Operation Pink Elephant

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  They emerged in the shallows, thirty metres apart, and advanced up the narrow strip of sand at a crouching run. Both drew their knives and, without making a sound, crept barefoot from one fishermen’s shelter to another. They found the shelters empty. They searched the length and breadth of the island, but found no trace of Zuba, his men or the hostages.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Casper, shaking his head with disappointment. ‘This could have been a red herring, Chris.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Chris replied. ‘Maybe not.’ He pointed to the remains of a cooking fire in front of the huts, and made his way toward it. ‘Someone has been here recently.’ Squatting down, he put a hand over the cooking fire’s embers. ‘They’re still warm, man! We haven’t missed them by more than an hour or two.’

  Taking the torch from his belt, he pointed it in the direction of the fishing boat moored off the island, and flashed a signal to Charlie in Morse code.

  Charlie saw the blinking light and read the message aloud. ‘No go,’ he announced sourly. He called for Sergeant Simma to start the engine and steer the boat to the beach to collect Chris and Casper. Charlie then directed Brian to make contact with Major Jinko. Before long, as the boat got underway, Brian was handing Charlie the VHF handset.

  ‘Papa, this is Oscar Zulu One,’ Charlie said into the mouthpiece. ‘The birds have flown. Do you copy? The birds have flown. Over.’

  ‘Copy that, Oscar Zulu One,’ Jinko replied, with disappointment obvious in his voice. ‘Await further orders. Papa out.’

  ‘Roger that. Oscar Zulu One out.’

  Jinko, frustrated by the failure to locate the hostages at the island, decided to consult Major General Jones, his superior at SOCOM back in Australia. From Canberra’s communications room, he put in a radio telephone call to the general.

  ‘Sir, they’re not on the island. But they must have a boat. They could have landed anywhere around Lake Victoria.’

  ‘Get that UAV airborne, Jinko,’ General Jones instructed. ‘You’ve got to find that boat.’

  ‘The navy won’t launch the UAV until daybreak, sir,’ Jinko replied. ‘And where do we look? Zuba could have gone back to the Tanzanian mainland, or across the lake to Uganda or Kenya to the north. Where do I send the UAV to look?’

  ‘You’re in charge if this op, Jinko,’ said the general. ‘It’s your call. Just make the right one.’

  In the night, Zuba had landed on Tanzania’s northern lake coast. Unloading his vehicles from the landing craft, he had brought his soldiers and prisoners to a village on the plain on the northwest rim of the Kigosi Game Reserve. There was a large cattle compound at this village, with the usual wooden palisade fencing it in and protecting the occupants from marauding wild animals. In the middle of the compound sat a typical round wooden hut with a dirt floor and thatched roof. This was the hut of the herdsman whose job it was to look after the cattle, but on Zuba’s instructions, his men had evicted the hut’s occupants and installed Lucky and his rangers in it. This became their latest prison.

  Before the door to the hut was padlocked, Zuba came to speak with his prisoners. He brought a sheepish Koinet with him. Still wearing Lucky’s hat, Koinet stood beside the rebel leader in the open doorway. Behind the pair, several of Zuba’s soldiers had their AK-47s at the ready.

  Zuba produced his smug smile. ‘Are there more of you rangers who wish to follow the wise example of brave Koinet here, and join the Revolutionary Army of Tanzania?’

  The only response came from old Julius, who spat on the floor with contempt.

  ‘No?’ said Zuba, before laughing to himself. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the next day.’

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind, Koinet,’ said Lucky. ‘We won’t hold it against you if you decide to rejoin us.’

  ‘Koinet will not be changing his mind,’ said Zuba, putting an arm around the young man’s shoulders. ‘Will you, boy?’

  Koinet smiled weakly. ‘No, Colonel.’

  ‘You are now a brave soldier of the revolution.’

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’

  ‘So, Ranger Lucky,’ said Zuba, ‘I will be saying bye-bye to you for the time being. You rangers must stay here while my men and I go on a mission.’

  ‘What kind of mission?’ Lucky asked.

  Zuba chuckled to himself. ‘That is for me to know and you to find out, my friend.’ He then motioned to the two regular guards to close and lock the door. ‘But it will be a very profitable mission, I can assure you,’ Zuba added.

  The door closed, the chain rattled as the padlock was snapped shut, and before long Lucky and his rangers heard the Land Rovers and motorcycles noisily depart the village. Lucky could see nothing from inside the hut, but from the direction of the receding sound of engines, he felt sure that Zuba and his men were heading south, into the game reserve.

  As dawn broke over Lake Victoria, the fishing boat being used by the GRRR team sat with its bow on the sands of the little island. The men were eating their breakfast – cold MREs from their packs – on the beach. Using water from their canteens, they brewed tea and coffee at the fireplace last used by the men they were pursuing. While they waited on the beach, Major Jinko contacted Charlie by radio.

  ‘Sit tight, Oscar Zulu One,’ Jinko instructed. ‘The sun is up, and so is Bluey. As soon as it spots anything, you’ll have new orders. Papa out.’

  ‘Roger to that,’ replied Charlie. ‘Oscar Zulu out.’ Charlie handed the handset back to Brian Cisco.

  ‘It’s like hoping to win a lottery,’ said Ben. He was sitting close by with Caesar lying full-length at his side.

  ‘What is?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Waiting for the drone to find Zuba.’

  ‘Any better ideas?’

  ‘What about the plan to use Toushi to lure Zuba into a trap?’ Ben suggested.

  ‘How do we make that work?’

  ‘You mentioned a name before – Zhu. You know – the radio transmission to Dar es Salaam that was intercepted?’

  ‘Yep. What about it?’

  ‘It occurred to me earlier that Mr Zhu was the name of the Chinese port official who opened the containers for us – under protest.’

  Charlie looked interested. ‘And …?’

  ‘We should get the Tanzanian police to have a word with Mr Zhu and set up a meeting between Toushi and the illustrious colonel.’

  Charlie smiled. ‘It’s worth a try. Beats sitting on our rear ends all day.’

  ‘Do you reckon the local cops could be persuasive enough?’ said Baz. ‘To get Mr Zhu to cooperate?’

  ‘What if we got Wally Springer to pay Mr Zhu a visit?’ Ben suggested. ‘We could rely on Springer to be persuasive. He wants his rangers back, safe and well.’

  ‘The chief ranger? It’s worth a try,’ said Charlie, thoughtfully. They had parted company with Chief Ranger Springer back at Leboo. ‘Brian, get me Papa on the blower again.’

  Mr Zhu sat fearfully in his office chair, eying the half-a-dozen Tanzanian policemen who stood watching him from across the room. One of the policemen was idly leaning against the wall and playing with a truncheon.

  On the broad expanse of asphalt outside the dockside office, an RAN Seahawk had just set down, its rotors whirring. Contrary to what the pilot of Sally One had been told only a day earlier by port radio, there was plenty of room for a helicopter to land here. And now Sally One had done just that, having collected Chief Ranger Springer from Leboo and flown him down to Dar es Salaam.

  Wasting no time, Springer strode through the office door and stood over the port official. ‘You have a VHF radio, and you use it to maintain contact with Abraham Zuba, a wanted ivory poacher.’

  ‘No! No!’ Mr Zhu replied, violently shaking his head. ‘This is not true!’

  ‘Your conversation with Zuba, where you told him of the ivory shipment seized here yesterday, was intercepted by ASIA, the Australian Signals Intelligence Agency. We heard everything.’

  ‘No, no, not true!’ Mr Zhu protested. His brow had quickly b
ecome coated with perspiration. ‘I know nothing. Nothing.’

  Springer raised his eyebrows. ‘You know nothing?’ He paused for a moment. ‘Do you have grandchildren, Mr Zhu? You look the right age to have grandchildren.’

  Mr Zhu looked perplexed. ‘Yes, six grandchildren. Three boy, three girl. Why you ask?’

  ‘Recently, the ivory exporting nations of the world jointly declared the illegal export of ivory a “serious crime”. Do you know what that means, Mr Zhu? It means that now, when you are convicted of illegal ivory trafficking – and believe me, you will be convicted – you won’t be sentenced to a year or two in prison. You will be sentenced to life in prison. And when I say life, I mean life! They will lock you in a squalid African prison and throw away the key. You will never bounce your grandchildren on your knee again, Mr Zhu.’

  Mr Zhu paled. ‘I … I am only a poor port official,’ he stammered, dropping his eyes to the floor.

  ‘Life in prison, Mr Zhu,’ Springer reiterated. ‘But if you were to cooperate with us – if you were to help us – I would recommend leniency to the court.’

  Mr Zhu raised his eyes. ‘Leniency?’

  ‘Help us catch Zuba, and the government could be convinced to drop the more serious charges against you. Well, what’s it to be? I don’t have all day.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘The rest of your life in prison, or a lenient judge. You decide, Mr Zhu. Your fate is in your own hands, mate.’

  The RAT convoy rolled across flat bushland, following a rough dirt track that wound around low grassy rises and past thin clumps of plane trees standing starkly on the plain. The second of the two Land Rovers began to flash its headlights at the first. This brought the first Land Rover to an abrupt stop, and the second Land Rover and all the trail bikes did the same.

  Zuba stepped from the first vehicle and walked back to the second, to its open front passenger window. ‘What is it, Chawinga?’ he demanded irritably. ‘Why the flashing lights?’

  ‘I have just received a message on the radio, Colonel,’ Chawinga replied, nodding to the VHF military radio sitting on the floor between his feet. ‘From our good friend Zhu in Dar es Salaam.’

  ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’

  ‘He say that he has been approached by a Japanese ivory buyer who is prepared to pay fifteen hundred dollars for every kilo of ivory we supply.’

  Zuba raised his eyebrows. ‘Fifteen hundred a kilo? Really?’

  ‘And to prove his good faith,’ Chawinga went on, ‘he is prepared to give us fifty thousand dollars in advance as a down payment. Or so he says.’

  ‘He will give us fifty thousand dollars in advance?’

  ‘This Japanese buyer is in Tanzania and is asking for a meeting with you personally, Colonel. He says that he will hand over the fifty thousand at the meeting.’

  Zuba pursed his lips as he considered the proposition. ‘The money would be very handy, Chawinga. But the meeting would have to be on our terms.’

  ‘And on our territory,’ Chawinga added.

  Zuba nodded slowly. ‘Call our good friend Zhu. Set up a meeting – here, in the game reserve. The Japanese buyer can fly in to meet us.’

  ‘Oscar Zulu One, from Papa. Over.’

  Brian Cisco passed the radio handset to Charlie.

  ‘Oscar Zulu One receiving,’ Charlie replied. ‘Over.’

  ‘Bullseye is in the game. I repeat, Bullseye is in the game. Do you copy? Over.’

  Charlie smiled. ‘Copy that, Papa. Over.’ Sitting around him on the fishing boat, the other members of the team were also smiling – the message meant that Zuba had taken the bait and had agreed to a meeting with their fictitious Japanese ivory merchant.

  ‘I’ll give you the map reference for the RP he’s specified,’ said Major Jinko. ‘It’s an airstrip in a game reserve. Bullseye wants the meeting tomorrow at dawn. We’ll have Bluey over the location shortly, and will insert the full team less one tonight using the Sallys. You’ll be dropped ten clicks north of the RP and will have to yomp it in to the RP to be ready and waiting for Bullseye at dawn. We’ll organise a local light aircraft to deliver the bait. Over.’

  ‘Roger to that, Papa. What’s the map reference for the RP? Over.’

  Jinko replied with the map reference for the rendezvous point set by Zuba, then advised a time when two Seahawks from Canberra would rendezvous with the team at a mainland beach. There, the team was to board the helicopters for the flight south to the Kigosi Game Reserve. The plan was for the GRRR team to be deposited ten kilometres north of the location nominated by Zuba, and travel the rest of the way on foot to be in position for the dawn meeting, where they would ambush the RAT commander. ‘And the codename for the bait is Sinker,’ he added. ‘Over.’

  Charlie finished marking the map references for the insertion point and the location of the meeting with Zuba. ‘Copy that, Papa. Do we know if Game Boy is with Bullseye? Over.’

  ‘Negative, Oscar Zulu One. We have no intel on the location of Game Boy. He could be with Bullseye, so proceed with caution tomorrow. We want no collateral damage. Papa out for now.’

  ‘Roger to that, Papa. Oscar Zulu One out.’ Charlie turned to the others. ‘Let’s get this old crate moving. We have an appointment with Colonel Zuba.’

  As dawn was breaking in the direction of the Indian Ocean, a high-winged, single-engine Cessna 172 aircraft appeared from the northeast.

  ‘There’s Toushi’s plane,’ said Baz, pointing to the Cessna, which was slowly descending as it drew nearer.

  ‘Yes, but where’s Zuba?’ Charlie peered through his binoculars, sweeping the surrounding area.

  The GRRR team, less Toushi Harada, had reached the area on foot the night before. Once they had assured themselves that neither Zuba nor his men were in the vicinity, the team had dug in along the southern side of a rough airstrip on the plain. The men were spread out in a line, hidden in long grass, with their weapons ready. Several hundred metres behind them, one of the country’s few sealed highways, the B3, ran thin, flat and deserted across a northern tip of the Kigosi Game Reserve.

  One of the Sallys had flown Toushi Harada to the town of Ushirombo, which sat just to the east of the game reserve. There, Toushi had hurriedly purchased and donned civilian clothes, and in the lead-up to sunrise, he’d boarded the Cessna 172 at the local airfield. The plane had been chartered for him by the Tanzanian Government at the hurried request of Major Jinko via SOCOM.

  Brian Cisco had Major Jinko on the radio, and he now handed the handset to Charlie.

  ‘Sinker is in sight, Papa,’ Charlie reported. ‘But no sign of Bullseye. Over.’

  ‘Copy that.’

  The Cessna eased lower in the sky as it approached, and then it was on the ground and running quickly along the dirt strip on its three wheels. At the far end, it slowed, before turning around to face the wind, ready to take off again. The passenger door opened and out stepped Toushi, adorned in shorts and a bright floral shirt, carrying a bulging backpack by the straps. There he stood, beside the aircraft, looking around uncertainly for someone to appear. But in all directions there was no movement, no sound.

  From his position in the grass, Charlie kept his binoculars fixed on Toushi. ‘Where is the RAT?’ he said under his breath.

  ‘Delayed?’ Ben suggested, giving Caesar a pat beside him.

  ‘Looks like a wild goose chase to me, Charlie,’ Casper whispered from where he lay. ‘Zuba was never going to turn up.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Baz. ‘What’s that sound?’

  A buzzing noise grew increasingly loud. Looking around, they saw a single trail bike coming along the B3 from the west. Nearing the airstrip, the bike turned off the road and bumped across country until it reached the Cessna. It pulled up in front of Toushi Harada with a deliberate swerve of the rear wheel, raising a little cloud of yellow dust. Toushi looked at the battered Kawasaki and the young rider with an AK-47 strapped to his back. Toushi knew a bit about trail bikes – he�
��d ridden them in competitions as a boy and had even dreamed of becoming a world champion rider.

  The Kawaski’s rider looked at Toushi. ‘You come to meet Colonel Zuba?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Toushi.

  ‘You bring the money? The fifty thousand dollar?’

  ‘Yes.’ Toushi lifted the backpack.

  ‘Show me.’ The rider held out a hand.

  ‘No.’ Toushi pulled the backpack away from the rider’s reach. ‘Only for the eyes of Colonel Zuba. Where is he?’

  ‘Get on,’ the rider instructed, nodding to the pillion seat behind him.

  Toushi hesitated.

  ‘You want to see Colonel Zuba, you get on,’ the rider informed him sourly.

  With a sigh, Toushi strapped on the backpack, then climbed on behind the rider. They took off, first circling around the stationary Cessna, then making for the highway. Once on the hard black surface, the bike turned west and went zooming back the way it had come.

  Duke Hazard watched the bike disappear from view. ‘Something tells me Toushi’s gonna be in a pile of trouble when Zuba discovers there’s no cash in that backpack,’ he said, stuffing a fresh sliver of gum in his mouth. ‘And without us to back him up, Toushi’s gonna be toast.’ He began chewing furiously.

  Charlie wished that they’d come equipped with a tracking device for Toushi. The drone was now their only way of keeping track of their colleague. He lifted the radio handset. ‘Papa, Sinker has been picked up by a single trail bike. We’ve lost visual on him. Where’s Bluey? We need a trace on Sinker. Over.’

  ‘Bluey should be over your area in twenty. Over.’

  ‘Twenty minutes!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘Papa, the earth could have opened up and swallowed Sinker by that time! Over.’