seems less likely.”
Brown sat down and stared off in the distance. “Bonner tells me that another of his agents has eyes on her, but he has also disappeared. I don’t want Bonner to know you’re part of this operation until it’s clear what his intentions are.”
“And maybe not even then,” Reynolds completed the thought.
Ed Brown nodded. “If your cell phone rings in the next couple of days, just answer it. I’ll let you know where and when to meet me.”
Chapter 28
The University of Cape Town aspires to become a premier academic meeting point between South Africa, the rest of Africa and the world. Taking advantage of expanding global networks and our distinct vantage point in Africa, we are committed, through innovative research and scholarship, to grapple with the key issues of our natural and social worlds. We aim to produce graduates whose qualifications are internationally recognized and locally applicable, underpinned by values of engaged citizenship and social justice. UCT will promote diversity and transformation within our institution and beyond, including growing the next generation of academics.-www.utc.ac.za
While she waited for her boarding call to Cape Town thoughts about Mike swirled in Amy‘s head like flotsam caught in an eddy. They hadn’t parted on particularly amiable terms. She hadn’t been fair to him. She knew that. It was unlikely he even realized what had upset her so much. It wasn't just the baby elephant. She missed him, but if her actions guilted him into carrying out his fatherly responsibilities, it was worth a little heart ache.
I’m getting old, she thought. She was already ten years older than he. If he and Francoise and the child could figure out a compromise to their dilemma, Mike would be very busy for the next couple of decades. Children took time and energy. By then, even if she was alive, she would be too old for him to have any interest in her. She convinced herself that letting him go was the kindest solution for both of them.
Impractical romances were the story of her life. She seemed to have more than her share of those kinds of disappointments. She had also learned to accept the inevitable. The serenity prayer of Saint Francis had almost become her mantra over the last twenty years: Grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
In some respects her experiences with Mike had been life altering. She had a much greater
understanding of Africa and its people and its challenges. She would never be able to romanticize the dark continent as she once had. However, Africa would have to figure out how to solve its own problems. Outside intervention could only slow down the process. She pulled the assay reports out of her backpack and re-read them on the plane. She would find someone here in South Africa willing to help her.
The two cell phones still hung like albatrosses around her neck. Two too many, she lamented. She checked the phone Ed Brown, aka Girish Kakkar, gave her on her arrival to South Africa. There were no messages. She assumed the other was from one of her Cousin Robert's associates. There were too many unanswered questions. Amy didn’t like unanswered questions. It was this personal characteristic above all her other quirks that had given Amy the edge in her scientific pursuits.
She arrived in Cape Town in late afternoon, took the escalator down to the doors marked departures and exited into the bright sunshine. It was cold compared to Kruger. This was the beginning of winter in this part of Africa, and she would have to do some shopping since she had abandoned her suitcase in their dash from Bikita. She wouldn’t need much, but warmer clothes were definitely in order.
Sitting in the Geology Library at the University of Cape Town campus the next morning, Amy examined the two samples of what she had assumed were hectorite clays. The one from the AZZA mining crate was soft and white and had a greasy feel to it. In contrast, the sample Robert had given her back in Chobe was reddish brown. Over the last few weeks it had hardened into a friable mass that she could crumble with the fingers of one hand. They were very different, but mineral morphology was not something she knew much about.
A world renowned museum at the University of Cape Town’s geology department was its Mantle Room. The mantle exists between the crust where our planet’s prolific life thrives and the iron core at its center. Diamonds formed in the mantle, miles underground where temperatures and pressures were high enough to crush carbon into the crystalline structure that made diamonds hard. They came to the surface through deep volcanic vents millions of years ago. Blood diamonds had fueled the economy of South Africa since 1870.
From a friendly grad student she discovered that the university had a separate more inclusive library that visiting scientists were welcome to use for research. They also rented out furnished dorm rooms at very reasonable rates. Amy flashed her old faculty ID card and found herself lodging right on campus. She spent the next morning studying hectorite in the research library.
Amy learned a lot about lithium-laced clays. The cosmetics she so rarely used had hectorite in them. It was rare, soft and white, and had a greasy feel to it. The clay helped to keep the watery liquid and oil components of many personal care products from separating, much like mustard in a vinaigrette salad dressing. Refining lithium metal out of the clay was a secondary use because lithium concentrations in them rarely were greater than about 1%. Only the demand for high efficiency lithium batteries made separation of the metal from the clays an economically viable industry. She also discovered that some company in Utah had come up with a much more cost effective method for extracting the lithium from the clay, but further information was proprietary and protected by patent. She hadn’t learned much new.
Amy gleaned all she was able from the library. What she needed now was to talk to a geologist -preferably one who was knowledgeable about lithium mining here in southern Africa. She chatted up a senior research assistant in the library working on his thesis. She invited him to talk about it over lunch. She knew from experience that graduate students were always hungry.
Over beer and a large pepperoni pizza Amy listened to him talk about his research in rock morphology. His passion was diamonds.
“They were first discovered at the Kimberley Mine in 1871. We affectionately call it the Big Hole,” he began between mouthfuls of pizza. “The diamonds didn’t run out 1914. At least the ones easy to mine.”
He took a few swallows of beer to wash down the pizza. “You’ve heard of the DeBeers Company?”
Amy nodded while taking another sip of beer.
“What a dream job that would be. They controlled the world diamond market for decades and they’re still a major player in the industry. There aren’t many places in the world that you can find gem quality diamond deposits. South Africa's monopoly only ended when diamonds were discovered in Russia.”
Once he started talking, all Amy did was sit back, sip her Castel beer, and listen to him lecture between mouthfuls of pizza. He had the makings of a future academic.
“Kimberlite gets to the surface in gigantic violent eruptions that leave carrot-shaped pipes. But not all of them contain diamonds. In fact of the sixty-four-hundred known to exist in the world, only nine-hundred of them actually have diamonds. And of those, only thirty have enough diamonds to make mining worthwhile. If you compare this to the Kimberley Mine before it closed it produced over three thousand kilograms or one and a half million carats of the stuff.”
After another half hour of explaining both alluvial and marine diamond mining, her grad student finally came up for air. Amy appreciated his passion about his work and his dreams of further discoveries, but she was more interested in lithium than in diamonds. The pizza devoured, and the impromptu lecture wound down, Amy inquired if he knew anyone at the university that did any work in lithium mining.
After thinking about it for a few seconds he said, “Dr. Jesse Groton is who you need to talk to.”
“Can you get me an introduction?” Amy asked.
He hemmed and hawed.
“I only took one course from Professor Groton and I got a C-. But I think he is giving a seminar tomorrow morning as part of the geology department’s winter lecture series.”
Amy thanked him for his time. “Pleasure,” he replied with a smile.
When he pulled out his wallet, Amy said, “My treat. I remember what it was like being a starving grad student.”
He grinned, stood up and disappeared out the front door. Amy took one more sip of the beer she had been nursing for the last hour. She put the half-filled glass back down on the table next to the discarded pizza crusts. She had never enjoyed the taste of beer.
Next morning she was at Groton’s seminar along with about twenty others. She assumed they were a mixture of visiting geologists and graduate students. The younger crowd had equal parts men and women, but her lunch companion of the day before was missing. Jesse Groton was probably sixty, with grey hair and a full beard. His dress was more appropriate for a field expedition than a scholarly talk, but customs were different in this part of the world. He had an athletic build and seemed to be in good shape for a man of his age. In a sudden burst of insight Amy realized that he might well be younger than she was. She wondered again how she had gotten so old.
Free coffee softened the pain of having to sit through his lecture. Amy remembered too many horrible seminars about topics she had little interest in, given by speakers who had no talent for speaking to anyone outside their own specialized field. Academic institutions seemed to be rife with such talks. She took a seat near the back to listen to his lecture about the morphology and extraction of something-or-other from somewhere-or –other. She had not heard of either the mineral or the region before. No mention of lithium came up, and it was a relief when it was over.
After the brief polite applause was over and the short question and answer period wound down, Amy went up to Jesse Groton and introduced herself.
“Nice talk Dr. Groton, I’m Dr. Amy Mohr, visiting here from the States.” They shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. It was never hard for her to stroke an academic male ego. She had had ample practice over the years. As much as it had galled her earlier in her career to do so, she found that it was a skill that made her life much, much easier.
“Dr. Groton,” Amy began.
“Please call me Jesse.”
Amy smiled. She hoped it seemed sincere. “Jesse, by chance are you familiar with lithium mi
ning in this part of the world?”
Jesse Groton raised his eyebrows and looked askance at her. “So you want to know about lithium mining.”
“I’m more interested in lithium battery technology, but you have to get the lithium first,” Amy replied hoping her smile engaged Groton’s substantial ego.
“It’s not a very big field right now. I thought I knew all the people working in it. I do have some insights into emerging technology with a group from your part of the world,” Groton responded cautiously.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk about it?” Amy inquired.
Jesse looked at his watch. “I have a lecture to give at noon, but I am available to talk, over dinner this evening perhaps?”
Amy let her lips turn up at the corners and her eyes widen. They agreed to meet at the Ferryman’s Pier at 8 p.m. later that night.
Amy didn’t feel comfortable about her dinner date, but she figured as long as they were in a public area she would be fine. She packed her few things in her purple sack and checked out of her dorm room. She was unsure of where she planned on sleeping that night, but she knew it wouldn’t be with Groton. She wore the warm jacket she had purchased at the Victoria and Alfred Mall that afternoon. The mystery cell phones were on the bottom of the bag buried under her binocular case along with their detached batteries. She wasn’t sure removing them from the phones did any good, but she figured it couldn’t do any harm either.
Dinner was pleasant if a bit awkward. The fish and chips were tasty. She turned down the offer of wine, but he ordered himself a beer. He casually mentioned that his wife was out of town on business. Red flags went up in Amy’s mind, but if that was the only danger he presented she had no doubts she could circumvent the situation.
